Love you, say it back!

Even the mention of his old crew left a sour note on his tongue. Their memory burned deep in his blood. The mark his years running the streets had left on him, the matching stain on his record. 

"I'd just be slowing you down anyway." He lamented. 

Bucky scoffed, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He tightened his grip, "You're our founding father, we're always gonna need you." 

His friend let go, taking just a few steps back. It'd been at least a week since they'd seen each other, if not two. Steve hated to say it, but he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, greasy strands oh hair sticking to his forehead. He looked skinnier too, like he'd been running more than usual and not eating enough to make up for it. 

"I need you Steve." Bucky finished, this time a little softer. None of that bravado behind it. "There's gonna be a rumble." He whispered. 

Steve's eyes blew wide. "A rumble? Are you crazy?" 

The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis, the feeling in his gut warping with it. A wave of dread, heavy and ice cold washing over him. 

Bucky sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't have a choice!" 

"Of course you do." Steve challenged, poking two fingers into Bucky's chest, "What the hell could be so bad that you need to do something dumb as a rumble?" 

Bucky lost his balance, falling back a few steps with the force of Steve's push. 

"All for a couple streets? The Strays'll never go for it I'm telling you now." 

Bucky shook his head, something terrible set in his eyes. "No it's not like it was when you were running with us Steve. It's worse now." He took a deep breath. "There's a fight every day, last week Sam almost lost an eye 'cause one of them pulled a switch knife."

Steve shrugged, "Did Sam pull his first?"

"Doesn't matter." Bucky denied. 

"Of course it does!"

"No!" Bucky shouted, "it doesn't."

Silence filled the space between them. Cavernous and wide. They just stood there for a minute, two young men. Two young men who knew each other inside and out, who had seen each other through the deaths of their parents and raised themselves on the streets.

"I need this all settled I go." Bucky finally spoke up, all the vitriol gone from his voice. Surrender taking its place.

"Go?" Steve asked, "Buck what are you talkin' about?"

Bucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumbled letter. 

"Got my orders." He held up the envelope, unfolding it so Steve could see the Government stamp on the front. "I leave in a week." 

"Shit, Buck I had no idea-"

"So you're coming tonight right?" Bucky interrupted, stuffing the letter back in his jacket. "Need my best man if I'm gonna end this once and for all." 

Steve recognized the look now. He'd seen it on other kids they'd grown up with, ones who had left in a uniform and never come back. Fear. 

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'll be there." 

He'd sent Bucky off with a promise and an agreement to meet at the soda shop before hand. The wind blew his entire walk home, angry gusts carrying bitter cold breezes. It felt like a warning, like a sign. 

The day you met Steve Rogers had been completely ordinary. 

Well that's not entirely true, it was also the day of your first dance. 

Sure, you went to the dress shop as usual. Stopped at the market on your way home and picked up bread for dinner like your mother had asked. Although today Then you'd used some of your earnings to buy new ribbon. Bright red and silky, it shone against your skin and would surely do the same in your hair. 

All the same, nothing a miss. 

It was just the butterflies in your stomach, the pep in your step. The way you couldn't seem to stop smiling even as the wind tried to wipe it off your face. 

Like your body knew something you didn't, every ounce of your crying out with joy for something it didn't even know existed yet. 

Then you saw your dress. 

"Wanda please I am begging you," you pleaded, holding the dress up to her. "Just a few inches off the hem, please!" 

Wanda is the closest thing you know to an older sister, her family moved into the building around the same time as yours. 

They immigrated from Sokovia only two months prior to your own arrival. You'd bonded over missing food from home and the struggles of adjusting to life as newly minted American girls. 

Then she'd started dating your older brother, Vis and you really became family. 

"Absolutely not." She insisted, shaking her head as she took the dress from your hands. "Your mother would kill me. Then your brother would kill me again."

"Not true!" You promised, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to look at you. "They would kill me first and you'd have plenty of time to run!" 

Your jutted your lip out, giving her your best version of puppy dog eyes, the same ones you used to get permission to go to the dance in the first place. 

Wanda stared deadpan, completely unmoved by your efforts. 

"Ugh!" You groaned, "please Wanda. It's my first night out since we moved here and I want to make an impression."

"These aren't the kind of boys you need to worry about that with." Wanda tried to appease you, "you already know most of them. The ones you don't know are for a reason."

"Oh Wanda enough!" You groaned, "They're just boys."

"Boys who don't like anyone different from them. Remember that." She narrowed her eyes, "just stay to our side of the gym will you?"

You sighed, but nodded. "Fine." 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from you and taking a seat at her sewing machine with the dress still in her hand. She stretched it out on the table in front of her, assessing the seams and feeling them between her fingers. Then with a sigh, she spoke. "Two inches off the hem, that's it." 

Your squeal surely echoed down the hallway, loud enough make Wanda jump in her seat.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" You giggled, running over to squeeze a hug around her shoulders. "You are the bestest friend a girl could ask for."

"I am your only friend." She reminded you, licking the end of her thread before pulling it through the needle. 

"My only friend who will also take two inches off the neckline?" You poked, giggling all the while.

Wanda threw you a glare over her machine, reaching into her bag and pulling it some ribbons. 

"Don't push, I could make it longer just as easily." 

"No!" You panicked, shaking your head. "Two inches is perfect! Nothing else that is wonderful thank you Wanda." 

He lips curled into a smile, a little laugh falling past her lips. 

You sat in silence while she worked, mindlessly playing with your hair while she toiled over the old fabric. What necklace would you wear? Perhaps mother would let you borrow one of hers, or even a bangle for your wrist. Oh the possibilities were endless. 

Perhaps you would meet a boy, someone your brother doesn't know. Someone who would see a woman and not just the little girl he had declared off limits the moment you touched ground in this city. 

Wanda finished the dress with a triumph "Aha!" Happily sliding it off her sewing machine and holding it up for you see. 

The hem was shorter, probably closer to two and a half inches. A small mercy you immediately threw her a grateful smile for. Then your eyes darted to the neckline, while she hadn't lowered it, she'd squared off the neckline. What had previously been a round neck with a sweet bow in the center was now a square neck free of any frills. It was womanly, undeniably so. 

Finally you noticed the pièce de résistance sitting at the waist. 

There against the fabric, shining bright against the white dress was a beautiful red ribbon. It was a near perfect match to the one you'd bought for your hair. A completely innocent way to highlight all the curves you often had to hide. 

"It's perfect!" You gasped, reaching out to touch it, running your fingers over the ribbon in disbelief. "Oh Wanda thank you!" 

Wanda smiled, standing up and bringing the dress and you in front of the mirror. Then she held it up in front of you, holding the neck where it would fall so you could see. 

"So beautiful." She whispered. "Any boy who doesn't notice you would have to be blind."

You took the dress into your own hands, pressing it to your shoulders and giving it a good twirl. "It's wonderful!" You ran your finger over the new neckline before laying it out over your dress.

"Tonight's the night Wanda I can feel it." You pulled her into a tight hug, whispering the words conspiratorially in her ear. "My whole life changes tonight."

The gym feels like another world. 

As if a gateway to different life has emptied out onto the waxed floors. The light catches them differently than usual, casting the wooden planks in an amber glow. 

A fifth of rum poured in the punch is just the cherry on top. 

There's a live band is playing on the stage, loud enough to drown out the click of heels on the floor and out of the way enough to nearly be forgotten. 

They're playing Steve's favorite song.

He's late, at least later than he told Bucky he'd be. 

Nearly an hour of debating if he should even come in the first place. A battle fought between loyalty and self-preservation. 

Loyalty won in the end. 

Maybe. 

Steve had spotted Bucky almost immediately, a blur of dark curls holding a on to a spinning blonde. They hadn't stopped since he got there, dancing from one song to the next with hardly a break to breathe. 

So he took root in a corner and waited. Planting himself in the protective shadows of the bleachers. 

It was the same as it had been a few months ago, back when was Steve was alongside them on the floor, a girl to match Bucky's on his arm. Back before his time at the Reform House, before he had been stupid and paid the price. 

It feels like a whole 'nother life now. 

He can't go back, can't lose another six months. 

He can't afford to lose another friend either.

He has to get Bucky to call it off. 

The Strays have been piling in slowly, each group gaining in numbers until the dance floor began to split itself. A gang on each side, a room filled with kids forgotten by the rest of the world. 

It may be neutral territory, but that doesn't mean there isn't still tension. 

It's palpable, static cracking across the divide, threatening a lightning strike every time someone drifts to close to the invisible line. 

Another reason to stay in the shadows.

It changes the way he views the entire room, how it morphs under the weight of this silly feud. He pays extra attention to every grimace, how when Vision lifts his girl Bucky has to do the same. How Bucky tries to throw her even higher. 

It makes Officer Ross stick out like a sore thumb, his frumpy uniform blending blue and black together until he becomes the human approximation of a bruise. 

When you're in the shadows, it makes it that much easier to spot the light.

There, across the gym, is where he sees you. Similarly sidelined, you stand just a hundred feet away at the other end of the bleachers. Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away once it finds you. Like a magnet finally finding its South Pole. The seats are extended, framing you beneath them in a halo and making it so Steve can see straight through. 

You're busy staring at the scene in front of you, a soft smile playing at you lips. Unconsciously swaying to the music with gentle turns of your hips in just enough to make the hem of your dress dance around your knees. 

Steve's heart cracks wide open. The feeling in his gut- the one he's spent all day trying to name- unravels. It floods his chest with warmth and begins to carry his legs in your direction. 

It's everything you had pictured and absolutely nothing like you imagined. 

You're hypnotized by the dancing, the way everyone seems to just know what to do. How skirts flare and skinny shoes refract the light. Every time someone lifts you hold your breath, every time they hit the group you clap. You're enraptured, hypnotized, utterly bewitched. 

You're standing in the corner. All that fuss with Wanda and your hem just for it to be wasted under the bleachers. 

Speaking of Wanda, she's breathless from dancing and yet making no moves to slow down. Her smile is the brightest it gets, all teeth and happiness. The smile she only gets around your brother. 

Vis, is well, a vision. The tallest one in the room, he towers over everyone, shoulders set with his arms drawn tight around Wanda. He's smiling too, it's your mother's smile, her cheeks and the nose you both share. His skin glows under the lights like this, casting him ethereal. It's the same shade as yours, and yet you somehow doubt the same effect is being cast on you. 

Still, it's every bit as magical as yours imagination advertised.

Wanda spins again, her dress fanning out around her. She looks every ounce the woman you so desperately want to be. Effortless, sexy, poised at every turn, and loved. 

The boys are- well, boys. They cower in the corners and nurse the same glass of punch. They flash you a smile but never for too long, lest your brother see. 

You aren't sure how Vis came to be so important here, what he did to earn the respect of so many of his peers. For some reason every boy on the block would do anything he asked. Including but not limited to, staying away from his baby sister. 

One dance. That was what you'd managed. 

More accurately half a dance. Peter, the nice boy from a few apartments down. He'd been brave enough to approach, ask you to dance and taken your hand in his sweaty palm. 

Then he'd scampered like a kicked puppy when he realized your brother was there. 

So here you stand along the bleachers, enjoying their protection and the view. Even if you weren't out there it was still exciting to watch everyone. How the couples move like they're anticipating each-others movements. The way they slip into a language spoken only with their bodies. 

The more you watch the more you want to know what it feels like. 

Love.

You think about love a lot, you're surrounded by it after all. 

You see it in your brother and Wanda, the way she softens his edges in a way no one else can. It's in your parents, most of the time. Sometimes it's across the street, between the old couple from Ireland who sit on their stoop and feed the pigeons. It's in one of the girls you work with, Natasha. In the letters she reads you from her beau back in Russia. 

You covet it, lean in closer when they speak as if you can catch it like a cold. 

You feel it breathing down your neck, waiting to strike. Your heart is open, you just need someone to walk into it. 

Or stare into it.

You feel Steve's eyes on you before you find him. The heat of a gaze and that intangible feeling that you're being watched. It breaks the spell that the dancers had cast on you, turning your head as if with a magnet. An undeniable pull to look.

Steve recognizes you before he even knows your name. 

Not from seeing you around, or because you came into the shop while he was working. No, he'd remember that.

It's something deeper, like his body- like his soul knows yours.

When your eyes meet his it's as if he turns to air, disembodied and floating toward you. 

The entire room disappears, fades into the back of his mind. All that's left the thump of the music beneath his feet and you standing about ten feet away from him.

He's not sure who gets there first, but the middle finds you only a foot apart, toe to toe and locked on each other's gaze.

You're stunning. 

Stunning doesn't even really do you justice, as if you've been carved from the likeness of Aphrodite herself. 

Angelic is more apt. Soft curves emphasized by the cut of your dress. The swell of your hips and delicate outline haloed by the gym lights. 

There's a curve in your lips, a soft smile that threatens to blind him with the light exude. He's hooked. 

His feet move first, one half step in your direction then a pivot. It's a poor copycat of what the couples are doing just on the other side of the bleachers. 

You fall right into step anyway, smile breaking even further as you match his pose. It brings you chest to chest, hardly an inch them. 

Then a spin, each of you carefully walking around the other, ensuring no loss of distance. 

The music finally fades back in, triumphant and joyous as tensions continue to grow in the rest of the room. 

It gives Steve the courage to touch. First the palm of his hand, laying over top of yours as you turn it upwards to meet him. Your skin is hot against his, electricity bubbling between you. 

You're burning, a fire lit under the weight of his stare.

You've never felt more alive. 

You've hardly known the boy five minutes and you already never want to feel anything else.

He could holds the entire world in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and all you can see is yourself.

Your tongue slips with a drop of your name, soft and breathlessly shared. As if talking too much will break the spell. 

He stops moving, his fingers slowly lacing through yours. 

"Steve." He whispers. His voice matches the rest of him, soft but unyielding. 

"Stevie?" You repeat, dragging the syllables along your tongue as you try to get it right. 

"Yeah." He whispers, neck craning and bringing his face an inch closer to yours. "Stevie."

Stevie is like the men in the movies, broad and sturdy. There's a beauty in his face you didn't know was possible in real life, in the cut of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

His lips, now that you've looked at them you can't look away. They part just enough for air to pass, pink and pretty and you can't get over the way they shaped around your name. 

You want to feel them, want to know how they would press against yours. You want to know every kind of kiss with him. The hungry ones, the slow ones, the chaste ones and hello-goodbye ones. 

The first one is at the top of your list though. 

Steve isn't much better, his palm is turning clammy in your grasp. Nerves spiking the longer you hold his gaze. 

You laugh, sudden and unbridled. It's like a songbird, sweet and natural. Like it's one of the worlds most natural wonders. 

No wonder he gave in. 

The kiss is tentative, barely more than lips pressed to lips. It's a test, making sure neither of you erupt into flames. 

It only survives that way for a moment, then the damn breaks. 

Your hands grab first, reaching up for fistfuls of shirt and using the leverage to pull his mouth firmer against yours.

Steve's are similarly unrestrained, wrapping around your waist and bringing your chests flush as well. 

Together you cross a line that was drawn by people in the very same room. You tear it apart and dance on its memory, stomping it into the ground with completely disregard of everything it stands for. 

A war between boys means nothing in the face of a love orchestrated by fate. 

That's what you have between your hands, a boy who you believe with every confidence was made for you. As his hands slot over your hips, his nose tilting and falling into place along yours, you're certain he was made for you too. 

Steve's kissed plenty of girls, he never really understood the appeal. Kissing was a means to an end, a bridge he had to cross to get to the next step of intimacy. Girls liked kissing, so he would kiss to appease them. It was never something he felt the need to do.

With his lips pressed to yours Steve already feels like he needs to kiss you for the rest of his life. 

It's softer than kisses he's known before, there's no rushing or wandering hands. There's no room for the voice in his head to be bored or complain about lipstick getting on his skin. 

He's consumed by it. His chest is air and his head is empty and all that exists is you in his arms. 

Neither of you hear the stop in the music, the sudden cut off or the way the trombone flails with one last note before falling to silence. 

Neither of you hear the shouting, the raised voices and thrown insults. 

Neither of you hear the gasps, the sound of Officer Ross pulling his baton from his belt. 

Neither of you hear the footsteps as everyone starts to scatter.

There's a hand at the back of your dress, Wanda's manicured fingers scratching your skin as she pulls you back and out of Steve's arms. 

When it finally comes back into focus, the gym is chaos. Vis stands at the end of the bleachers, yelling for you and Wanda to hurry. There's something about getting you home, getting you both safe. 

Your feet move, walking backwards as Wanda loosens her grip and takes you by the hand instead. 

The look in Vis' eyes is enough for Steve to recognize what line he crossed. It weren't than the similarities between you would be. Nevertheless his heart pounds, any reservations he had for him disappearing. 

Steve takes a few steps after you before remembering himself. Bucky is out there yelling his name and he doesn't even care. By the time he stops staring at the space you left behind, the gym is nearly empty. All that's left is the sound of rubber soles on the floor and distant footsteps 

Steve searches the streets for an hour.

With your name etches on his tongue he shouts it down every alley, cries it toward every open window. 

It's nearly eleven when he finally finds you. 

A silhouette glows from a two stories above, soft yellow light escaping around it and filtering onto where he stands on the pavement.

Steve knows it in an instant. 

You can hear his smile when he calls your name again. 

It bounces off of brick walls, shakes the puddles and threatens to wake your neighbors.

Your head snaps in his direction, a mix of excitement to see him and panic at the risk of getting caught. With as much restraint as you can bear, you race towards the window sill. 

The glass creaks with a groan, pushing out into the fire escape as you swing it up and open. 

"Stevie!" You gasp, heart jumping at the sight of him. It's only been a few hours but your aching heart immediately eases. "How did you find me?"

Steve's at the bottom of your fire escape in an instant, climbing up two rungs at a time. He doesn't slow down until he on the platform below you, stopping at the bottom of the steps just as you move to stand at the top of them. 

"I've been to every building south of the waterfront." He says, "I looked for your light."

"You found it." You affirm, smiling breaking. "Found me." 

You both move at the same time, meeting in the middle of the steps and wrapping your arms around each other. 

Steve's arms close around your waist, encircling you in his embrace just like at the gym. You do the same, squeezing him even tighter this time. 

You breathe him in, deeper than you'd been able to before. He smells like summer air, a heavy musk mixed with cheap cologne. You want to bottle it. Spray it on your pillow and pretend it's his chest. 

"I know it's silly but-" 

"I missed you too." Steve whispers. He did, from the moment you left his arms a chill had settled over his bones. Like when anxiety curdles in your stomach, or a fever burns behind your eyelids. An utterly physical reaction to the lack of you. 

He bends his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he pulls away just enough to read your face, taking a step down so you're eye level with him. "I just had to see you." 

You curl a hand over his cheek, resting it in the swell of his jawline. "I'm glad you came." You promise, using your other hand to card through his hair. "I didn't get to give you..." you trail off struggling to find the english version of the word. "Uh sleep kiss? Happy night kiss?"

Steve watches you shrink into the insecurity, heart aching as you tense for his reaction. 

"A goodnight kiss." Steve says it slowly, careful not to sound cruel. 

"Yes." You breathe a sigh of relief, repeating him in your own accent. "a goodnight kiss." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning into your touch like a dog. You wonder if you scratched behind his ear would he pant? 

"Mhm." You hum, shuffling forward until only your heels are on the step. You like being this height you realize, you can see his face better. Especially with the moonlight, you can make out all the beauty in his features. The way his blue eyes shine, the long curl of his lashes. There's a curve in his nose, a gentle swell you want to trace with your finger. 

Steve stares up at you, just an inch shorter now, but the height different makes his stomach flip. His hand fans out over your lower back, both in possession and to help you balance on the step. 

He wants to speak, to say something clever and charming the was Bucky would. They way he would have just a few months ago. The words run dry though, nothing left but earnestness and the urge to beg.

"What did I do to deserve that?" He asks, licking his lips without even thinking of it. 

His eyes dart to yours, just as hypnotizing as they were at the gym. Maybe even more so now that he knows what they feel like. 

"You were handsome." You nod, leaning in until your nose touches his. Your chest rests against his own, leaning your weight onto his body. "Also kind."

Steve takes it without complaint, leaning just as hard into you. He can feel your breath fan his lips, how it hitches when he juts his chin just a little. 

"Than thank goodness I found you." 

Distance disappears, another kiss and it's exactly the same but also completely different than the first one. 

The world doesn't disappear this time, instead it reorients itself around you. The moon shines with its approval, the night bird sing with envy. Even the crickets chirp in time with your heart. There's no threat of being caught, no tensions seeping between bleachers and staining the moment. 

It's just his lips against yours, their sweet movement and the way they seem to be trying to memorize yours. 

Steve's a good kisser, you think. I could kiss him forever.

Steve is similarly wrecked, pulling back from you with reverence painting his vision.

"Tonight," he breathes, holding you in place with his gaze. "When I saw you it was like the entire world disappeared."

You can't help but melt, spine turning to dripping butter under his touch. "All I saw was you." You whisper, fingers curling through his hair. "All I see is you." 

"So you'll see only me?" Steve asks, nerves shaking his voice despite the way you're currently wrapped in each other. 

"Only you," you promise. "Forever."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, more needy. It's relief bottled with want and then shook up like a soda pop. You're both bubbling over, nerves fizzing with love and sugar.

"When can I see you again?" Steve asks the question before he's even completely pulled again, lips moving even as they still touch yours. 

You giggle, unabashed and joyful. "You haven't even left me yet and you're already worrying about when you're going to see me again?" 

He nods, instant and insistent. "I don't want there to be any uncertainty about this, about us." His hand cradles your cheek, swiping his thumb over it. "I refuse to leave this to chance."

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, the feeling in your chest so pure you can't see past it. 

"Tomorrow." You tell him, "I work at the dress shop over on main. Come by at four, just after we close." 

Steve kisses you one more time, less a kiss and more so a pressing of smiles. Teeth clink and lips miss and it's just as beautiful as the one in the gym. 

"Tomorrow." He agrees. "At the dress shop. I'll be there." He pushes onto his toes, kissing your forehead. 

Steve detaches himself from you slowly, letting his touch linger as much as possible. Then he backs down the steps, eyes never leaving yours. 

"Goodnight." He whispers, blue eyes catching in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Stevie." You whisper, backing up until you're finally on the platform with your bedroom windows. 

Your father calls one more time from inside, this time closer than before. You allow yourself one last look, one final sweep over his shoulders and account of his mussed hair. You want to remember him exactly how he is tonight, the version of him that exists in this moment. The one that is utterly and completely yours.

"Goodnight." He whispers again. 

You climb back through your window, reluctantly putting the barrier of brick back between you. Through the grates you answer one more time. "Goodnight Stevie." 

The window clicks shut and your curtains are drawn just in time. Your father coming inside to lecture you for still being awake. 

Outside Steve stares at your window his entire descent, as if he still can't believe that you're real on the other side of it. 

Tomorrow, he'd see you again. He'd hold you again. He can only imagine how slowly time will move in the meantime. Whatever it brings though, nothing will change the blooming in his chest.

Bucky comes in like a storm.

The slam of the door, a loud ring of the bell, both matched by stomping foot steps. 

"Steve." He yells, voice bouncing off the walls. "Steve!"

Steve nearly hits his head rushing up from the cellar, "What- Jesus Buck what is it?"

His friend looks even worse than yesterday, like he hasn't slept since before the dance. He's still in the same clothes, dress shirt muddies and pants torn. He's out of breath and wild-eyed. 

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Bucky prods. "Been lookin' for you everywhere."

Steve shakes his head, "I had something to take care of." 

Bucky laughs, full of mirth and disbelief. 

"Something more important than us?" He accuses.

"Us?"

"The Wolves- for fucks sake Steve what the hell?" 

The Wolves. Steve remembers with a grimace, the very thing that brought him to you and threatens to take him away. A worse thought follows. The Rumble. 

"I can't be apart of it Bucky, like I told you I'm not in that life anymore."

"I ain't asking." Bucky bites back, his answer immediate. "This is bigger than us Steve."

"No." Steve holds firm, "It's not just me anymore."

Bucky freezes, face crumbling as if he's been stabbed. The words hang in the air between them, building a bridge but already flooding the river beneath it. Forgiveness and distance created in the same breath. 

When the moment breaks there's a smile, the pop of his friend's chin dimple followed by a clasp of his hand on his shoulder. 

"You dog." Bucky whispers. "Who is she?"

Steve freezes with the realization that, his oldest, best friend would never understand. 

So he shakes his head, lets himself smile but give nothing else away. "It's new."

"C'mon that's all you're gonna give me?" Bucky groans, "you're smiling like the cat who ate the damn canary."

"I don't kiss and tell." Steve insists, shooting his friend a look. "Anymore."

Bucky rolls his eyes, holding a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. 

"Wow I see how it is." He laughs, "good for you man. You deserve it."

There's an honesty in the way he says it, something that throws Steve off a little. There's weight behind his implication. 'It' could be a-lot of things. Love? A future? Something new?

The memory of Bucky's news flashes through his mind, the fast approaching deadline. 

"Is this really how you want to spend your last few days in the city?" Steve asks, daring to prod. "Fightin' and looking over your shoulder?"

Bucky sighs and Steve waits for his defense. Waits for the anger or raised voice. Only it never comes.

"We always said we wanted to make things better." Bucky says, "that the Wolves were our way to do that." 

Sure, that had been how it started when they were kids. A couple of preteens wandering the city and looking for ways to keep busy and maybe make a little money. Helping old ladies cross the street, shining shoes outside the barbershop, the summer they ran groceries at the farmers market. The ethos had always been the leave their city better than they found it.

When had it devolved to this?

"Yeah, I remember." Steve says, nodding along as the memory plays. "What's that got to do with all this?"

"They're changing things, it's all so different with them here."

"Different doesn't mean back Buck-"

"They're pushing us out!" Bucky exclaims, anger flashing across his face. "Taking what used to be ours and leavin' nothing left for us." 

"Its not that simple-"

Bucky shakes his head, cutting Steve off. "Isn't it though?"

His words hang between them, heavy and mean. Bucky's anger falters in the silence, resigning itself to something more bleak.

Bucky rolls his shoulders back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and averting his eyes to the ground. "I wanna leave knowing I put this behind us." He shrugs. "All of us."

The last bit is pointed at Steve. A not so subtle reminder that try as he might to escape, he's still in this worlds orbit. 

"What time is it?" Steve asks, finally caving. 

Bucky sighs, "Midnight at the docks." 

"Hands or knives?"

"Hands." Bucky confirms, "each side is picking their best man." 

Steve feels his surprise paint his face. Bucky never chooses to shrink a fight, he's always been more of a strength in numbers leader than one to honor a fair fight. 

"I'll be there." Steve promises. 

Bucky scoffs, "like hell you will be."

"What?" 

Bucky shakes his head, "you're not gonna be anywhere near this you hear me?" 

His voice is firm, commanding in a way Steve's never heard before. A solemn reminder how much his friend was forced to change in his absence. 

"You got a girl now, a chance to make something better for yourself." 

"But Buck-" Steve starts, "what if you need backup?" He's not sure why he's pushing, why now that it's been taken off the table he's suddenly crushed with guilt at the thought of not being there. 

"Don't worry," Bucky promises, and then as if he's just stretching Bucky lifts his arm over his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of skin and a handgun tucked into his waist band. "I'll be ready if things go south." 

Steve doesn't have time to react, Bucky slapping him on the shoulder and slipping out of the shop.

Even with Bucky's blessing, his heart feels pulled in two different directions. One half tugging him toward you, placing a future into his lap. The other one is tangled with loyalty, the overwhelming guilt of abandoning the family he created. 

When morning breaks you can't help but feel like the whole world should be as happy as you are you.

The sun spills joy onto the streets, the birds sing a song perfectly in-tune, and there is nothing that could possibly ruin it. 

You feel different than you did yesterday. Like your skin as grown thicker, your hair shinier. It's as if you went to bed a girl and woke up a woman, a beautiful one at that. 

Every mirror you pass it sings it back to you, each reflection you don't see yourself, you see the girl who has stolen a boys heart. Even if you gave yours in return it still fills you with a giddy thrill. 

The work that typically bores you can't even sway your emotion. The prick of a needle in your finger does no damage. When you spend an hour scrubbing the floors the ache in your back never comes. 

It's as if a cloud as come and replaced your body, filling you with light and promise. 

"What has gotten into you today?" One of the girls asks, laughing as she catches you staring into a mirror for the third time. "Even Narcissus was not so self obsessed."

You ignore her, not even bothering to listen. 

"Wanda do you know what this is all about?" She asks. 

Your friend hums from across the shop, a dress in her lap that hardly spares a glance as she answers with a knowing smirk.

"Haven't you heard? She's in love."

The shop erupts, half a dozen voices abandoning their tasks in favor of crowding you instead. 

You don't even have to temptation to deny it, no shyness or insecurity to hide behind.

"Is it true?" 

"Who is he?"

"How long?" 

Their questions come flying, everyone speaking at once and leaving no room for you to even try and answer. 

"He's sweet." Is what you settle on. 

"And handsome." Wanda adds, unmoved from her own project as she pulls the needle through a seam. 

You throw her a dirty look, only have meaning it. 

The girls squeal around you. "Our baby is all grown up!" One of the coos. 

"Did you use protection?" Another one prods, more accusatory than excited.

"Where is he from?" 

The last one stings, it settles uncomfortably in your stomach. He's from here. You think to yourself, something you decidedly are not. Something that is blatantly obvious and yet Steve didn't even care to ask about.

"It's not like that," you assure them. "We haven't- not yet anyway." You promise. "It's new."

A chorus of 'ooohs' echo through the room.

They start to disperse, one by one leaving you be as they realize they won't get anymore answers. 

"What did he do to get you all smiley anyway?" The last one asks, "You're practically glowing." 

You shake your head, not bothering to hide your giddiness. "He just," you think about it for the moment, struggling to find the right word. "Makes me feel pretty." 

She nods, understanding. 

"We should all be so lucky." She whispers, nudging you with one last smile before she too goes back to her work load. 

You only get a few moments of peace, a chance to check the clock and do the math one more time on just how long it will be until you see him again.

"It's a fair question." Wanda startles you, not having moves from her chair.

The rest of the girls are occupied enough to not even hear her. 

"What is?" You ask, finding dress to mend and taking a seat beside her. 

Wanda fixes you with a look, one of those all-knowing ones she reserves for special conversations. 

"Where is he from?" She asks. The question isn't pointed, no edge or teasing. It's more like when a mother shares a worry, like she's propping you up to a learn a lesson. 

You shake your head. "Here." You admit, "he's one of them." 

Wanda stops all together, hand freezing with the needle still pinched between her fingers. 

You panic, rushing to better explain. "He's not really though, at least I don't think he is." 

Wanda's voice is much too steady when she does speak. "You want that kind of trouble?" 

Protectiveness creeps into your veins, spidering across your chest. "He's not like the rest of them." You assure her, "he's gentle. And kind."

"And you've known him a day." She reminds you. "If Vis heard about this…" 

"It feels like longer!" You insist. You've turned to face her now, entire body shifted towards hers as you try to get through. "Vis doesn't need to know, not yet." 

You put down your work, taking one of her wrists in your hand as you plea. "Please Wanda, just give me sometime to enjoy this before the rest of the world decides I don't deserve to."

She sighs, closing her eyes with frustration but nodding nonetheless. When she looks at you again her familiar fondness is there, the one that predates her relationship with your brother and goes back to when you were just each-others first friends. 

"Fine." She agrees. 

Too happy to help it you reach over and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a tight squeeze. "Thank you Wanda." 

She nods, pushing you off with a smile that gives her away. "C'mon back to work." She waves her hand over the dress on your lap. 

You pick it up happily returning to your stitching. An anxiety that had bubbled in your chest sufficiently quelled.

There's only a few minutes of peace though, before you dear friend speaks again. 

"You should know though," she begins, a heavy sigh at the top. "There's going to be a rumble tonight." 

"A rumble?" You ask, heart dropping. 

"The Strays and the Wolves." She reminds you, "Vis wants to settle this once and for all." 

"Wanda they'll kill each other." Your spark dims, terrifying visions of them all covered in blood and dirt conjuring themselves. Your brother beaten and bruised within an inch of his life. You've seen him like that before, you can hardly bear the thought of seeing it again.

"Maybe." Wanda says, "probably not." 

You sit with her words. Letting their weight rest across your shoulders. 

"It's not your brother I'd be worried about anyway."

Stevie.

Would he be there? Could he stop it if he is? What could possibly be worth the torn knuckles and black eyes? 

Yes, you think. I'll have to ask him to stop it. For both their sakes.

"You're going to have a busy night then." You tell her, doing your best to push the fear aside. "Why don't you let me lock up tonight?" 

Wanda drops her needle once again, looking toward you with a raised brow. "You hate locking up. You think it's creepy when you're alone."

"I'll be okay." You assure her.

"Ah." She breathes, her smirk shifting to something more mischievous and knowing. "You won't be alone."

You don't dignify her with an answer, or more aptly a lie. 

"Fine." She agrees, "you can lock up." 

You have to bite your lip to stop yet another squeal from escaping. 

Steve's knock comes at exactly ten minutes after four. Eight minutes after your last customer left. Four minutes after Wanda and the rest of the girls slipped out for the day. Two minutes after you flipped the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed.'

He feels sheepish, standing on the street and waiting for you to answer with baited breath and his heart in his hands. Also flowers, a little bundle he bought from one of the corner shops on his way over. Mostly baby's breath it smells delicious and looks as delicate as the dress you wore to the dance.

Like a fool, he even dressed up. One of his nicer button downs, one with no stains on the cuff or loose threads.

You're still in your uniform when you answer, apron pulled tight around your waist. 

He steps inside the second you open the door, laying his hand over yours on the knob to push it shut behind him.

The air in the store goes still once it clicks in the lock. 

"Hello." He whispers. 

"Hi." You beam, both of your hands still resting on the door. 

Steve's other hand hand flexes, causing the bouquet in his grip to crinkle. 

"Are those for me?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you take notice of them. 

Steve flusters, pink dusting his cheeks as he remembers himself. 

"Yes." He passes them over, a clumsy stretch as he all but forced them into your hands.

"They're beautiful Stevie." You hum as you take a deep breath, sticking your nose between the petals and closing your eyes. "Thank you." 

Steve doesn't answer, too distracted by how your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. 

Your hand gently pulls out from beneath his, walking over to one of the stations and putting the flowers down next to your things. 

"We don't have long." You warn him, "Wanda's expecting me home by five. She wants us all to eat dinner together before-" 

You cut yourself, voice trailing with what's unsaid. 

Steve catches your shift anyway, sighing and walking further into the shop with you. 

"Before the rumble?" He finishes for you.

You nod, a short one that makes your nerves clear to him. 

"I'm not going."

Your head snaps up at that, eyes flaring with surprise and something else.

"Stevie you have to go." You insist, moving until you're toe to toe with him. "You have to go and you have to stop it."

Steve's heart drops. 

"I don't know if I could- even if I went Bucky and Vis are both set." He shakes his head, petting a hand over your hair as if to soothe. "It's going to happen." 

You pull away, stepping back just out of reach. "You have to at least try." 

"What makes you think I can stop them?" He asks, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Not with you, no with himself. With the twist in his gut and the fact that he knows he'll go. If you're asking? Steve would do anything if the request came from your lips.

You hum, as if thinking of your answer. Slowly, you close the distance again, toeing your way closer until your hands find his. "You're kind." You start, "you have a good heart, people listen to those who have a good heart." 

Steve's unconvinced, but the look in your eye is steadfast. You're not trying to telling him anything untrue, you're simply trying to make him see himself as you do. 

"Please Stevie." You try one more time, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout. "I don't want anyone hurt." 

Steve bends like a wave to your tide, nodding before he can find another excuse. 

If you can see that good in him, than perhaps it really is there. 

"Fine." He whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "But only because it is you asking."

You brighten, l if that is even possible. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

A chaste press of lips follows, casual familiar contact. You take it as if his lips belong to you, and as far as Steve is concerned, they do. 

You pull back just as quickly, moving to fuss with something else in the store as you finish closing up.

The picture paints itself in front of him. The store replaced with a house, something small but homey, covered in decorations and colors and something distinctly you. 

There's dinner on the stove, fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, and open windows letting in the sun. There's bird song instead of cars honking, city noise substituted for something more suburban. 

It feels tangible, inevitable. 

You stop what you're doing, turning to look at him with a shy small and a small "What?" on your lips.

Steve walks over to you, taking you in his arms and this time stealing a deeper kiss. 

You melt into him, spine curving as you arch into his touch. It's like molten lava seeping through your bones, bigger than the butterflies you've always been told to expect.

"What was that for?" You gasp when he finally lets you go.

Steve smiles, baring all his teeth and dimples to boot. 

"Just saw our future for a minute there." He whispers.

"Yeah?" You hum, arms encircling his waist. "What was it like?"

"You being there when I come home." Steve starts, throat bobbing as he speaks. "A ring on your finger and your things in our house." 

You bring your hands between your chests, making a show of sliding a ring off of your right hand and onto your left. It's a simple band, a gift from your mother on your eighteenth birthday. You hold it up for Steve to see, pretending to assess it yourself. 

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yeah." Steve says, taking your hand in his and bringing the ring to his lips. "Like that." He places a kiss over the cool metal, leaving tingles across your entire hand in their wake. 

"What else?" You ask, voice hardly audible.

Steve pretends to think, holding your gaze as he pulls the moment out between you. 

"No fire escapes, no sirens or gangs." He continues, "Just a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood."

"Sounds nice." You hum. 

Steve nods, leaning down to lave one more soft kiss over your lips. 

You're the one who deepens it, pushing onto your tiptoes and threading your hands through his hair.

When you let him go Steve looks dazed, eyes glossy and lips even pinker than usual. 

"I keep thinking about our wedding," you confess. "Working here, surrounded by these dresses all day." You half gesture around you, the dozens of white dresses littering the walls. 

Steve looks around, finally taking note of them. 

"I think about who we would invite, who would be your man of honor-"

"Bucky of course." Steve butts in.

"Wanda would be my matron of honor, I mean I can't imagine her and Vis won't be married before the end of the year."

"So a spring wedding for us?" Steve asks. 

"Yes!" You agree excitedly. "With wildflowers and baby's breath and a great big cake."

"Who will officiate?"

"Officiate?" You ask, head tilting. It makes you look so cute Steve has to push down the urge to kiss your nose.

"Who will marry us?"

You nod, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "I'll leave that up to my parents, I'm sure they have strong feelings about it."

"I don't care who does it," Steve breathes. "As long as they tie me to you."

"So you, Steve. Take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You ask.

"I do." He whispers, "I take you sick, I take you hungry, I take your poor, I take you rich. I take you as long as I live."

Steve kisses you again and you think that you'll need to buy more chap-stick if he keeps this up. Not that you mind in the slightest. 

When your heart has stopped hammering, Steve finally lets you go long enough to check the time. 

"It's late." You tell him begrudgingly. "I have to get home."

Steve nods, understanding. "Bucky's waiting for me too."

You sigh, stealing one last embrace. "Come by tonight? After it's done?"

"Leave your window open." 

The Wolves are on a warpath. 

By the time Steve catches up to them, sense is impossible to find. 

With any entire day left to simmer their anger has completely bubbled over. 

Bucky's the worst of it, insisting he'll be the one to fight. 

Steve's not convinced he's even planning to try and win. There's a look in his eyes, something dark and hopeless. He's decided he's a dead man either way.

Still, every time he feels the urge to run, when the voice in his head tells him its pointless, he sees your face. He sees the look in your eyes, the way you think he's good. 

He's determined to be worthy of it. 

Vis is more subtle in his anger. 

There's a rigidness in his posture, a careful control Bucky has never known. A skill Steve would desperately like to learn. 

In his hands is a switch knife. 

He spins it around, passing it over his knuckles and spinning it between long fingers. 

It moves like a piece of him, an extension of an already lethal weapon. 

"Thought we said hands." Bucky's voice echoes into the night, bouncing off shipping containers.

"Was just warming up." Vis responds, voice level as he passes the blade off to someone else. 

His words bristle through the Wolves, the hairs on every one of their necks standing on edge. 

I should say something. Steve thinks, I need to say something.

"Who fights?" Vis asks, breaking the tension. He holds out his knuckles and cracks them. "I have work tomorrow and would prefer to finish this sooner than later."

Two voices ring out. 

"I'll finish this." Bucky says just as Steve calls out-

"We don't need to do this."

Every head snaps toward him, both sides united in their reaction. 

"No." Bucky starts.

"I think we do." Vis finishes. "I would prefer to fight the one who kisses my sister though." 

A gasp echoes through the Wolves, friends turning to him with disgust. 

Bucky's gaze is the worst of all, thick with betrayal. Despite it, he still looks back to Vis. 

"No," He insists. "He's not one of us. He won't fight."

Arms encircle themselves around Steve's, holding him in place. 

Protests start to fall in a panic, pleas for them to stop, to think this through. Bucky's name slips like a beg, desperate to make his friend listen. 

A circle forms around them, Steve held just out of reach, unable to break loose, unable to do anything but watch.

Both men square up, Vis' lean build and Bucky's broad shoulders. Each with their fists raised protectively in front of their faces. 

Bucky strikes first, always too eager for his own good. 

It's a miss, Vis dodging it with ease and countering with a punch directly to Bucky's abdomen. It lands with a thud, folding Bucky's position. 

Bucky's quick to recover, dodging a second hit and landing one square on Vis' jaw. 

They trade blows for long enough that time begins to drag. The noise in Steve's ears reduced to the rush of his blood and then sickening sound of fists and flesh.

Then Bucky gains the upper hand, a loud crack as his knuckles collide with Vis' cheek. 

The taller man crumbles, knees giving out and sending him straight to the concrete. 

It should be enough, should be the end. 

But Bucky's never known when to stop.

He clambers over his crumpled body, pushing him flat onto his back and laying another punch, then another, then a third.

He keeps going, until his fists are covered in Vis' blood. 

Steve hears himself yelling, throat raw with Bucky's name. 

"Bucky you're gonna kill him!" He finally manages, voice ragged.

By some miracle it gets through to him, Bucky turning to face Steve. 

As quickly as Bucky turns, Vis rallies.

One of the Stray's passes him a switch blade, the knife already drawn in.

It happens to fast, not even enough time to get the warning out.

The knife sinks into Bucky's stomach with a dull thud. 

The entire world tilts on it's axis. 

Steve finally breaks free, numb feet rushing forward to where his friend lies on the concrete. 

"Bucky!" He cries, lifting his head into his lap. "Buck you're gonna be okay, yeah? Just hang on buddy." 

Bucky's croaking, blood bubbling up over his lips. He gurgles, like he's trying to speak only nothing comes out. His hand lifts, covered in his own blood. It touches Steve's face, just for a moment. 

Then he goes slack.

In an instant his skin goes gray, eyes glazing over as all the light from them disappears.

Steve's heart stops. It freezes in his chest, seized by grief and fear and worst of all anger. 

He remembers this morning at the shop. The smile on Bucky's face, the familar warmth of his friend. 

The gun in his waistband. 

Steve doesn't think about you when he reaches for it. 

He looks down at his best-friends body, and does the only thing he can think of.

He points it directly at Vis' chest.

The sun is nearly up when Steve finally comes.

The sky has started to turn blue, the first sign of morning peeking from the horizon. He slips inside your window, nearly falling over when he bends to fit his head in. 

You're at his side immediately, arms throwing themselves around his neck. 

"Stevie!" You whisper, sighing into his neck with relief. You wait for his arms to wrap around you, for their comfort. 

Only they never come. 

Slowly you pull away, confusion etched between your eyebrows.

"Stevie?" You whisper. 

Finally, you take him in.

He looks awful, face gaunt and grey. His clothes are torn, the knees of his jeans ripped and bruises in the crook of his arm. That's not what makes you stumble backwards.

He's covered in blood. 

It's splattered across his face, smeared along his cheek bones and dusting his blonde hair. It's all over his clothes, covering his hands and-

He has a gun. 

It's limp in his palm, hand loose around the grip. 

Your blood runs cold, a sudden and very sure feeling in your gut that something isn't right.

"What did you do?" You whisper. 

Steve lets out a tortured noise, something almost resembling an apology. 

He falls, knees giving out and bringing him down to your floor. The gun falls away, pushed to the side by his own hand. 

"What happened?" You try again, tentatively coming closer as you speak. "Stevie what happened? Vis hasn't come home yet and there have been cops up and down the street all night."

You get onto your knees in front of him, and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Steve hiccups, tears covering his cheeks, turning dried blood in pink streaks. 

"I couldn't stop them-" he gasps, "I tried I promise I tried, but they just wouldn't listen." 

You can hardly make out what he says between breaths, the words coming out wet and messy. 

"It's okay," you try to sooth him, maneuvering until your pressed behind his back, pulling his head against your chest. "Sssh, it's okay."

Steve falls apart in your arms, broken cries and gasps pressed into your skin. 

"Bucky…" He whispers, "he's gone."

Your heart aches at the way he says, as if absorbing his own pain. 

"Oh Stevie." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Steve croaks, "no I don't deserve it." 

You feel yourself tense. 

"What do you mean?"

Steve goes rigid in your arms, his tears still rolling down his cheeks and under his jaw. He reaches up to you with shaking hands, wrapping them around your forearm where it sits over his chest. 

"Vis had a knife and Bucky didn't see it." Steve manages to whisper. "I didn't mean to but it was like I couldn't think."

You eyes flash back to the gun in the corner of your room. 

Your ears reply the cry you heard from Wanda's apartment, the wail you blamed on someone else. 

Your brother still isn't home. 

"No." You whisper, shaking your head as soon as the thought makes itself known.

"No you didn't." You beg, tears already brimming over your lashes. "Tell me you didn't."

Steve turns in your arms and this time its him who holds your face. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs, "I'm so so sorry."

Your heart splinters. 

Grief like you've never known consumes it. 

Like the floor has been pulled out from beneath you and sent you in a spiraling free fall. Or as if someone has ripped off the roof and left you alone in the rain. 

It consumes you fast, tearing into your soul and taking a piece you know you can never get back. 

It's wearying. sawing you in half and then placing what's left to dry out. 

"No." You mutter, tears falling fast down your cheeks. "No, no, no, no." Your fists slam into his chest, banging into him with as much strength as you can muster. "Why?" You whimper, tossing the word at him over and over. "Why? Why? Why!" You repeat, until it devolves from a question to a curse.

Steve takes it all, letting you hit, scream, and cry. His hands fall from your cheeks, wrapping around your wrists in loose cuffs. 

He's still weeping, gasping with pain as you take out every wave of your grief on him. 

"It should have been me." Steve says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "It should have been me."

You heart drops, even through the pain you find the room to protest. 

"No!" You whimper, shaking your head. "No I can't-" You break off into a sob. "I love you both."

Steve's eyes clear and for just a moment the storm lifts. 

"You love me?" He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, tears finally slowing. 

"I love you more than I hate you."

His kiss is wet, salty with your tears. It's messy and more sad than anything you ever hoped to share with him. 

For every press of your lips becomes an exchange, another apology, another profession,

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Until the words blend together. 

I'm sorry I love you.

You both mean it, Steve for all of the pain he's brought. You for all of the guilt eating you alive. 

Still you don't stop, bodies shifting until your back finds the floor, lips pressed together with even greater desperation.

I'm sorry I love you.

You can't stop, and some sicker part of you doesn't want to. There's no idea what the daylight will bring, what other sins will come out of hiding. You have no doubt the cops are searching for him, you could live with that. You could move on knowing he's safe, knowing he's alive. 

It's the Strays you're worried about. The boys who followed your brother, the ones who won't let his bloodshed be where this ends. The boys who have become such a big part of your new life here. The ones who sit at your dinner table and muss your hair like you're their sister too. 

They won't let Steve go. 

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve's body hovers over yours, the strong arms that made you feel so protected on either side of your head. 

His kisses have an edge to them now, a bite you match with intensity. A nibble on his lip, a suck where your teeth are still indented. Steve takes it all with a gasp, one of his thighs holding his weight between your legs

I'm sorry I love you.

You still want him. 

Your stomach twists with heat, a feeling you've never given credence too. It burns in your belly, driving your hips up against his leg. Your nightgown bunches between your thighs, wrinkling against his jeans getting caught between your bodies.

Your body lights up at the sensation, toes curling at the first press of pleasure. 

The gasp you let out into Steve's mouth is different this time, there's no pain behind it, no anger. It's something more pure.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie!" You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips over his thigh again.

"I know." Steve whispers, pressing his leg firmer against your heat. "I know."

Your breath catches, the pleasure between your legs climbing up to your stomach. The fire catches there too, body seeking out as much friction as possible. 

It pulls behind your belly button, new and confusing and tantalizingly out of reach.

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pulls back, sitting up on to his haunches and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls at it like an inconvenience, down past the expanse of his shoulders and away from the swells of his biceps. 

He tosses it aside, his belt following suit. He undoes the buckle with one hand and pulls it through the loops in one swift movement. 

Then he's back on top of you, one hand holding himself while the other palms at your hip.

With how high your nightgown as ridden up, his hand slips under it with ease, palming the skin there as if he's not sure he's actually allowed to touch it.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie." You say, grabbing at the thin material of his tank top with both hands. 

"Yes?" He answers, lips brushing yours as he speaks. "Anything."

You nod, knowing he means it. 

"I want you." You whisper, carding your hands through his hair. 

You want him, want him while he's still yours. 

Steve nods, placing another sweet kiss on your lips. "Then you can have me." 

His hands go further, emboldened by your words and your own exploration over his body. His slides between your bodies, where your cunt rests against his pants and cups it. Thin cotton turns damp beneath his touch, fabric ruined as you rut into his palm. 

You whine, pushing into him for more, desperately trying to chase the feeling he's ignited.

"This okay?" He mutters, flattening his fingers over your folds, pushing the gusset of your panties between them. 

You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "Please." You whisper, "more." 

Steve's hands stay soft, but their touch turns firm. He pulls your underwear down your legs, pushing your nightgown up to fully reveal yourself to him.

"Beautiful." He breathes, "so beautiful."

His hands come to your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowers his head between them.

I'm sorry I love you.

Your throat turns dry, breathing stops altogether as Steve looks up at you from the apex of your thighs. 

He blinks at you, giving you a chance to push him away. 

"I want you." You affirm instead, shifting your hips to give him a better angle.

Steve descends with a nod, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. 

If you thought what you felt before was fire, then Steve's lips are lava. 

It burns with the first swipe of his tongue, more exploratory than purposeful. Then a second, before he's diving in with gusto. Like a starving man Steve feasts on your cunt, as if it may as well be his last meal. 

You're wetter than you ever believed possible, slick to his chin with want. More than you've ever felt on your fingers. 

"Stevie!" You cry out, hand knotting in his hair, a sharp grip on his roots. You're gasping, a writhing mess on the floor of your bedroom. It's made all that much dirtier by your bed just a few feet over. A simple luxury denied because you couldn't wait to give in to your baser instincts.

Steve's tongue lays flat over your clit, tonguing it with kitten licks while two of his fingers explore your entrance. 

They work you over, scissoring inside of you with the best of intentions. A curl of his knuckles and you're clenching around him like a vice.

Steve doesn't speak, doesn't find any words worth interrupting your pretty sounds.

With his lips closed around your clit you cum on his tongue. A full body spasm that leaves you gasping and wrecked. A thin sheen of sweat over every inch of your skin and stars in your eyes so bright you nearly can't see Steve when he comes back up to kiss you. 

The taste of yourself on his tongue is filthier than sin, a reminder of just how far you've fallen in single night. A different girl lays beneath him than the one Steve met at the dance. This one's known joy, known sadness, known anger and pleasure. 

How is she supposed to move on?

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pushes inside you with a gentleness you wouldn't think is possible for a boy covered in blood. He lets your entrance kiss the crown of his cock and waits until you nod before breaching it.

There's a stretch, a big one. Your entire body goes tense, freezing in shock at the sheer size of him. Everytime you think it must be over, he must be done there's another inch, another circle over your clit as he tries to soothe the ache.

It's a fullness you've never known, unlike anything else you've felt. 

He pushes inside the deepest part of you, heat throbbing as he lets you adjust. 

"Stevie." You whimper, a single tear breaking over your lash line. "So much." 

Steve twitches inside you, cock stirring at the sound of his name on your tongue. You say it slower than everyone else, like he deserves the extra time. It makes his chest feel like it could burst. 

"I know." He soothes, "I know." He kisses your forehead, but gives a tentative thrust. A slow roll of his hips to see how your body receives it. 

You gasp again, eyes still squeezed shut. Your expression changes though, from pain to something sweeter. 

There's a hum, a soft little moan this time when he gives you another.

You say his name again and this time his entire body reacts, another twitch but also a firmer roll of his hips. 

"You like when I say your name." You whisper, nose pressing against his. 

Steve nods, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself back. 

"I like when you do anything."

You sigh, dreamy and pleasure drunk. This time it's you who teases, giving a testing clench around his length. 

Steve starts to unravel, his hips jerking in response to your test. 

"Stevie." You repeat both his name and the action, pleased when it marries both reactions. 

"Stevie." And he picks up the pace, thrusts changed from delicate to purposeful. Any fear of breaking you replaced with a fear of not having enough of you. 

"Stevie." A ragged moan falls past his lips, the sound landing directly on your lower back, igniting with tingles that send your hips canting to meet his thrusts. 

"Stevie!" When you fall over the edge again, tumbling into a free fall of pleasure and an overwhelming flood of love in your chest.

Steve falls right behind you, pulling out just as he begins to spill his spend. It makes a mess on the floor instead, a mess equal to your gasping and exhausted bodies.

You lay there with him in the aftermath, a blanket pulled half-hazardly off your bed and onto your bodies. It takes minutes for your breath to catch, for your frantic heart to calm down. 

When it's settled, when your head lays on his chest and his hand draws absentminded circles on your back, Steve finally speaks.

"Run away with me." 

The words hit you between the ribs. The prospect of leaving everything you've ever known, all the people you love, the home you've made in this strange place. You've done that before, you're not eager to do it again. 

But it's him, it's your Stevie. It's your boy with the blue eyes and big heart and even with the blood on his hands you still want them to be the hands that hold you. 

You shake your head, but your smile gives you away. The future that had been so suddenly ripped from you feels within reach again. Like maybe you can be happy, maybe you can forgive and grow. Maybe that little house is waiting for you to come and fill it.

"Okay." You agree. 

"Really?" Steve asks, eyebrows lifted high. "I didn't think you'd say yes." 

You hum, tracing a line down his chest with your finger. "Me either." You tease, "there's a word in a country, for when two people are meant to love." 

"Soulmates?" Steve offers, his own grin nearly unbearable.

"Yes." You nod, tucking your head into his chest. "You are my soulmate." You tell him. 

"You're mine." Steve breathes in return, "there will never be anyone but you." 

"Then it's settled." You tell him, moving so you're leaning on his chest. "We will go somewhere, and we will find a place for us." 

"A place for us." He agrees.

You get dressed in a quiet exchange of knowing looks and stolen kisses. You take from each others lips with familiarity, two bodies shared inside one soul. 

As Steve leaves, you give him one last kiss, one last whispered exchange. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I love you." 

You're not sure what tomorrow will bring. It has clothes shoved hastily into a napsack, a note addresses itself to your parents with an apology and a promise to write. 

Outside the streets start to come to life, New York flutters in through your open window. A neighbor starts to hang her washing, a bird sings its alarm. 

A boy runs home, blonde hair shining on the sun and a smile on his lips. 

Behind him another stares with bloodshot eyes, rage in his blood. 

Only a block away, you hear the shot when it rings out. 

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, seriously this fic was such a fun departure from my usual stuff and it was so nice to get back to Steve!!! Love you! Say it back!

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Even the mention of his old crew left a sour note on his tongue. Their memory burned deep in his blood. The mark his years running the streets had left on him, the matching stain on his record. 

"I'd just be slowing you down anyway." He lamented. 

Bucky scoffed, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He tightened his grip, "You're our founding father, we're always gonna need you." 

His friend let go, taking just a few steps back. It'd been at least a week since they'd seen each other, if not two. Steve hated to say it, but he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, greasy strands oh hair sticking to his forehead. He looked skinnier too, like he'd been running more than usual and not eating enough to make up for it. 

"I need you Steve." Bucky finished, this time a little softer. None of that bravado behind it. "There's gonna be a rumble." He whispered. 

Steve's eyes blew wide. "A rumble? Are you crazy?" 

The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis, the feeling in his gut warping with it. A wave of dread, heavy and ice cold washing over him. 

Bucky sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't have a choice!" 

"Of course you do." Steve challenged, poking two fingers into Bucky's chest, "What the hell could be so bad that you need to do something dumb as a rumble?" 

Bucky lost his balance, falling back a few steps with the force of Steve's push. 

"All for a couple streets? The Strays'll never go for it I'm telling you now." 

Bucky shook his head, something terrible set in his eyes. "No it's not like it was when you were running with us Steve. It's worse now." He took a deep breath. "There's a fight every day, last week Sam almost lost an eye 'cause one of them pulled a switch knife."

Steve shrugged, "Did Sam pull his first?"

"Doesn't matter." Bucky denied. 

"Of course it does!"

"No!" Bucky shouted, "it doesn't."

Silence filled the space between them. Cavernous and wide. They just stood there for a minute, two young men. Two young men who knew each other inside and out, who had seen each other through the deaths of their parents and raised themselves on the streets.

"I need this all settled I go." Bucky finally spoke up, all the vitriol gone from his voice. Surrender taking its place.

"Go?" Steve asked, "Buck what are you talkin' about?"

Bucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumbled letter. 

"Got my orders." He held up the envelope, unfolding it so Steve could see the Government stamp on the front. "I leave in a week." 

"Shit, Buck I had no idea-"

"So you're coming tonight right?" Bucky interrupted, stuffing the letter back in his jacket. "Need my best man if I'm gonna end this once and for all." 

Steve recognized the look now. He'd seen it on other kids they'd grown up with, ones who had left in a uniform and never come back. Fear. 

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'll be there." 

He'd sent Bucky off with a promise and an agreement to meet at the soda shop before hand. The wind blew his entire walk home, angry gusts carrying bitter cold breezes. It felt like a warning, like a sign. 

The day you met Steve Rogers had been completely ordinary. 

Well that's not entirely true, it was also the day of your first dance. 

Sure, you went to the dress shop as usual. Stopped at the market on your way home and picked up bread for dinner like your mother had asked. Although today Then you'd used some of your earnings to buy new ribbon. Bright red and silky, it shone against your skin and would surely do the same in your hair. 

All the same, nothing a miss. 

It was just the butterflies in your stomach, the pep in your step. The way you couldn't seem to stop smiling even as the wind tried to wipe it off your face. 

Like your body knew something you didn't, every ounce of your crying out with joy for something it didn't even know existed yet. 

Then you saw your dress. 

"Wanda please I am begging you," you pleaded, holding the dress up to her. "Just a few inches off the hem, please!" 

Wanda is the closest thing you know to an older sister, her family moved into the building around the same time as yours. 

They immigrated from Sokovia only two months prior to your own arrival. You'd bonded over missing food from home and the struggles of adjusting to life as newly minted American girls. 

Then she'd started dating your older brother, Vis and you really became family. 

"Absolutely not." She insisted, shaking her head as she took the dress from your hands. "Your mother would kill me. Then your brother would kill me again."

"Not true!" You promised, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to look at you. "They would kill me first and you'd have plenty of time to run!" 

Your jutted your lip out, giving her your best version of puppy dog eyes, the same ones you used to get permission to go to the dance in the first place. 

Wanda stared deadpan, completely unmoved by your efforts. 

"Ugh!" You groaned, "please Wanda. It's my first night out since we moved here and I want to make an impression."

"These aren't the kind of boys you need to worry about that with." Wanda tried to appease you, "you already know most of them. The ones you don't know are for a reason."

"Oh Wanda enough!" You groaned, "They're just boys."

"Boys who don't like anyone different from them. Remember that." She narrowed her eyes, "just stay to our side of the gym will you?"

You sighed, but nodded. "Fine." 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from you and taking a seat at her sewing machine with the dress still in her hand. She stretched it out on the table in front of her, assessing the seams and feeling them between her fingers. Then with a sigh, she spoke. "Two inches off the hem, that's it." 

Your squeal surely echoed down the hallway, loud enough make Wanda jump in her seat.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" You giggled, running over to squeeze a hug around her shoulders. "You are the bestest friend a girl could ask for."

"I am your only friend." She reminded you, licking the end of her thread before pulling it through the needle. 

"My only friend who will also take two inches off the neckline?" You poked, giggling all the while.

Wanda threw you a glare over her machine, reaching into her bag and pulling it some ribbons. 

"Don't push, I could make it longer just as easily." 

"No!" You panicked, shaking your head. "Two inches is perfect! Nothing else that is wonderful thank you Wanda." 

He lips curled into a smile, a little laugh falling past her lips. 

You sat in silence while she worked, mindlessly playing with your hair while she toiled over the old fabric. What necklace would you wear? Perhaps mother would let you borrow one of hers, or even a bangle for your wrist. Oh the possibilities were endless. 

Perhaps you would meet a boy, someone your brother doesn't know. Someone who would see a woman and not just the little girl he had declared off limits the moment you touched ground in this city. 

Wanda finished the dress with a triumph "Aha!" Happily sliding it off her sewing machine and holding it up for you see. 

The hem was shorter, probably closer to two and a half inches. A small mercy you immediately threw her a grateful smile for. Then your eyes darted to the neckline, while she hadn't lowered it, she'd squared off the neckline. What had previously been a round neck with a sweet bow in the center was now a square neck free of any frills. It was womanly, undeniably so. 

Finally you noticed the pièce de résistance sitting at the waist. 

There against the fabric, shining bright against the white dress was a beautiful red ribbon. It was a near perfect match to the one you'd bought for your hair. A completely innocent way to highlight all the curves you often had to hide. 

"It's perfect!" You gasped, reaching out to touch it, running your fingers over the ribbon in disbelief. "Oh Wanda thank you!" 

Wanda smiled, standing up and bringing the dress and you in front of the mirror. Then she held it up in front of you, holding the neck where it would fall so you could see. 

"So beautiful." She whispered. "Any boy who doesn't notice you would have to be blind."

You took the dress into your own hands, pressing it to your shoulders and giving it a good twirl. "It's wonderful!" You ran your finger over the new neckline before laying it out over your dress.

"Tonight's the night Wanda I can feel it." You pulled her into a tight hug, whispering the words conspiratorially in her ear. "My whole life changes tonight."

The gym feels like another world. 

As if a gateway to different life has emptied out onto the waxed floors. The light catches them differently than usual, casting the wooden planks in an amber glow. 

A fifth of rum poured in the punch is just the cherry on top. 

There's a live band is playing on the stage, loud enough to drown out the click of heels on the floor and out of the way enough to nearly be forgotten. 

They're playing Steve's favorite song.

He's late, at least later than he told Bucky he'd be. 

Nearly an hour of debating if he should even come in the first place. A battle fought between loyalty and self-preservation. 

Loyalty won in the end. 

Maybe. 

Steve had spotted Bucky almost immediately, a blur of dark curls holding a on to a spinning blonde. They hadn't stopped since he got there, dancing from one song to the next with hardly a break to breathe. 

So he took root in a corner and waited. Planting himself in the protective shadows of the bleachers. 

It was the same as it had been a few months ago, back when was Steve was alongside them on the floor, a girl to match Bucky's on his arm. Back before his time at the Reform House, before he had been stupid and paid the price. 

It feels like a whole 'nother life now. 

He can't go back, can't lose another six months. 

He can't afford to lose another friend either.

He has to get Bucky to call it off. 

The Strays have been piling in slowly, each group gaining in numbers until the dance floor began to split itself. A gang on each side, a room filled with kids forgotten by the rest of the world. 

It may be neutral territory, but that doesn't mean there isn't still tension. 

It's palpable, static cracking across the divide, threatening a lightning strike every time someone drifts to close to the invisible line. 

Another reason to stay in the shadows.

It changes the way he views the entire room, how it morphs under the weight of this silly feud. He pays extra attention to every grimace, how when Vision lifts his girl Bucky has to do the same. How Bucky tries to throw her even higher. 

It makes Officer Ross stick out like a sore thumb, his frumpy uniform blending blue and black together until he becomes the human approximation of a bruise. 

When you're in the shadows, it makes it that much easier to spot the light.

There, across the gym, is where he sees you. Similarly sidelined, you stand just a hundred feet away at the other end of the bleachers. Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away once it finds you. Like a magnet finally finding its South Pole. The seats are extended, framing you beneath them in a halo and making it so Steve can see straight through. 

You're busy staring at the scene in front of you, a soft smile playing at you lips. Unconsciously swaying to the music with gentle turns of your hips in just enough to make the hem of your dress dance around your knees. 

Steve's heart cracks wide open. The feeling in his gut- the one he's spent all day trying to name- unravels. It floods his chest with warmth and begins to carry his legs in your direction. 

It's everything you had pictured and absolutely nothing like you imagined. 

You're hypnotized by the dancing, the way everyone seems to just know what to do. How skirts flare and skinny shoes refract the light. Every time someone lifts you hold your breath, every time they hit the group you clap. You're enraptured, hypnotized, utterly bewitched. 

You're standing in the corner. All that fuss with Wanda and your hem just for it to be wasted under the bleachers. 

Speaking of Wanda, she's breathless from dancing and yet making no moves to slow down. Her smile is the brightest it gets, all teeth and happiness. The smile she only gets around your brother. 

Vis, is well, a vision. The tallest one in the room, he towers over everyone, shoulders set with his arms drawn tight around Wanda. He's smiling too, it's your mother's smile, her cheeks and the nose you both share. His skin glows under the lights like this, casting him ethereal. It's the same shade as yours, and yet you somehow doubt the same effect is being cast on you. 

Still, it's every bit as magical as yours imagination advertised.

Wanda spins again, her dress fanning out around her. She looks every ounce the woman you so desperately want to be. Effortless, sexy, poised at every turn, and loved. 

The boys are- well, boys. They cower in the corners and nurse the same glass of punch. They flash you a smile but never for too long, lest your brother see. 

You aren't sure how Vis came to be so important here, what he did to earn the respect of so many of his peers. For some reason every boy on the block would do anything he asked. Including but not limited to, staying away from his baby sister. 

One dance. That was what you'd managed. 

More accurately half a dance. Peter, the nice boy from a few apartments down. He'd been brave enough to approach, ask you to dance and taken your hand in his sweaty palm. 

Then he'd scampered like a kicked puppy when he realized your brother was there. 

So here you stand along the bleachers, enjoying their protection and the view. Even if you weren't out there it was still exciting to watch everyone. How the couples move like they're anticipating each-others movements. The way they slip into a language spoken only with their bodies. 

The more you watch the more you want to know what it feels like. 

Love.

You think about love a lot, you're surrounded by it after all. 

You see it in your brother and Wanda, the way she softens his edges in a way no one else can. It's in your parents, most of the time. Sometimes it's across the street, between the old couple from Ireland who sit on their stoop and feed the pigeons. It's in one of the girls you work with, Natasha. In the letters she reads you from her beau back in Russia. 

You covet it, lean in closer when they speak as if you can catch it like a cold. 

You feel it breathing down your neck, waiting to strike. Your heart is open, you just need someone to walk into it. 

Or stare into it.

You feel Steve's eyes on you before you find him. The heat of a gaze and that intangible feeling that you're being watched. It breaks the spell that the dancers had cast on you, turning your head as if with a magnet. An undeniable pull to look.

Steve recognizes you before he even knows your name. 

Not from seeing you around, or because you came into the shop while he was working. No, he'd remember that.

It's something deeper, like his body- like his soul knows yours.

When your eyes meet his it's as if he turns to air, disembodied and floating toward you. 

The entire room disappears, fades into the back of his mind. All that's left the thump of the music beneath his feet and you standing about ten feet away from him.

He's not sure who gets there first, but the middle finds you only a foot apart, toe to toe and locked on each other's gaze.

You're stunning. 

Stunning doesn't even really do you justice, as if you've been carved from the likeness of Aphrodite herself. 

Angelic is more apt. Soft curves emphasized by the cut of your dress. The swell of your hips and delicate outline haloed by the gym lights. 

There's a curve in your lips, a soft smile that threatens to blind him with the light exude. He's hooked. 

His feet move first, one half step in your direction then a pivot. It's a poor copycat of what the couples are doing just on the other side of the bleachers. 

You fall right into step anyway, smile breaking even further as you match his pose. It brings you chest to chest, hardly an inch them. 

Then a spin, each of you carefully walking around the other, ensuring no loss of distance. 

The music finally fades back in, triumphant and joyous as tensions continue to grow in the rest of the room. 

It gives Steve the courage to touch. First the palm of his hand, laying over top of yours as you turn it upwards to meet him. Your skin is hot against his, electricity bubbling between you. 

You're burning, a fire lit under the weight of his stare.

You've never felt more alive. 

You've hardly known the boy five minutes and you already never want to feel anything else.

He could holds the entire world in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and all you can see is yourself.

Your tongue slips with a drop of your name, soft and breathlessly shared. As if talking too much will break the spell. 

He stops moving, his fingers slowly lacing through yours. 

"Steve." He whispers. His voice matches the rest of him, soft but unyielding. 

"Stevie?" You repeat, dragging the syllables along your tongue as you try to get it right. 

"Yeah." He whispers, neck craning and bringing his face an inch closer to yours. "Stevie."

Stevie is like the men in the movies, broad and sturdy. There's a beauty in his face you didn't know was possible in real life, in the cut of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

His lips, now that you've looked at them you can't look away. They part just enough for air to pass, pink and pretty and you can't get over the way they shaped around your name. 

You want to feel them, want to know how they would press against yours. You want to know every kind of kiss with him. The hungry ones, the slow ones, the chaste ones and hello-goodbye ones. 

The first one is at the top of your list though. 

Steve isn't much better, his palm is turning clammy in your grasp. Nerves spiking the longer you hold his gaze. 

You laugh, sudden and unbridled. It's like a songbird, sweet and natural. Like it's one of the worlds most natural wonders. 

No wonder he gave in. 

The kiss is tentative, barely more than lips pressed to lips. It's a test, making sure neither of you erupt into flames. 

It only survives that way for a moment, then the damn breaks. 

Your hands grab first, reaching up for fistfuls of shirt and using the leverage to pull his mouth firmer against yours.

Steve's are similarly unrestrained, wrapping around your waist and bringing your chests flush as well. 

Together you cross a line that was drawn by people in the very same room. You tear it apart and dance on its memory, stomping it into the ground with completely disregard of everything it stands for. 

A war between boys means nothing in the face of a love orchestrated by fate. 

That's what you have between your hands, a boy who you believe with every confidence was made for you. As his hands slot over your hips, his nose tilting and falling into place along yours, you're certain he was made for you too. 

Steve's kissed plenty of girls, he never really understood the appeal. Kissing was a means to an end, a bridge he had to cross to get to the next step of intimacy. Girls liked kissing, so he would kiss to appease them. It was never something he felt the need to do.

With his lips pressed to yours Steve already feels like he needs to kiss you for the rest of his life. 

It's softer than kisses he's known before, there's no rushing or wandering hands. There's no room for the voice in his head to be bored or complain about lipstick getting on his skin. 

He's consumed by it. His chest is air and his head is empty and all that exists is you in his arms. 

Neither of you hear the stop in the music, the sudden cut off or the way the trombone flails with one last note before falling to silence. 

Neither of you hear the shouting, the raised voices and thrown insults. 

Neither of you hear the gasps, the sound of Officer Ross pulling his baton from his belt. 

Neither of you hear the footsteps as everyone starts to scatter.

There's a hand at the back of your dress, Wanda's manicured fingers scratching your skin as she pulls you back and out of Steve's arms. 

When it finally comes back into focus, the gym is chaos. Vis stands at the end of the bleachers, yelling for you and Wanda to hurry. There's something about getting you home, getting you both safe. 

Your feet move, walking backwards as Wanda loosens her grip and takes you by the hand instead. 

The look in Vis' eyes is enough for Steve to recognize what line he crossed. It weren't than the similarities between you would be. Nevertheless his heart pounds, any reservations he had for him disappearing. 

Steve takes a few steps after you before remembering himself. Bucky is out there yelling his name and he doesn't even care. By the time he stops staring at the space you left behind, the gym is nearly empty. All that's left is the sound of rubber soles on the floor and distant footsteps 

Steve searches the streets for an hour.

With your name etches on his tongue he shouts it down every alley, cries it toward every open window. 

It's nearly eleven when he finally finds you. 

A silhouette glows from a two stories above, soft yellow light escaping around it and filtering onto where he stands on the pavement.

Steve knows it in an instant. 

You can hear his smile when he calls your name again. 

It bounces off of brick walls, shakes the puddles and threatens to wake your neighbors.

Your head snaps in his direction, a mix of excitement to see him and panic at the risk of getting caught. With as much restraint as you can bear, you race towards the window sill. 

The glass creaks with a groan, pushing out into the fire escape as you swing it up and open. 

"Stevie!" You gasp, heart jumping at the sight of him. It's only been a few hours but your aching heart immediately eases. "How did you find me?"

Steve's at the bottom of your fire escape in an instant, climbing up two rungs at a time. He doesn't slow down until he on the platform below you, stopping at the bottom of the steps just as you move to stand at the top of them. 

"I've been to every building south of the waterfront." He says, "I looked for your light."

"You found it." You affirm, smiling breaking. "Found me." 

You both move at the same time, meeting in the middle of the steps and wrapping your arms around each other. 

Steve's arms close around your waist, encircling you in his embrace just like at the gym. You do the same, squeezing him even tighter this time. 

You breathe him in, deeper than you'd been able to before. He smells like summer air, a heavy musk mixed with cheap cologne. You want to bottle it. Spray it on your pillow and pretend it's his chest. 

"I know it's silly but-" 

"I missed you too." Steve whispers. He did, from the moment you left his arms a chill had settled over his bones. Like when anxiety curdles in your stomach, or a fever burns behind your eyelids. An utterly physical reaction to the lack of you. 

He bends his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he pulls away just enough to read your face, taking a step down so you're eye level with him. "I just had to see you." 

You curl a hand over his cheek, resting it in the swell of his jawline. "I'm glad you came." You promise, using your other hand to card through his hair. "I didn't get to give you..." you trail off struggling to find the english version of the word. "Uh sleep kiss? Happy night kiss?"

Steve watches you shrink into the insecurity, heart aching as you tense for his reaction. 

"A goodnight kiss." Steve says it slowly, careful not to sound cruel. 

"Yes." You breathe a sigh of relief, repeating him in your own accent. "a goodnight kiss." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning into your touch like a dog. You wonder if you scratched behind his ear would he pant? 

"Mhm." You hum, shuffling forward until only your heels are on the step. You like being this height you realize, you can see his face better. Especially with the moonlight, you can make out all the beauty in his features. The way his blue eyes shine, the long curl of his lashes. There's a curve in his nose, a gentle swell you want to trace with your finger. 

Steve stares up at you, just an inch shorter now, but the height different makes his stomach flip. His hand fans out over your lower back, both in possession and to help you balance on the step. 

He wants to speak, to say something clever and charming the was Bucky would. They way he would have just a few months ago. The words run dry though, nothing left but earnestness and the urge to beg.

"What did I do to deserve that?" He asks, licking his lips without even thinking of it. 

His eyes dart to yours, just as hypnotizing as they were at the gym. Maybe even more so now that he knows what they feel like. 

"You were handsome." You nod, leaning in until your nose touches his. Your chest rests against his own, leaning your weight onto his body. "Also kind."

Steve takes it without complaint, leaning just as hard into you. He can feel your breath fan his lips, how it hitches when he juts his chin just a little. 

"Than thank goodness I found you." 

Distance disappears, another kiss and it's exactly the same but also completely different than the first one. 

The world doesn't disappear this time, instead it reorients itself around you. The moon shines with its approval, the night bird sing with envy. Even the crickets chirp in time with your heart. There's no threat of being caught, no tensions seeping between bleachers and staining the moment. 

It's just his lips against yours, their sweet movement and the way they seem to be trying to memorize yours. 

Steve's a good kisser, you think. I could kiss him forever.

Steve is similarly wrecked, pulling back from you with reverence painting his vision.

"Tonight," he breathes, holding you in place with his gaze. "When I saw you it was like the entire world disappeared."

You can't help but melt, spine turning to dripping butter under his touch. "All I saw was you." You whisper, fingers curling through his hair. "All I see is you." 

"So you'll see only me?" Steve asks, nerves shaking his voice despite the way you're currently wrapped in each other. 

"Only you," you promise. "Forever."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, more needy. It's relief bottled with want and then shook up like a soda pop. You're both bubbling over, nerves fizzing with love and sugar.

"When can I see you again?" Steve asks the question before he's even completely pulled again, lips moving even as they still touch yours. 

You giggle, unabashed and joyful. "You haven't even left me yet and you're already worrying about when you're going to see me again?" 

He nods, instant and insistent. "I don't want there to be any uncertainty about this, about us." His hand cradles your cheek, swiping his thumb over it. "I refuse to leave this to chance."

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, the feeling in your chest so pure you can't see past it. 

"Tomorrow." You tell him, "I work at the dress shop over on main. Come by at four, just after we close." 

Steve kisses you one more time, less a kiss and more so a pressing of smiles. Teeth clink and lips miss and it's just as beautiful as the one in the gym. 

"Tomorrow." He agrees. "At the dress shop. I'll be there." He pushes onto his toes, kissing your forehead. 

Steve detaches himself from you slowly, letting his touch linger as much as possible. Then he backs down the steps, eyes never leaving yours. 

"Goodnight." He whispers, blue eyes catching in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Stevie." You whisper, backing up until you're finally on the platform with your bedroom windows. 

Your father calls one more time from inside, this time closer than before. You allow yourself one last look, one final sweep over his shoulders and account of his mussed hair. You want to remember him exactly how he is tonight, the version of him that exists in this moment. The one that is utterly and completely yours.

"Goodnight." He whispers again. 

You climb back through your window, reluctantly putting the barrier of brick back between you. Through the grates you answer one more time. "Goodnight Stevie." 

The window clicks shut and your curtains are drawn just in time. Your father coming inside to lecture you for still being awake. 

Outside Steve stares at your window his entire descent, as if he still can't believe that you're real on the other side of it. 

Tomorrow, he'd see you again. He'd hold you again. He can only imagine how slowly time will move in the meantime. Whatever it brings though, nothing will change the blooming in his chest.

Bucky comes in like a storm.

The slam of the door, a loud ring of the bell, both matched by stomping foot steps. 

"Steve." He yells, voice bouncing off the walls. "Steve!"

Steve nearly hits his head rushing up from the cellar, "What- Jesus Buck what is it?"

His friend looks even worse than yesterday, like he hasn't slept since before the dance. He's still in the same clothes, dress shirt muddies and pants torn. He's out of breath and wild-eyed. 

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Bucky prods. "Been lookin' for you everywhere."

Steve shakes his head, "I had something to take care of." 

Bucky laughs, full of mirth and disbelief. 

"Something more important than us?" He accuses.

"Us?"

"The Wolves- for fucks sake Steve what the hell?" 

The Wolves. Steve remembers with a grimace, the very thing that brought him to you and threatens to take him away. A worse thought follows. The Rumble. 

"I can't be apart of it Bucky, like I told you I'm not in that life anymore."

"I ain't asking." Bucky bites back, his answer immediate. "This is bigger than us Steve."

"No." Steve holds firm, "It's not just me anymore."

Bucky freezes, face crumbling as if he's been stabbed. The words hang in the air between them, building a bridge but already flooding the river beneath it. Forgiveness and distance created in the same breath. 

When the moment breaks there's a smile, the pop of his friend's chin dimple followed by a clasp of his hand on his shoulder. 

"You dog." Bucky whispers. "Who is she?"

Steve freezes with the realization that, his oldest, best friend would never understand. 

So he shakes his head, lets himself smile but give nothing else away. "It's new."

"C'mon that's all you're gonna give me?" Bucky groans, "you're smiling like the cat who ate the damn canary."

"I don't kiss and tell." Steve insists, shooting his friend a look. "Anymore."

Bucky rolls his eyes, holding a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. 

"Wow I see how it is." He laughs, "good for you man. You deserve it."

There's an honesty in the way he says it, something that throws Steve off a little. There's weight behind his implication. 'It' could be a-lot of things. Love? A future? Something new?

The memory of Bucky's news flashes through his mind, the fast approaching deadline. 

"Is this really how you want to spend your last few days in the city?" Steve asks, daring to prod. "Fightin' and looking over your shoulder?"

Bucky sighs and Steve waits for his defense. Waits for the anger or raised voice. Only it never comes.

"We always said we wanted to make things better." Bucky says, "that the Wolves were our way to do that." 

Sure, that had been how it started when they were kids. A couple of preteens wandering the city and looking for ways to keep busy and maybe make a little money. Helping old ladies cross the street, shining shoes outside the barbershop, the summer they ran groceries at the farmers market. The ethos had always been the leave their city better than they found it.

When had it devolved to this?

"Yeah, I remember." Steve says, nodding along as the memory plays. "What's that got to do with all this?"

"They're changing things, it's all so different with them here."

"Different doesn't mean back Buck-"

"They're pushing us out!" Bucky exclaims, anger flashing across his face. "Taking what used to be ours and leavin' nothing left for us." 

"Its not that simple-"

Bucky shakes his head, cutting Steve off. "Isn't it though?"

His words hang between them, heavy and mean. Bucky's anger falters in the silence, resigning itself to something more bleak.

Bucky rolls his shoulders back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and averting his eyes to the ground. "I wanna leave knowing I put this behind us." He shrugs. "All of us."

The last bit is pointed at Steve. A not so subtle reminder that try as he might to escape, he's still in this worlds orbit. 

"What time is it?" Steve asks, finally caving. 

Bucky sighs, "Midnight at the docks." 

"Hands or knives?"

"Hands." Bucky confirms, "each side is picking their best man." 

Steve feels his surprise paint his face. Bucky never chooses to shrink a fight, he's always been more of a strength in numbers leader than one to honor a fair fight. 

"I'll be there." Steve promises. 

Bucky scoffs, "like hell you will be."

"What?" 

Bucky shakes his head, "you're not gonna be anywhere near this you hear me?" 

His voice is firm, commanding in a way Steve's never heard before. A solemn reminder how much his friend was forced to change in his absence. 

"You got a girl now, a chance to make something better for yourself." 

"But Buck-" Steve starts, "what if you need backup?" He's not sure why he's pushing, why now that it's been taken off the table he's suddenly crushed with guilt at the thought of not being there. 

"Don't worry," Bucky promises, and then as if he's just stretching Bucky lifts his arm over his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of skin and a handgun tucked into his waist band. "I'll be ready if things go south." 

Steve doesn't have time to react, Bucky slapping him on the shoulder and slipping out of the shop.

Even with Bucky's blessing, his heart feels pulled in two different directions. One half tugging him toward you, placing a future into his lap. The other one is tangled with loyalty, the overwhelming guilt of abandoning the family he created. 

When morning breaks you can't help but feel like the whole world should be as happy as you are you.

The sun spills joy onto the streets, the birds sing a song perfectly in-tune, and there is nothing that could possibly ruin it. 

You feel different than you did yesterday. Like your skin as grown thicker, your hair shinier. It's as if you went to bed a girl and woke up a woman, a beautiful one at that. 

Every mirror you pass it sings it back to you, each reflection you don't see yourself, you see the girl who has stolen a boys heart. Even if you gave yours in return it still fills you with a giddy thrill. 

The work that typically bores you can't even sway your emotion. The prick of a needle in your finger does no damage. When you spend an hour scrubbing the floors the ache in your back never comes. 

It's as if a cloud as come and replaced your body, filling you with light and promise. 

"What has gotten into you today?" One of the girls asks, laughing as she catches you staring into a mirror for the third time. "Even Narcissus was not so self obsessed."

You ignore her, not even bothering to listen. 

"Wanda do you know what this is all about?" She asks. 

Your friend hums from across the shop, a dress in her lap that hardly spares a glance as she answers with a knowing smirk.

"Haven't you heard? She's in love."

The shop erupts, half a dozen voices abandoning their tasks in favor of crowding you instead. 

You don't even have to temptation to deny it, no shyness or insecurity to hide behind.

"Is it true?" 

"Who is he?"

"How long?" 

Their questions come flying, everyone speaking at once and leaving no room for you to even try and answer. 

"He's sweet." Is what you settle on. 

"And handsome." Wanda adds, unmoved from her own project as she pulls the needle through a seam. 

You throw her a dirty look, only have meaning it. 

The girls squeal around you. "Our baby is all grown up!" One of the coos. 

"Did you use protection?" Another one prods, more accusatory than excited.

"Where is he from?" 

The last one stings, it settles uncomfortably in your stomach. He's from here. You think to yourself, something you decidedly are not. Something that is blatantly obvious and yet Steve didn't even care to ask about.

"It's not like that," you assure them. "We haven't- not yet anyway." You promise. "It's new."

A chorus of 'ooohs' echo through the room.

They start to disperse, one by one leaving you be as they realize they won't get anymore answers. 

"What did he do to get you all smiley anyway?" The last one asks, "You're practically glowing." 

You shake your head, not bothering to hide your giddiness. "He just," you think about it for the moment, struggling to find the right word. "Makes me feel pretty." 

She nods, understanding. 

"We should all be so lucky." She whispers, nudging you with one last smile before she too goes back to her work load. 

You only get a few moments of peace, a chance to check the clock and do the math one more time on just how long it will be until you see him again.

"It's a fair question." Wanda startles you, not having moves from her chair.

The rest of the girls are occupied enough to not even hear her. 

"What is?" You ask, finding dress to mend and taking a seat beside her. 

Wanda fixes you with a look, one of those all-knowing ones she reserves for special conversations. 

"Where is he from?" She asks. The question isn't pointed, no edge or teasing. It's more like when a mother shares a worry, like she's propping you up to a learn a lesson. 

You shake your head. "Here." You admit, "he's one of them." 

Wanda stops all together, hand freezing with the needle still pinched between her fingers. 

You panic, rushing to better explain. "He's not really though, at least I don't think he is." 

Wanda's voice is much too steady when she does speak. "You want that kind of trouble?" 

Protectiveness creeps into your veins, spidering across your chest. "He's not like the rest of them." You assure her, "he's gentle. And kind."

"And you've known him a day." She reminds you. "If Vis heard about this…" 

"It feels like longer!" You insist. You've turned to face her now, entire body shifted towards hers as you try to get through. "Vis doesn't need to know, not yet." 

You put down your work, taking one of her wrists in your hand as you plea. "Please Wanda, just give me sometime to enjoy this before the rest of the world decides I don't deserve to."

She sighs, closing her eyes with frustration but nodding nonetheless. When she looks at you again her familiar fondness is there, the one that predates her relationship with your brother and goes back to when you were just each-others first friends. 

"Fine." She agrees. 

Too happy to help it you reach over and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a tight squeeze. "Thank you Wanda." 

She nods, pushing you off with a smile that gives her away. "C'mon back to work." She waves her hand over the dress on your lap. 

You pick it up happily returning to your stitching. An anxiety that had bubbled in your chest sufficiently quelled.

There's only a few minutes of peace though, before you dear friend speaks again. 

"You should know though," she begins, a heavy sigh at the top. "There's going to be a rumble tonight." 

"A rumble?" You ask, heart dropping. 

"The Strays and the Wolves." She reminds you, "Vis wants to settle this once and for all." 

"Wanda they'll kill each other." Your spark dims, terrifying visions of them all covered in blood and dirt conjuring themselves. Your brother beaten and bruised within an inch of his life. You've seen him like that before, you can hardly bear the thought of seeing it again.

"Maybe." Wanda says, "probably not." 

You sit with her words. Letting their weight rest across your shoulders. 

"It's not your brother I'd be worried about anyway."

Stevie.

Would he be there? Could he stop it if he is? What could possibly be worth the torn knuckles and black eyes? 

Yes, you think. I'll have to ask him to stop it. For both their sakes.

"You're going to have a busy night then." You tell her, doing your best to push the fear aside. "Why don't you let me lock up tonight?" 

Wanda drops her needle once again, looking toward you with a raised brow. "You hate locking up. You think it's creepy when you're alone."

"I'll be okay." You assure her.

"Ah." She breathes, her smirk shifting to something more mischievous and knowing. "You won't be alone."

You don't dignify her with an answer, or more aptly a lie. 

"Fine." She agrees, "you can lock up." 

You have to bite your lip to stop yet another squeal from escaping. 

Steve's knock comes at exactly ten minutes after four. Eight minutes after your last customer left. Four minutes after Wanda and the rest of the girls slipped out for the day. Two minutes after you flipped the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed.'

He feels sheepish, standing on the street and waiting for you to answer with baited breath and his heart in his hands. Also flowers, a little bundle he bought from one of the corner shops on his way over. Mostly baby's breath it smells delicious and looks as delicate as the dress you wore to the dance.

Like a fool, he even dressed up. One of his nicer button downs, one with no stains on the cuff or loose threads.

You're still in your uniform when you answer, apron pulled tight around your waist. 

He steps inside the second you open the door, laying his hand over yours on the knob to push it shut behind him.

The air in the store goes still once it clicks in the lock. 

"Hello." He whispers. 

"Hi." You beam, both of your hands still resting on the door. 

Steve's other hand hand flexes, causing the bouquet in his grip to crinkle. 

"Are those for me?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you take notice of them. 

Steve flusters, pink dusting his cheeks as he remembers himself. 

"Yes." He passes them over, a clumsy stretch as he all but forced them into your hands.

"They're beautiful Stevie." You hum as you take a deep breath, sticking your nose between the petals and closing your eyes. "Thank you." 

Steve doesn't answer, too distracted by how your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. 

Your hand gently pulls out from beneath his, walking over to one of the stations and putting the flowers down next to your things. 

"We don't have long." You warn him, "Wanda's expecting me home by five. She wants us all to eat dinner together before-" 

You cut yourself, voice trailing with what's unsaid. 

Steve catches your shift anyway, sighing and walking further into the shop with you. 

"Before the rumble?" He finishes for you.

You nod, a short one that makes your nerves clear to him. 

"I'm not going."

Your head snaps up at that, eyes flaring with surprise and something else.

"Stevie you have to go." You insist, moving until you're toe to toe with him. "You have to go and you have to stop it."

Steve's heart drops. 

"I don't know if I could- even if I went Bucky and Vis are both set." He shakes his head, petting a hand over your hair as if to soothe. "It's going to happen." 

You pull away, stepping back just out of reach. "You have to at least try." 

"What makes you think I can stop them?" He asks, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Not with you, no with himself. With the twist in his gut and the fact that he knows he'll go. If you're asking? Steve would do anything if the request came from your lips.

You hum, as if thinking of your answer. Slowly, you close the distance again, toeing your way closer until your hands find his. "You're kind." You start, "you have a good heart, people listen to those who have a good heart." 

Steve's unconvinced, but the look in your eye is steadfast. You're not trying to telling him anything untrue, you're simply trying to make him see himself as you do. 

"Please Stevie." You try one more time, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout. "I don't want anyone hurt." 

Steve bends like a wave to your tide, nodding before he can find another excuse. 

If you can see that good in him, than perhaps it really is there. 

"Fine." He whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "But only because it is you asking."

You brighten, l if that is even possible. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

A chaste press of lips follows, casual familiar contact. You take it as if his lips belong to you, and as far as Steve is concerned, they do. 

You pull back just as quickly, moving to fuss with something else in the store as you finish closing up.

The picture paints itself in front of him. The store replaced with a house, something small but homey, covered in decorations and colors and something distinctly you. 

There's dinner on the stove, fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, and open windows letting in the sun. There's bird song instead of cars honking, city noise substituted for something more suburban. 

It feels tangible, inevitable. 

You stop what you're doing, turning to look at him with a shy small and a small "What?" on your lips.

Steve walks over to you, taking you in his arms and this time stealing a deeper kiss. 

You melt into him, spine curving as you arch into his touch. It's like molten lava seeping through your bones, bigger than the butterflies you've always been told to expect.

"What was that for?" You gasp when he finally lets you go.

Steve smiles, baring all his teeth and dimples to boot. 

"Just saw our future for a minute there." He whispers.

"Yeah?" You hum, arms encircling his waist. "What was it like?"

"You being there when I come home." Steve starts, throat bobbing as he speaks. "A ring on your finger and your things in our house." 

You bring your hands between your chests, making a show of sliding a ring off of your right hand and onto your left. It's a simple band, a gift from your mother on your eighteenth birthday. You hold it up for Steve to see, pretending to assess it yourself. 

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yeah." Steve says, taking your hand in his and bringing the ring to his lips. "Like that." He places a kiss over the cool metal, leaving tingles across your entire hand in their wake. 

"What else?" You ask, voice hardly audible.

Steve pretends to think, holding your gaze as he pulls the moment out between you. 

"No fire escapes, no sirens or gangs." He continues, "Just a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood."

"Sounds nice." You hum. 

Steve nods, leaning down to lave one more soft kiss over your lips. 

You're the one who deepens it, pushing onto your tiptoes and threading your hands through his hair.

When you let him go Steve looks dazed, eyes glossy and lips even pinker than usual. 

"I keep thinking about our wedding," you confess. "Working here, surrounded by these dresses all day." You half gesture around you, the dozens of white dresses littering the walls. 

Steve looks around, finally taking note of them. 

"I think about who we would invite, who would be your man of honor-"

"Bucky of course." Steve butts in.

"Wanda would be my matron of honor, I mean I can't imagine her and Vis won't be married before the end of the year."

"So a spring wedding for us?" Steve asks. 

"Yes!" You agree excitedly. "With wildflowers and baby's breath and a great big cake."

"Who will officiate?"

"Officiate?" You ask, head tilting. It makes you look so cute Steve has to push down the urge to kiss your nose.

"Who will marry us?"

You nod, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "I'll leave that up to my parents, I'm sure they have strong feelings about it."

"I don't care who does it," Steve breathes. "As long as they tie me to you."

"So you, Steve. Take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You ask.

"I do." He whispers, "I take you sick, I take you hungry, I take your poor, I take you rich. I take you as long as I live."

Steve kisses you again and you think that you'll need to buy more chap-stick if he keeps this up. Not that you mind in the slightest. 

When your heart has stopped hammering, Steve finally lets you go long enough to check the time. 

"It's late." You tell him begrudgingly. "I have to get home."

Steve nods, understanding. "Bucky's waiting for me too."

You sigh, stealing one last embrace. "Come by tonight? After it's done?"

"Leave your window open." 

The Wolves are on a warpath. 

By the time Steve catches up to them, sense is impossible to find. 

With any entire day left to simmer their anger has completely bubbled over. 

Bucky's the worst of it, insisting he'll be the one to fight. 

Steve's not convinced he's even planning to try and win. There's a look in his eyes, something dark and hopeless. He's decided he's a dead man either way.

Still, every time he feels the urge to run, when the voice in his head tells him its pointless, he sees your face. He sees the look in your eyes, the way you think he's good. 

He's determined to be worthy of it. 

Vis is more subtle in his anger. 

There's a rigidness in his posture, a careful control Bucky has never known. A skill Steve would desperately like to learn. 

In his hands is a switch knife. 

He spins it around, passing it over his knuckles and spinning it between long fingers. 

It moves like a piece of him, an extension of an already lethal weapon. 

"Thought we said hands." Bucky's voice echoes into the night, bouncing off shipping containers.

"Was just warming up." Vis responds, voice level as he passes the blade off to someone else. 

His words bristle through the Wolves, the hairs on every one of their necks standing on edge. 

I should say something. Steve thinks, I need to say something.

"Who fights?" Vis asks, breaking the tension. He holds out his knuckles and cracks them. "I have work tomorrow and would prefer to finish this sooner than later."

Two voices ring out. 

"I'll finish this." Bucky says just as Steve calls out-

"We don't need to do this."

Every head snaps toward him, both sides united in their reaction. 

"No." Bucky starts.

"I think we do." Vis finishes. "I would prefer to fight the one who kisses my sister though." 

A gasp echoes through the Wolves, friends turning to him with disgust. 

Bucky's gaze is the worst of all, thick with betrayal. Despite it, he still looks back to Vis. 

"No," He insists. "He's not one of us. He won't fight."

Arms encircle themselves around Steve's, holding him in place. 

Protests start to fall in a panic, pleas for them to stop, to think this through. Bucky's name slips like a beg, desperate to make his friend listen. 

A circle forms around them, Steve held just out of reach, unable to break loose, unable to do anything but watch.

Both men square up, Vis' lean build and Bucky's broad shoulders. Each with their fists raised protectively in front of their faces. 

Bucky strikes first, always too eager for his own good. 

It's a miss, Vis dodging it with ease and countering with a punch directly to Bucky's abdomen. It lands with a thud, folding Bucky's position. 

Bucky's quick to recover, dodging a second hit and landing one square on Vis' jaw. 

They trade blows for long enough that time begins to drag. The noise in Steve's ears reduced to the rush of his blood and then sickening sound of fists and flesh.

Then Bucky gains the upper hand, a loud crack as his knuckles collide with Vis' cheek. 

The taller man crumbles, knees giving out and sending him straight to the concrete. 

It should be enough, should be the end. 

But Bucky's never known when to stop.

He clambers over his crumpled body, pushing him flat onto his back and laying another punch, then another, then a third.

He keeps going, until his fists are covered in Vis' blood. 

Steve hears himself yelling, throat raw with Bucky's name. 

"Bucky you're gonna kill him!" He finally manages, voice ragged.

By some miracle it gets through to him, Bucky turning to face Steve. 

As quickly as Bucky turns, Vis rallies.

One of the Stray's passes him a switch blade, the knife already drawn in.

It happens to fast, not even enough time to get the warning out.

The knife sinks into Bucky's stomach with a dull thud. 

The entire world tilts on it's axis. 

Steve finally breaks free, numb feet rushing forward to where his friend lies on the concrete. 

"Bucky!" He cries, lifting his head into his lap. "Buck you're gonna be okay, yeah? Just hang on buddy." 

Bucky's croaking, blood bubbling up over his lips. He gurgles, like he's trying to speak only nothing comes out. His hand lifts, covered in his own blood. It touches Steve's face, just for a moment. 

Then he goes slack.

In an instant his skin goes gray, eyes glazing over as all the light from them disappears.

Steve's heart stops. It freezes in his chest, seized by grief and fear and worst of all anger. 

He remembers this morning at the shop. The smile on Bucky's face, the familar warmth of his friend. 

The gun in his waistband. 

Steve doesn't think about you when he reaches for it. 

He looks down at his best-friends body, and does the only thing he can think of.

He points it directly at Vis' chest.

The sun is nearly up when Steve finally comes.

The sky has started to turn blue, the first sign of morning peeking from the horizon. He slips inside your window, nearly falling over when he bends to fit his head in. 

You're at his side immediately, arms throwing themselves around his neck. 

"Stevie!" You whisper, sighing into his neck with relief. You wait for his arms to wrap around you, for their comfort. 

Only they never come. 

Slowly you pull away, confusion etched between your eyebrows.

"Stevie?" You whisper. 

Finally, you take him in.

He looks awful, face gaunt and grey. His clothes are torn, the knees of his jeans ripped and bruises in the crook of his arm. That's not what makes you stumble backwards.

He's covered in blood. 

It's splattered across his face, smeared along his cheek bones and dusting his blonde hair. It's all over his clothes, covering his hands and-

He has a gun. 

It's limp in his palm, hand loose around the grip. 

Your blood runs cold, a sudden and very sure feeling in your gut that something isn't right.

"What did you do?" You whisper. 

Steve lets out a tortured noise, something almost resembling an apology. 

He falls, knees giving out and bringing him down to your floor. The gun falls away, pushed to the side by his own hand. 

"What happened?" You try again, tentatively coming closer as you speak. "Stevie what happened? Vis hasn't come home yet and there have been cops up and down the street all night."

You get onto your knees in front of him, and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Steve hiccups, tears covering his cheeks, turning dried blood in pink streaks. 

"I couldn't stop them-" he gasps, "I tried I promise I tried, but they just wouldn't listen." 

You can hardly make out what he says between breaths, the words coming out wet and messy. 

"It's okay," you try to sooth him, maneuvering until your pressed behind his back, pulling his head against your chest. "Sssh, it's okay."

Steve falls apart in your arms, broken cries and gasps pressed into your skin. 

"Bucky…" He whispers, "he's gone."

Your heart aches at the way he says, as if absorbing his own pain. 

"Oh Stevie." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Steve croaks, "no I don't deserve it." 

You feel yourself tense. 

"What do you mean?"

Steve goes rigid in your arms, his tears still rolling down his cheeks and under his jaw. He reaches up to you with shaking hands, wrapping them around your forearm where it sits over his chest. 

"Vis had a knife and Bucky didn't see it." Steve manages to whisper. "I didn't mean to but it was like I couldn't think."

You eyes flash back to the gun in the corner of your room. 

Your ears reply the cry you heard from Wanda's apartment, the wail you blamed on someone else. 

Your brother still isn't home. 

"No." You whisper, shaking your head as soon as the thought makes itself known.

"No you didn't." You beg, tears already brimming over your lashes. "Tell me you didn't."

Steve turns in your arms and this time its him who holds your face. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs, "I'm so so sorry."

Your heart splinters. 

Grief like you've never known consumes it. 

Like the floor has been pulled out from beneath you and sent you in a spiraling free fall. Or as if someone has ripped off the roof and left you alone in the rain. 

It consumes you fast, tearing into your soul and taking a piece you know you can never get back. 

It's wearying. sawing you in half and then placing what's left to dry out. 

"No." You mutter, tears falling fast down your cheeks. "No, no, no, no." Your fists slam into his chest, banging into him with as much strength as you can muster. "Why?" You whimper, tossing the word at him over and over. "Why? Why? Why!" You repeat, until it devolves from a question to a curse.

Steve takes it all, letting you hit, scream, and cry. His hands fall from your cheeks, wrapping around your wrists in loose cuffs. 

He's still weeping, gasping with pain as you take out every wave of your grief on him. 

"It should have been me." Steve says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "It should have been me."

You heart drops, even through the pain you find the room to protest. 

"No!" You whimper, shaking your head. "No I can't-" You break off into a sob. "I love you both."

Steve's eyes clear and for just a moment the storm lifts. 

"You love me?" He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, tears finally slowing. 

"I love you more than I hate you."

His kiss is wet, salty with your tears. It's messy and more sad than anything you ever hoped to share with him. 

For every press of your lips becomes an exchange, another apology, another profession,

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Until the words blend together. 

I'm sorry I love you.

You both mean it, Steve for all of the pain he's brought. You for all of the guilt eating you alive. 

Still you don't stop, bodies shifting until your back finds the floor, lips pressed together with even greater desperation.

I'm sorry I love you.

You can't stop, and some sicker part of you doesn't want to. There's no idea what the daylight will bring, what other sins will come out of hiding. You have no doubt the cops are searching for him, you could live with that. You could move on knowing he's safe, knowing he's alive. 

It's the Strays you're worried about. The boys who followed your brother, the ones who won't let his bloodshed be where this ends. The boys who have become such a big part of your new life here. The ones who sit at your dinner table and muss your hair like you're their sister too. 

They won't let Steve go. 

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve's body hovers over yours, the strong arms that made you feel so protected on either side of your head. 

His kisses have an edge to them now, a bite you match with intensity. A nibble on his lip, a suck where your teeth are still indented. Steve takes it all with a gasp, one of his thighs holding his weight between your legs

I'm sorry I love you.

You still want him. 

Your stomach twists with heat, a feeling you've never given credence too. It burns in your belly, driving your hips up against his leg. Your nightgown bunches between your thighs, wrinkling against his jeans getting caught between your bodies.

Your body lights up at the sensation, toes curling at the first press of pleasure. 

The gasp you let out into Steve's mouth is different this time, there's no pain behind it, no anger. It's something more pure.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie!" You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips over his thigh again.

"I know." Steve whispers, pressing his leg firmer against your heat. "I know."

Your breath catches, the pleasure between your legs climbing up to your stomach. The fire catches there too, body seeking out as much friction as possible. 

It pulls behind your belly button, new and confusing and tantalizingly out of reach.

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pulls back, sitting up on to his haunches and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls at it like an inconvenience, down past the expanse of his shoulders and away from the swells of his biceps. 

He tosses it aside, his belt following suit. He undoes the buckle with one hand and pulls it through the loops in one swift movement. 

Then he's back on top of you, one hand holding himself while the other palms at your hip.

With how high your nightgown as ridden up, his hand slips under it with ease, palming the skin there as if he's not sure he's actually allowed to touch it.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie." You say, grabbing at the thin material of his tank top with both hands. 

"Yes?" He answers, lips brushing yours as he speaks. "Anything."

You nod, knowing he means it. 

"I want you." You whisper, carding your hands through his hair. 

You want him, want him while he's still yours. 

Steve nods, placing another sweet kiss on your lips. "Then you can have me." 

His hands go further, emboldened by your words and your own exploration over his body. His slides between your bodies, where your cunt rests against his pants and cups it. Thin cotton turns damp beneath his touch, fabric ruined as you rut into his palm. 

You whine, pushing into him for more, desperately trying to chase the feeling he's ignited.

"This okay?" He mutters, flattening his fingers over your folds, pushing the gusset of your panties between them. 

You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "Please." You whisper, "more." 

Steve's hands stay soft, but their touch turns firm. He pulls your underwear down your legs, pushing your nightgown up to fully reveal yourself to him.

"Beautiful." He breathes, "so beautiful."

His hands come to your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowers his head between them.

I'm sorry I love you.

Your throat turns dry, breathing stops altogether as Steve looks up at you from the apex of your thighs. 

He blinks at you, giving you a chance to push him away. 

"I want you." You affirm instead, shifting your hips to give him a better angle.

Steve descends with a nod, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. 

If you thought what you felt before was fire, then Steve's lips are lava. 

It burns with the first swipe of his tongue, more exploratory than purposeful. Then a second, before he's diving in with gusto. Like a starving man Steve feasts on your cunt, as if it may as well be his last meal. 

You're wetter than you ever believed possible, slick to his chin with want. More than you've ever felt on your fingers. 

"Stevie!" You cry out, hand knotting in his hair, a sharp grip on his roots. You're gasping, a writhing mess on the floor of your bedroom. It's made all that much dirtier by your bed just a few feet over. A simple luxury denied because you couldn't wait to give in to your baser instincts.

Steve's tongue lays flat over your clit, tonguing it with kitten licks while two of his fingers explore your entrance. 

They work you over, scissoring inside of you with the best of intentions. A curl of his knuckles and you're clenching around him like a vice.

Steve doesn't speak, doesn't find any words worth interrupting your pretty sounds.

With his lips closed around your clit you cum on his tongue. A full body spasm that leaves you gasping and wrecked. A thin sheen of sweat over every inch of your skin and stars in your eyes so bright you nearly can't see Steve when he comes back up to kiss you. 

The taste of yourself on his tongue is filthier than sin, a reminder of just how far you've fallen in single night. A different girl lays beneath him than the one Steve met at the dance. This one's known joy, known sadness, known anger and pleasure. 

How is she supposed to move on?

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pushes inside you with a gentleness you wouldn't think is possible for a boy covered in blood. He lets your entrance kiss the crown of his cock and waits until you nod before breaching it.

There's a stretch, a big one. Your entire body goes tense, freezing in shock at the sheer size of him. Everytime you think it must be over, he must be done there's another inch, another circle over your clit as he tries to soothe the ache.

It's a fullness you've never known, unlike anything else you've felt. 

He pushes inside the deepest part of you, heat throbbing as he lets you adjust. 

"Stevie." You whimper, a single tear breaking over your lash line. "So much." 

Steve twitches inside you, cock stirring at the sound of his name on your tongue. You say it slower than everyone else, like he deserves the extra time. It makes his chest feel like it could burst. 

"I know." He soothes, "I know." He kisses your forehead, but gives a tentative thrust. A slow roll of his hips to see how your body receives it. 

You gasp again, eyes still squeezed shut. Your expression changes though, from pain to something sweeter. 

There's a hum, a soft little moan this time when he gives you another.

You say his name again and this time his entire body reacts, another twitch but also a firmer roll of his hips. 

"You like when I say your name." You whisper, nose pressing against his. 

Steve nods, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself back. 

"I like when you do anything."

You sigh, dreamy and pleasure drunk. This time it's you who teases, giving a testing clench around his length. 

Steve starts to unravel, his hips jerking in response to your test. 

"Stevie." You repeat both his name and the action, pleased when it marries both reactions. 

"Stevie." And he picks up the pace, thrusts changed from delicate to purposeful. Any fear of breaking you replaced with a fear of not having enough of you. 

"Stevie." A ragged moan falls past his lips, the sound landing directly on your lower back, igniting with tingles that send your hips canting to meet his thrusts. 

"Stevie!" When you fall over the edge again, tumbling into a free fall of pleasure and an overwhelming flood of love in your chest.

Steve falls right behind you, pulling out just as he begins to spill his spend. It makes a mess on the floor instead, a mess equal to your gasping and exhausted bodies.

You lay there with him in the aftermath, a blanket pulled half-hazardly off your bed and onto your bodies. It takes minutes for your breath to catch, for your frantic heart to calm down. 

When it's settled, when your head lays on his chest and his hand draws absentminded circles on your back, Steve finally speaks.

"Run away with me." 

The words hit you between the ribs. The prospect of leaving everything you've ever known, all the people you love, the home you've made in this strange place. You've done that before, you're not eager to do it again. 

But it's him, it's your Stevie. It's your boy with the blue eyes and big heart and even with the blood on his hands you still want them to be the hands that hold you. 

You shake your head, but your smile gives you away. The future that had been so suddenly ripped from you feels within reach again. Like maybe you can be happy, maybe you can forgive and grow. Maybe that little house is waiting for you to come and fill it.

"Okay." You agree. 

"Really?" Steve asks, eyebrows lifted high. "I didn't think you'd say yes." 

You hum, tracing a line down his chest with your finger. "Me either." You tease, "there's a word in a country, for when two people are meant to love." 

"Soulmates?" Steve offers, his own grin nearly unbearable.

"Yes." You nod, tucking your head into his chest. "You are my soulmate." You tell him. 

"You're mine." Steve breathes in return, "there will never be anyone but you." 

"Then it's settled." You tell him, moving so you're leaning on his chest. "We will go somewhere, and we will find a place for us." 

"A place for us." He agrees.

You get dressed in a quiet exchange of knowing looks and stolen kisses. You take from each others lips with familiarity, two bodies shared inside one soul. 

As Steve leaves, you give him one last kiss, one last whispered exchange. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I love you." 

You're not sure what tomorrow will bring. It has clothes shoved hastily into a napsack, a note addresses itself to your parents with an apology and a promise to write. 

Outside the streets start to come to life, New York flutters in through your open window. A neighbor starts to hang her washing, a bird sings its alarm. 

A boy runs home, blonde hair shining on the sun and a smile on his lips. 

Behind him another stares with bloodshot eyes, rage in his blood. 

Only a block away, you hear the shot when it rings out. 

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, seriously this fic was such a fun departure from my usual stuff and it was so nice to get back to Steve!!! Love you! Say it back!

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Even the mention of his old crew left a sour note on his tongue. Their memory burned deep in his blood. The mark his years running the streets had left on him, the matching stain on his record. 

"I'd just be slowing you down anyway." He lamented. 

Bucky scoffed, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He tightened his grip, "You're our founding father, we're always gonna need you." 

His friend let go, taking just a few steps back. It'd been at least a week since they'd seen each other, if not two. Steve hated to say it, but he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, greasy strands oh hair sticking to his forehead. He looked skinnier too, like he'd been running more than usual and not eating enough to make up for it. 

"I need you Steve." Bucky finished, this time a little softer. None of that bravado behind it. "There's gonna be a rumble." He whispered. 

Steve's eyes blew wide. "A rumble? Are you crazy?" 

The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis, the feeling in his gut warping with it. A wave of dread, heavy and ice cold washing over him. 

Bucky sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't have a choice!" 

"Of course you do." Steve challenged, poking two fingers into Bucky's chest, "What the hell could be so bad that you need to do something dumb as a rumble?" 

Bucky lost his balance, falling back a few steps with the force of Steve's push. 

"All for a couple streets? The Strays'll never go for it I'm telling you now." 

Bucky shook his head, something terrible set in his eyes. "No it's not like it was when you were running with us Steve. It's worse now." He took a deep breath. "There's a fight every day, last week Sam almost lost an eye 'cause one of them pulled a switch knife."

Steve shrugged, "Did Sam pull his first?"

"Doesn't matter." Bucky denied. 

"Of course it does!"

"No!" Bucky shouted, "it doesn't."

Silence filled the space between them. Cavernous and wide. They just stood there for a minute, two young men. Two young men who knew each other inside and out, who had seen each other through the deaths of their parents and raised themselves on the streets.

"I need this all settled I go." Bucky finally spoke up, all the vitriol gone from his voice. Surrender taking its place.

"Go?" Steve asked, "Buck what are you talkin' about?"

Bucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumbled letter. 

"Got my orders." He held up the envelope, unfolding it so Steve could see the Government stamp on the front. "I leave in a week." 

"Shit, Buck I had no idea-"

"So you're coming tonight right?" Bucky interrupted, stuffing the letter back in his jacket. "Need my best man if I'm gonna end this once and for all." 

Steve recognized the look now. He'd seen it on other kids they'd grown up with, ones who had left in a uniform and never come back. Fear. 

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'll be there." 

He'd sent Bucky off with a promise and an agreement to meet at the soda shop before hand. The wind blew his entire walk home, angry gusts carrying bitter cold breezes. It felt like a warning, like a sign. 

The day you met Steve Rogers had been completely ordinary. 

Well that's not entirely true, it was also the day of your first dance. 

Sure, you went to the dress shop as usual. Stopped at the market on your way home and picked up bread for dinner like your mother had asked. Although today Then you'd used some of your earnings to buy new ribbon. Bright red and silky, it shone against your skin and would surely do the same in your hair. 

All the same, nothing a miss. 

It was just the butterflies in your stomach, the pep in your step. The way you couldn't seem to stop smiling even as the wind tried to wipe it off your face. 

Like your body knew something you didn't, every ounce of your crying out with joy for something it didn't even know existed yet. 

Then you saw your dress. 

"Wanda please I am begging you," you pleaded, holding the dress up to her. "Just a few inches off the hem, please!" 

Wanda is the closest thing you know to an older sister, her family moved into the building around the same time as yours. 

They immigrated from Sokovia only two months prior to your own arrival. You'd bonded over missing food from home and the struggles of adjusting to life as newly minted American girls. 

Then she'd started dating your older brother, Vis and you really became family. 

"Absolutely not." She insisted, shaking her head as she took the dress from your hands. "Your mother would kill me. Then your brother would kill me again."

"Not true!" You promised, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to look at you. "They would kill me first and you'd have plenty of time to run!" 

Your jutted your lip out, giving her your best version of puppy dog eyes, the same ones you used to get permission to go to the dance in the first place. 

Wanda stared deadpan, completely unmoved by your efforts. 

"Ugh!" You groaned, "please Wanda. It's my first night out since we moved here and I want to make an impression."

"These aren't the kind of boys you need to worry about that with." Wanda tried to appease you, "you already know most of them. The ones you don't know are for a reason."

"Oh Wanda enough!" You groaned, "They're just boys."

"Boys who don't like anyone different from them. Remember that." She narrowed her eyes, "just stay to our side of the gym will you?"

You sighed, but nodded. "Fine." 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from you and taking a seat at her sewing machine with the dress still in her hand. She stretched it out on the table in front of her, assessing the seams and feeling them between her fingers. Then with a sigh, she spoke. "Two inches off the hem, that's it." 

Your squeal surely echoed down the hallway, loud enough make Wanda jump in her seat.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" You giggled, running over to squeeze a hug around her shoulders. "You are the bestest friend a girl could ask for."

"I am your only friend." She reminded you, licking the end of her thread before pulling it through the needle. 

"My only friend who will also take two inches off the neckline?" You poked, giggling all the while.

Wanda threw you a glare over her machine, reaching into her bag and pulling it some ribbons. 

"Don't push, I could make it longer just as easily." 

"No!" You panicked, shaking your head. "Two inches is perfect! Nothing else that is wonderful thank you Wanda." 

He lips curled into a smile, a little laugh falling past her lips. 

You sat in silence while she worked, mindlessly playing with your hair while she toiled over the old fabric. What necklace would you wear? Perhaps mother would let you borrow one of hers, or even a bangle for your wrist. Oh the possibilities were endless. 

Perhaps you would meet a boy, someone your brother doesn't know. Someone who would see a woman and not just the little girl he had declared off limits the moment you touched ground in this city. 

Wanda finished the dress with a triumph "Aha!" Happily sliding it off her sewing machine and holding it up for you see. 

The hem was shorter, probably closer to two and a half inches. A small mercy you immediately threw her a grateful smile for. Then your eyes darted to the neckline, while she hadn't lowered it, she'd squared off the neckline. What had previously been a round neck with a sweet bow in the center was now a square neck free of any frills. It was womanly, undeniably so. 

Finally you noticed the pièce de résistance sitting at the waist. 

There against the fabric, shining bright against the white dress was a beautiful red ribbon. It was a near perfect match to the one you'd bought for your hair. A completely innocent way to highlight all the curves you often had to hide. 

"It's perfect!" You gasped, reaching out to touch it, running your fingers over the ribbon in disbelief. "Oh Wanda thank you!" 

Wanda smiled, standing up and bringing the dress and you in front of the mirror. Then she held it up in front of you, holding the neck where it would fall so you could see. 

"So beautiful." She whispered. "Any boy who doesn't notice you would have to be blind."

You took the dress into your own hands, pressing it to your shoulders and giving it a good twirl. "It's wonderful!" You ran your finger over the new neckline before laying it out over your dress.

"Tonight's the night Wanda I can feel it." You pulled her into a tight hug, whispering the words conspiratorially in her ear. "My whole life changes tonight."

The gym feels like another world. 

As if a gateway to different life has emptied out onto the waxed floors. The light catches them differently than usual, casting the wooden planks in an amber glow. 

A fifth of rum poured in the punch is just the cherry on top. 

There's a live band is playing on the stage, loud enough to drown out the click of heels on the floor and out of the way enough to nearly be forgotten. 

They're playing Steve's favorite song.

He's late, at least later than he told Bucky he'd be. 

Nearly an hour of debating if he should even come in the first place. A battle fought between loyalty and self-preservation. 

Loyalty won in the end. 

Maybe. 

Steve had spotted Bucky almost immediately, a blur of dark curls holding a on to a spinning blonde. They hadn't stopped since he got there, dancing from one song to the next with hardly a break to breathe. 

So he took root in a corner and waited. Planting himself in the protective shadows of the bleachers. 

It was the same as it had been a few months ago, back when was Steve was alongside them on the floor, a girl to match Bucky's on his arm. Back before his time at the Reform House, before he had been stupid and paid the price. 

It feels like a whole 'nother life now. 

He can't go back, can't lose another six months. 

He can't afford to lose another friend either.

He has to get Bucky to call it off. 

The Strays have been piling in slowly, each group gaining in numbers until the dance floor began to split itself. A gang on each side, a room filled with kids forgotten by the rest of the world. 

It may be neutral territory, but that doesn't mean there isn't still tension. 

It's palpable, static cracking across the divide, threatening a lightning strike every time someone drifts to close to the invisible line. 

Another reason to stay in the shadows.

It changes the way he views the entire room, how it morphs under the weight of this silly feud. He pays extra attention to every grimace, how when Vision lifts his girl Bucky has to do the same. How Bucky tries to throw her even higher. 

It makes Officer Ross stick out like a sore thumb, his frumpy uniform blending blue and black together until he becomes the human approximation of a bruise. 

When you're in the shadows, it makes it that much easier to spot the light.

There, across the gym, is where he sees you. Similarly sidelined, you stand just a hundred feet away at the other end of the bleachers. Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away once it finds you. Like a magnet finally finding its South Pole. The seats are extended, framing you beneath them in a halo and making it so Steve can see straight through. 

You're busy staring at the scene in front of you, a soft smile playing at you lips. Unconsciously swaying to the music with gentle turns of your hips in just enough to make the hem of your dress dance around your knees. 

Steve's heart cracks wide open. The feeling in his gut- the one he's spent all day trying to name- unravels. It floods his chest with warmth and begins to carry his legs in your direction. 

It's everything you had pictured and absolutely nothing like you imagined. 

You're hypnotized by the dancing, the way everyone seems to just know what to do. How skirts flare and skinny shoes refract the light. Every time someone lifts you hold your breath, every time they hit the group you clap. You're enraptured, hypnotized, utterly bewitched. 

You're standing in the corner. All that fuss with Wanda and your hem just for it to be wasted under the bleachers. 

Speaking of Wanda, she's breathless from dancing and yet making no moves to slow down. Her smile is the brightest it gets, all teeth and happiness. The smile she only gets around your brother. 

Vis, is well, a vision. The tallest one in the room, he towers over everyone, shoulders set with his arms drawn tight around Wanda. He's smiling too, it's your mother's smile, her cheeks and the nose you both share. His skin glows under the lights like this, casting him ethereal. It's the same shade as yours, and yet you somehow doubt the same effect is being cast on you. 

Still, it's every bit as magical as yours imagination advertised.

Wanda spins again, her dress fanning out around her. She looks every ounce the woman you so desperately want to be. Effortless, sexy, poised at every turn, and loved. 

The boys are- well, boys. They cower in the corners and nurse the same glass of punch. They flash you a smile but never for too long, lest your brother see. 

You aren't sure how Vis came to be so important here, what he did to earn the respect of so many of his peers. For some reason every boy on the block would do anything he asked. Including but not limited to, staying away from his baby sister. 

One dance. That was what you'd managed. 

More accurately half a dance. Peter, the nice boy from a few apartments down. He'd been brave enough to approach, ask you to dance and taken your hand in his sweaty palm. 

Then he'd scampered like a kicked puppy when he realized your brother was there. 

So here you stand along the bleachers, enjoying their protection and the view. Even if you weren't out there it was still exciting to watch everyone. How the couples move like they're anticipating each-others movements. The way they slip into a language spoken only with their bodies. 

The more you watch the more you want to know what it feels like. 

Love.

You think about love a lot, you're surrounded by it after all. 

You see it in your brother and Wanda, the way she softens his edges in a way no one else can. It's in your parents, most of the time. Sometimes it's across the street, between the old couple from Ireland who sit on their stoop and feed the pigeons. It's in one of the girls you work with, Natasha. In the letters she reads you from her beau back in Russia. 

You covet it, lean in closer when they speak as if you can catch it like a cold. 

You feel it breathing down your neck, waiting to strike. Your heart is open, you just need someone to walk into it. 

Or stare into it.

You feel Steve's eyes on you before you find him. The heat of a gaze and that intangible feeling that you're being watched. It breaks the spell that the dancers had cast on you, turning your head as if with a magnet. An undeniable pull to look.

Steve recognizes you before he even knows your name. 

Not from seeing you around, or because you came into the shop while he was working. No, he'd remember that.

It's something deeper, like his body- like his soul knows yours.

When your eyes meet his it's as if he turns to air, disembodied and floating toward you. 

The entire room disappears, fades into the back of his mind. All that's left the thump of the music beneath his feet and you standing about ten feet away from him.

He's not sure who gets there first, but the middle finds you only a foot apart, toe to toe and locked on each other's gaze.

You're stunning. 

Stunning doesn't even really do you justice, as if you've been carved from the likeness of Aphrodite herself. 

Angelic is more apt. Soft curves emphasized by the cut of your dress. The swell of your hips and delicate outline haloed by the gym lights. 

There's a curve in your lips, a soft smile that threatens to blind him with the light exude. He's hooked. 

His feet move first, one half step in your direction then a pivot. It's a poor copycat of what the couples are doing just on the other side of the bleachers. 

You fall right into step anyway, smile breaking even further as you match his pose. It brings you chest to chest, hardly an inch them. 

Then a spin, each of you carefully walking around the other, ensuring no loss of distance. 

The music finally fades back in, triumphant and joyous as tensions continue to grow in the rest of the room. 

It gives Steve the courage to touch. First the palm of his hand, laying over top of yours as you turn it upwards to meet him. Your skin is hot against his, electricity bubbling between you. 

You're burning, a fire lit under the weight of his stare.

You've never felt more alive. 

You've hardly known the boy five minutes and you already never want to feel anything else.

He could holds the entire world in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and all you can see is yourself.

Your tongue slips with a drop of your name, soft and breathlessly shared. As if talking too much will break the spell. 

He stops moving, his fingers slowly lacing through yours. 

"Steve." He whispers. His voice matches the rest of him, soft but unyielding. 

"Stevie?" You repeat, dragging the syllables along your tongue as you try to get it right. 

"Yeah." He whispers, neck craning and bringing his face an inch closer to yours. "Stevie."

Stevie is like the men in the movies, broad and sturdy. There's a beauty in his face you didn't know was possible in real life, in the cut of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

His lips, now that you've looked at them you can't look away. They part just enough for air to pass, pink and pretty and you can't get over the way they shaped around your name. 

You want to feel them, want to know how they would press against yours. You want to know every kind of kiss with him. The hungry ones, the slow ones, the chaste ones and hello-goodbye ones. 

The first one is at the top of your list though. 

Steve isn't much better, his palm is turning clammy in your grasp. Nerves spiking the longer you hold his gaze. 

You laugh, sudden and unbridled. It's like a songbird, sweet and natural. Like it's one of the worlds most natural wonders. 

No wonder he gave in. 

The kiss is tentative, barely more than lips pressed to lips. It's a test, making sure neither of you erupt into flames. 

It only survives that way for a moment, then the damn breaks. 

Your hands grab first, reaching up for fistfuls of shirt and using the leverage to pull his mouth firmer against yours.

Steve's are similarly unrestrained, wrapping around your waist and bringing your chests flush as well. 

Together you cross a line that was drawn by people in the very same room. You tear it apart and dance on its memory, stomping it into the ground with completely disregard of everything it stands for. 

A war between boys means nothing in the face of a love orchestrated by fate. 

That's what you have between your hands, a boy who you believe with every confidence was made for you. As his hands slot over your hips, his nose tilting and falling into place along yours, you're certain he was made for you too. 

Steve's kissed plenty of girls, he never really understood the appeal. Kissing was a means to an end, a bridge he had to cross to get to the next step of intimacy. Girls liked kissing, so he would kiss to appease them. It was never something he felt the need to do.

With his lips pressed to yours Steve already feels like he needs to kiss you for the rest of his life. 

It's softer than kisses he's known before, there's no rushing or wandering hands. There's no room for the voice in his head to be bored or complain about lipstick getting on his skin. 

He's consumed by it. His chest is air and his head is empty and all that exists is you in his arms. 

Neither of you hear the stop in the music, the sudden cut off or the way the trombone flails with one last note before falling to silence. 

Neither of you hear the shouting, the raised voices and thrown insults. 

Neither of you hear the gasps, the sound of Officer Ross pulling his baton from his belt. 

Neither of you hear the footsteps as everyone starts to scatter.

There's a hand at the back of your dress, Wanda's manicured fingers scratching your skin as she pulls you back and out of Steve's arms. 

When it finally comes back into focus, the gym is chaos. Vis stands at the end of the bleachers, yelling for you and Wanda to hurry. There's something about getting you home, getting you both safe. 

Your feet move, walking backwards as Wanda loosens her grip and takes you by the hand instead. 

The look in Vis' eyes is enough for Steve to recognize what line he crossed. It weren't than the similarities between you would be. Nevertheless his heart pounds, any reservations he had for him disappearing. 

Steve takes a few steps after you before remembering himself. Bucky is out there yelling his name and he doesn't even care. By the time he stops staring at the space you left behind, the gym is nearly empty. All that's left is the sound of rubber soles on the floor and distant footsteps 

Steve searches the streets for an hour.

With your name etches on his tongue he shouts it down every alley, cries it toward every open window. 

It's nearly eleven when he finally finds you. 

A silhouette glows from a two stories above, soft yellow light escaping around it and filtering onto where he stands on the pavement.

Steve knows it in an instant. 

You can hear his smile when he calls your name again. 

It bounces off of brick walls, shakes the puddles and threatens to wake your neighbors.

Your head snaps in his direction, a mix of excitement to see him and panic at the risk of getting caught. With as much restraint as you can bear, you race towards the window sill. 

The glass creaks with a groan, pushing out into the fire escape as you swing it up and open. 

"Stevie!" You gasp, heart jumping at the sight of him. It's only been a few hours but your aching heart immediately eases. "How did you find me?"

Steve's at the bottom of your fire escape in an instant, climbing up two rungs at a time. He doesn't slow down until he on the platform below you, stopping at the bottom of the steps just as you move to stand at the top of them. 

"I've been to every building south of the waterfront." He says, "I looked for your light."

"You found it." You affirm, smiling breaking. "Found me." 

You both move at the same time, meeting in the middle of the steps and wrapping your arms around each other. 

Steve's arms close around your waist, encircling you in his embrace just like at the gym. You do the same, squeezing him even tighter this time. 

You breathe him in, deeper than you'd been able to before. He smells like summer air, a heavy musk mixed with cheap cologne. You want to bottle it. Spray it on your pillow and pretend it's his chest. 

"I know it's silly but-" 

"I missed you too." Steve whispers. He did, from the moment you left his arms a chill had settled over his bones. Like when anxiety curdles in your stomach, or a fever burns behind your eyelids. An utterly physical reaction to the lack of you. 

He bends his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he pulls away just enough to read your face, taking a step down so you're eye level with him. "I just had to see you." 

You curl a hand over his cheek, resting it in the swell of his jawline. "I'm glad you came." You promise, using your other hand to card through his hair. "I didn't get to give you..." you trail off struggling to find the english version of the word. "Uh sleep kiss? Happy night kiss?"

Steve watches you shrink into the insecurity, heart aching as you tense for his reaction. 

"A goodnight kiss." Steve says it slowly, careful not to sound cruel. 

"Yes." You breathe a sigh of relief, repeating him in your own accent. "a goodnight kiss." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning into your touch like a dog. You wonder if you scratched behind his ear would he pant? 

"Mhm." You hum, shuffling forward until only your heels are on the step. You like being this height you realize, you can see his face better. Especially with the moonlight, you can make out all the beauty in his features. The way his blue eyes shine, the long curl of his lashes. There's a curve in his nose, a gentle swell you want to trace with your finger. 

Steve stares up at you, just an inch shorter now, but the height different makes his stomach flip. His hand fans out over your lower back, both in possession and to help you balance on the step. 

He wants to speak, to say something clever and charming the was Bucky would. They way he would have just a few months ago. The words run dry though, nothing left but earnestness and the urge to beg.

"What did I do to deserve that?" He asks, licking his lips without even thinking of it. 

His eyes dart to yours, just as hypnotizing as they were at the gym. Maybe even more so now that he knows what they feel like. 

"You were handsome." You nod, leaning in until your nose touches his. Your chest rests against his own, leaning your weight onto his body. "Also kind."

Steve takes it without complaint, leaning just as hard into you. He can feel your breath fan his lips, how it hitches when he juts his chin just a little. 

"Than thank goodness I found you." 

Distance disappears, another kiss and it's exactly the same but also completely different than the first one. 

The world doesn't disappear this time, instead it reorients itself around you. The moon shines with its approval, the night bird sing with envy. Even the crickets chirp in time with your heart. There's no threat of being caught, no tensions seeping between bleachers and staining the moment. 

It's just his lips against yours, their sweet movement and the way they seem to be trying to memorize yours. 

Steve's a good kisser, you think. I could kiss him forever.

Steve is similarly wrecked, pulling back from you with reverence painting his vision.

"Tonight," he breathes, holding you in place with his gaze. "When I saw you it was like the entire world disappeared."

You can't help but melt, spine turning to dripping butter under his touch. "All I saw was you." You whisper, fingers curling through his hair. "All I see is you." 

"So you'll see only me?" Steve asks, nerves shaking his voice despite the way you're currently wrapped in each other. 

"Only you," you promise. "Forever."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, more needy. It's relief bottled with want and then shook up like a soda pop. You're both bubbling over, nerves fizzing with love and sugar.

"When can I see you again?" Steve asks the question before he's even completely pulled again, lips moving even as they still touch yours. 

You giggle, unabashed and joyful. "You haven't even left me yet and you're already worrying about when you're going to see me again?" 

He nods, instant and insistent. "I don't want there to be any uncertainty about this, about us." His hand cradles your cheek, swiping his thumb over it. "I refuse to leave this to chance."

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, the feeling in your chest so pure you can't see past it. 

"Tomorrow." You tell him, "I work at the dress shop over on main. Come by at four, just after we close." 

Steve kisses you one more time, less a kiss and more so a pressing of smiles. Teeth clink and lips miss and it's just as beautiful as the one in the gym. 

"Tomorrow." He agrees. "At the dress shop. I'll be there." He pushes onto his toes, kissing your forehead. 

Steve detaches himself from you slowly, letting his touch linger as much as possible. Then he backs down the steps, eyes never leaving yours. 

"Goodnight." He whispers, blue eyes catching in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Stevie." You whisper, backing up until you're finally on the platform with your bedroom windows. 

Your father calls one more time from inside, this time closer than before. You allow yourself one last look, one final sweep over his shoulders and account of his mussed hair. You want to remember him exactly how he is tonight, the version of him that exists in this moment. The one that is utterly and completely yours.

"Goodnight." He whispers again. 

You climb back through your window, reluctantly putting the barrier of brick back between you. Through the grates you answer one more time. "Goodnight Stevie." 

The window clicks shut and your curtains are drawn just in time. Your father coming inside to lecture you for still being awake. 

Outside Steve stares at your window his entire descent, as if he still can't believe that you're real on the other side of it. 

Tomorrow, he'd see you again. He'd hold you again. He can only imagine how slowly time will move in the meantime. Whatever it brings though, nothing will change the blooming in his chest.

Bucky comes in like a storm.

The slam of the door, a loud ring of the bell, both matched by stomping foot steps. 

"Steve." He yells, voice bouncing off the walls. "Steve!"

Steve nearly hits his head rushing up from the cellar, "What- Jesus Buck what is it?"

His friend looks even worse than yesterday, like he hasn't slept since before the dance. He's still in the same clothes, dress shirt muddies and pants torn. He's out of breath and wild-eyed. 

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Bucky prods. "Been lookin' for you everywhere."

Steve shakes his head, "I had something to take care of." 

Bucky laughs, full of mirth and disbelief. 

"Something more important than us?" He accuses.

"Us?"

"The Wolves- for fucks sake Steve what the hell?" 

The Wolves. Steve remembers with a grimace, the very thing that brought him to you and threatens to take him away. A worse thought follows. The Rumble. 

"I can't be apart of it Bucky, like I told you I'm not in that life anymore."

"I ain't asking." Bucky bites back, his answer immediate. "This is bigger than us Steve."

"No." Steve holds firm, "It's not just me anymore."

Bucky freezes, face crumbling as if he's been stabbed. The words hang in the air between them, building a bridge but already flooding the river beneath it. Forgiveness and distance created in the same breath. 

When the moment breaks there's a smile, the pop of his friend's chin dimple followed by a clasp of his hand on his shoulder. 

"You dog." Bucky whispers. "Who is she?"

Steve freezes with the realization that, his oldest, best friend would never understand. 

So he shakes his head, lets himself smile but give nothing else away. "It's new."

"C'mon that's all you're gonna give me?" Bucky groans, "you're smiling like the cat who ate the damn canary."

"I don't kiss and tell." Steve insists, shooting his friend a look. "Anymore."

Bucky rolls his eyes, holding a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. 

"Wow I see how it is." He laughs, "good for you man. You deserve it."

There's an honesty in the way he says it, something that throws Steve off a little. There's weight behind his implication. 'It' could be a-lot of things. Love? A future? Something new?

The memory of Bucky's news flashes through his mind, the fast approaching deadline. 

"Is this really how you want to spend your last few days in the city?" Steve asks, daring to prod. "Fightin' and looking over your shoulder?"

Bucky sighs and Steve waits for his defense. Waits for the anger or raised voice. Only it never comes.

"We always said we wanted to make things better." Bucky says, "that the Wolves were our way to do that." 

Sure, that had been how it started when they were kids. A couple of preteens wandering the city and looking for ways to keep busy and maybe make a little money. Helping old ladies cross the street, shining shoes outside the barbershop, the summer they ran groceries at the farmers market. The ethos had always been the leave their city better than they found it.

When had it devolved to this?

"Yeah, I remember." Steve says, nodding along as the memory plays. "What's that got to do with all this?"

"They're changing things, it's all so different with them here."

"Different doesn't mean back Buck-"

"They're pushing us out!" Bucky exclaims, anger flashing across his face. "Taking what used to be ours and leavin' nothing left for us." 

"Its not that simple-"

Bucky shakes his head, cutting Steve off. "Isn't it though?"

His words hang between them, heavy and mean. Bucky's anger falters in the silence, resigning itself to something more bleak.

Bucky rolls his shoulders back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and averting his eyes to the ground. "I wanna leave knowing I put this behind us." He shrugs. "All of us."

The last bit is pointed at Steve. A not so subtle reminder that try as he might to escape, he's still in this worlds orbit. 

"What time is it?" Steve asks, finally caving. 

Bucky sighs, "Midnight at the docks." 

"Hands or knives?"

"Hands." Bucky confirms, "each side is picking their best man." 

Steve feels his surprise paint his face. Bucky never chooses to shrink a fight, he's always been more of a strength in numbers leader than one to honor a fair fight. 

"I'll be there." Steve promises. 

Bucky scoffs, "like hell you will be."

"What?" 

Bucky shakes his head, "you're not gonna be anywhere near this you hear me?" 

His voice is firm, commanding in a way Steve's never heard before. A solemn reminder how much his friend was forced to change in his absence. 

"You got a girl now, a chance to make something better for yourself." 

"But Buck-" Steve starts, "what if you need backup?" He's not sure why he's pushing, why now that it's been taken off the table he's suddenly crushed with guilt at the thought of not being there. 

"Don't worry," Bucky promises, and then as if he's just stretching Bucky lifts his arm over his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of skin and a handgun tucked into his waist band. "I'll be ready if things go south." 

Steve doesn't have time to react, Bucky slapping him on the shoulder and slipping out of the shop.

Even with Bucky's blessing, his heart feels pulled in two different directions. One half tugging him toward you, placing a future into his lap. The other one is tangled with loyalty, the overwhelming guilt of abandoning the family he created. 

When morning breaks you can't help but feel like the whole world should be as happy as you are you.

The sun spills joy onto the streets, the birds sing a song perfectly in-tune, and there is nothing that could possibly ruin it. 

You feel different than you did yesterday. Like your skin as grown thicker, your hair shinier. It's as if you went to bed a girl and woke up a woman, a beautiful one at that. 

Every mirror you pass it sings it back to you, each reflection you don't see yourself, you see the girl who has stolen a boys heart. Even if you gave yours in return it still fills you with a giddy thrill. 

The work that typically bores you can't even sway your emotion. The prick of a needle in your finger does no damage. When you spend an hour scrubbing the floors the ache in your back never comes. 

It's as if a cloud as come and replaced your body, filling you with light and promise. 

"What has gotten into you today?" One of the girls asks, laughing as she catches you staring into a mirror for the third time. "Even Narcissus was not so self obsessed."

You ignore her, not even bothering to listen. 

"Wanda do you know what this is all about?" She asks. 

Your friend hums from across the shop, a dress in her lap that hardly spares a glance as she answers with a knowing smirk.

"Haven't you heard? She's in love."

The shop erupts, half a dozen voices abandoning their tasks in favor of crowding you instead. 

You don't even have to temptation to deny it, no shyness or insecurity to hide behind.

"Is it true?" 

"Who is he?"

"How long?" 

Their questions come flying, everyone speaking at once and leaving no room for you to even try and answer. 

"He's sweet." Is what you settle on. 

"And handsome." Wanda adds, unmoved from her own project as she pulls the needle through a seam. 

You throw her a dirty look, only have meaning it. 

The girls squeal around you. "Our baby is all grown up!" One of the coos. 

"Did you use protection?" Another one prods, more accusatory than excited.

"Where is he from?" 

The last one stings, it settles uncomfortably in your stomach. He's from here. You think to yourself, something you decidedly are not. Something that is blatantly obvious and yet Steve didn't even care to ask about.

"It's not like that," you assure them. "We haven't- not yet anyway." You promise. "It's new."

A chorus of 'ooohs' echo through the room.

They start to disperse, one by one leaving you be as they realize they won't get anymore answers. 

"What did he do to get you all smiley anyway?" The last one asks, "You're practically glowing." 

You shake your head, not bothering to hide your giddiness. "He just," you think about it for the moment, struggling to find the right word. "Makes me feel pretty." 

She nods, understanding. 

"We should all be so lucky." She whispers, nudging you with one last smile before she too goes back to her work load. 

You only get a few moments of peace, a chance to check the clock and do the math one more time on just how long it will be until you see him again.

"It's a fair question." Wanda startles you, not having moves from her chair.

The rest of the girls are occupied enough to not even hear her. 

"What is?" You ask, finding dress to mend and taking a seat beside her. 

Wanda fixes you with a look, one of those all-knowing ones she reserves for special conversations. 

"Where is he from?" She asks. The question isn't pointed, no edge or teasing. It's more like when a mother shares a worry, like she's propping you up to a learn a lesson. 

You shake your head. "Here." You admit, "he's one of them." 

Wanda stops all together, hand freezing with the needle still pinched between her fingers. 

You panic, rushing to better explain. "He's not really though, at least I don't think he is." 

Wanda's voice is much too steady when she does speak. "You want that kind of trouble?" 

Protectiveness creeps into your veins, spidering across your chest. "He's not like the rest of them." You assure her, "he's gentle. And kind."

"And you've known him a day." She reminds you. "If Vis heard about this…" 

"It feels like longer!" You insist. You've turned to face her now, entire body shifted towards hers as you try to get through. "Vis doesn't need to know, not yet." 

You put down your work, taking one of her wrists in your hand as you plea. "Please Wanda, just give me sometime to enjoy this before the rest of the world decides I don't deserve to."

She sighs, closing her eyes with frustration but nodding nonetheless. When she looks at you again her familiar fondness is there, the one that predates her relationship with your brother and goes back to when you were just each-others first friends. 

"Fine." She agrees. 

Too happy to help it you reach over and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a tight squeeze. "Thank you Wanda." 

She nods, pushing you off with a smile that gives her away. "C'mon back to work." She waves her hand over the dress on your lap. 

You pick it up happily returning to your stitching. An anxiety that had bubbled in your chest sufficiently quelled.

There's only a few minutes of peace though, before you dear friend speaks again. 

"You should know though," she begins, a heavy sigh at the top. "There's going to be a rumble tonight." 

"A rumble?" You ask, heart dropping. 

"The Strays and the Wolves." She reminds you, "Vis wants to settle this once and for all." 

"Wanda they'll kill each other." Your spark dims, terrifying visions of them all covered in blood and dirt conjuring themselves. Your brother beaten and bruised within an inch of his life. You've seen him like that before, you can hardly bear the thought of seeing it again.

"Maybe." Wanda says, "probably not." 

You sit with her words. Letting their weight rest across your shoulders. 

"It's not your brother I'd be worried about anyway."

Stevie.

Would he be there? Could he stop it if he is? What could possibly be worth the torn knuckles and black eyes? 

Yes, you think. I'll have to ask him to stop it. For both their sakes.

"You're going to have a busy night then." You tell her, doing your best to push the fear aside. "Why don't you let me lock up tonight?" 

Wanda drops her needle once again, looking toward you with a raised brow. "You hate locking up. You think it's creepy when you're alone."

"I'll be okay." You assure her.

"Ah." She breathes, her smirk shifting to something more mischievous and knowing. "You won't be alone."

You don't dignify her with an answer, or more aptly a lie. 

"Fine." She agrees, "you can lock up." 

You have to bite your lip to stop yet another squeal from escaping. 

Steve's knock comes at exactly ten minutes after four. Eight minutes after your last customer left. Four minutes after Wanda and the rest of the girls slipped out for the day. Two minutes after you flipped the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed.'

He feels sheepish, standing on the street and waiting for you to answer with baited breath and his heart in his hands. Also flowers, a little bundle he bought from one of the corner shops on his way over. Mostly baby's breath it smells delicious and looks as delicate as the dress you wore to the dance.

Like a fool, he even dressed up. One of his nicer button downs, one with no stains on the cuff or loose threads.

You're still in your uniform when you answer, apron pulled tight around your waist. 

He steps inside the second you open the door, laying his hand over yours on the knob to push it shut behind him.

The air in the store goes still once it clicks in the lock. 

"Hello." He whispers. 

"Hi." You beam, both of your hands still resting on the door. 

Steve's other hand hand flexes, causing the bouquet in his grip to crinkle. 

"Are those for me?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you take notice of them. 

Steve flusters, pink dusting his cheeks as he remembers himself. 

"Yes." He passes them over, a clumsy stretch as he all but forced them into your hands.

"They're beautiful Stevie." You hum as you take a deep breath, sticking your nose between the petals and closing your eyes. "Thank you." 

Steve doesn't answer, too distracted by how your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. 

Your hand gently pulls out from beneath his, walking over to one of the stations and putting the flowers down next to your things. 

"We don't have long." You warn him, "Wanda's expecting me home by five. She wants us all to eat dinner together before-" 

You cut yourself, voice trailing with what's unsaid. 

Steve catches your shift anyway, sighing and walking further into the shop with you. 

"Before the rumble?" He finishes for you.

You nod, a short one that makes your nerves clear to him. 

"I'm not going."

Your head snaps up at that, eyes flaring with surprise and something else.

"Stevie you have to go." You insist, moving until you're toe to toe with him. "You have to go and you have to stop it."

Steve's heart drops. 

"I don't know if I could- even if I went Bucky and Vis are both set." He shakes his head, petting a hand over your hair as if to soothe. "It's going to happen." 

You pull away, stepping back just out of reach. "You have to at least try." 

"What makes you think I can stop them?" He asks, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Not with you, no with himself. With the twist in his gut and the fact that he knows he'll go. If you're asking? Steve would do anything if the request came from your lips.

You hum, as if thinking of your answer. Slowly, you close the distance again, toeing your way closer until your hands find his. "You're kind." You start, "you have a good heart, people listen to those who have a good heart." 

Steve's unconvinced, but the look in your eye is steadfast. You're not trying to telling him anything untrue, you're simply trying to make him see himself as you do. 

"Please Stevie." You try one more time, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout. "I don't want anyone hurt." 

Steve bends like a wave to your tide, nodding before he can find another excuse. 

If you can see that good in him, than perhaps it really is there. 

"Fine." He whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "But only because it is you asking."

You brighten, l if that is even possible. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

A chaste press of lips follows, casual familiar contact. You take it as if his lips belong to you, and as far as Steve is concerned, they do. 

You pull back just as quickly, moving to fuss with something else in the store as you finish closing up.

The picture paints itself in front of him. The store replaced with a house, something small but homey, covered in decorations and colors and something distinctly you. 

There's dinner on the stove, fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, and open windows letting in the sun. There's bird song instead of cars honking, city noise substituted for something more suburban. 

It feels tangible, inevitable. 

You stop what you're doing, turning to look at him with a shy small and a small "What?" on your lips.

Steve walks over to you, taking you in his arms and this time stealing a deeper kiss. 

You melt into him, spine curving as you arch into his touch. It's like molten lava seeping through your bones, bigger than the butterflies you've always been told to expect.

"What was that for?" You gasp when he finally lets you go.

Steve smiles, baring all his teeth and dimples to boot. 

"Just saw our future for a minute there." He whispers.

"Yeah?" You hum, arms encircling his waist. "What was it like?"

"You being there when I come home." Steve starts, throat bobbing as he speaks. "A ring on your finger and your things in our house." 

You bring your hands between your chests, making a show of sliding a ring off of your right hand and onto your left. It's a simple band, a gift from your mother on your eighteenth birthday. You hold it up for Steve to see, pretending to assess it yourself. 

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yeah." Steve says, taking your hand in his and bringing the ring to his lips. "Like that." He places a kiss over the cool metal, leaving tingles across your entire hand in their wake. 

"What else?" You ask, voice hardly audible.

Steve pretends to think, holding your gaze as he pulls the moment out between you. 

"No fire escapes, no sirens or gangs." He continues, "Just a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood."

"Sounds nice." You hum. 

Steve nods, leaning down to lave one more soft kiss over your lips. 

You're the one who deepens it, pushing onto your tiptoes and threading your hands through his hair.

When you let him go Steve looks dazed, eyes glossy and lips even pinker than usual. 

"I keep thinking about our wedding," you confess. "Working here, surrounded by these dresses all day." You half gesture around you, the dozens of white dresses littering the walls. 

Steve looks around, finally taking note of them. 

"I think about who we would invite, who would be your man of honor-"

"Bucky of course." Steve butts in.

"Wanda would be my matron of honor, I mean I can't imagine her and Vis won't be married before the end of the year."

"So a spring wedding for us?" Steve asks. 

"Yes!" You agree excitedly. "With wildflowers and baby's breath and a great big cake."

"Who will officiate?"

"Officiate?" You ask, head tilting. It makes you look so cute Steve has to push down the urge to kiss your nose.

"Who will marry us?"

You nod, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "I'll leave that up to my parents, I'm sure they have strong feelings about it."

"I don't care who does it," Steve breathes. "As long as they tie me to you."

"So you, Steve. Take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You ask.

"I do." He whispers, "I take you sick, I take you hungry, I take your poor, I take you rich. I take you as long as I live."

Steve kisses you again and you think that you'll need to buy more chap-stick if he keeps this up. Not that you mind in the slightest. 

When your heart has stopped hammering, Steve finally lets you go long enough to check the time. 

"It's late." You tell him begrudgingly. "I have to get home."

Steve nods, understanding. "Bucky's waiting for me too."

You sigh, stealing one last embrace. "Come by tonight? After it's done?"

"Leave your window open." 

The Wolves are on a warpath. 

By the time Steve catches up to them, sense is impossible to find. 

With any entire day left to simmer their anger has completely bubbled over. 

Bucky's the worst of it, insisting he'll be the one to fight. 

Steve's not convinced he's even planning to try and win. There's a look in his eyes, something dark and hopeless. He's decided he's a dead man either way.

Still, every time he feels the urge to run, when the voice in his head tells him its pointless, he sees your face. He sees the look in your eyes, the way you think he's good. 

He's determined to be worthy of it. 

Vis is more subtle in his anger. 

There's a rigidness in his posture, a careful control Bucky has never known. A skill Steve would desperately like to learn. 

In his hands is a switch knife. 

He spins it around, passing it over his knuckles and spinning it between long fingers. 

It moves like a piece of him, an extension of an already lethal weapon. 

"Thought we said hands." Bucky's voice echoes into the night, bouncing off shipping containers.

"Was just warming up." Vis responds, voice level as he passes the blade off to someone else. 

His words bristle through the Wolves, the hairs on every one of their necks standing on edge. 

I should say something. Steve thinks, I need to say something.

"Who fights?" Vis asks, breaking the tension. He holds out his knuckles and cracks them. "I have work tomorrow and would prefer to finish this sooner than later."

Two voices ring out. 

"I'll finish this." Bucky says just as Steve calls out-

"We don't need to do this."

Every head snaps toward him, both sides united in their reaction. 

"No." Bucky starts.

"I think we do." Vis finishes. "I would prefer to fight the one who kisses my sister though." 

A gasp echoes through the Wolves, friends turning to him with disgust. 

Bucky's gaze is the worst of all, thick with betrayal. Despite it, he still looks back to Vis. 

"No," He insists. "He's not one of us. He won't fight."

Arms encircle themselves around Steve's, holding him in place. 

Protests start to fall in a panic, pleas for them to stop, to think this through. Bucky's name slips like a beg, desperate to make his friend listen. 

A circle forms around them, Steve held just out of reach, unable to break loose, unable to do anything but watch.

Both men square up, Vis' lean build and Bucky's broad shoulders. Each with their fists raised protectively in front of their faces. 

Bucky strikes first, always too eager for his own good. 

It's a miss, Vis dodging it with ease and countering with a punch directly to Bucky's abdomen. It lands with a thud, folding Bucky's position. 

Bucky's quick to recover, dodging a second hit and landing one square on Vis' jaw. 

They trade blows for long enough that time begins to drag. The noise in Steve's ears reduced to the rush of his blood and then sickening sound of fists and flesh.

Then Bucky gains the upper hand, a loud crack as his knuckles collide with Vis' cheek. 

The taller man crumbles, knees giving out and sending him straight to the concrete. 

It should be enough, should be the end. 

But Bucky's never known when to stop.

He clambers over his crumpled body, pushing him flat onto his back and laying another punch, then another, then a third.

He keeps going, until his fists are covered in Vis' blood. 

Steve hears himself yelling, throat raw with Bucky's name. 

"Bucky you're gonna kill him!" He finally manages, voice ragged.

By some miracle it gets through to him, Bucky turning to face Steve. 

As quickly as Bucky turns, Vis rallies.

One of the Stray's passes him a switch blade, the knife already drawn in.

It happens to fast, not even enough time to get the warning out.

The knife sinks into Bucky's stomach with a dull thud. 

The entire world tilts on it's axis. 

Steve finally breaks free, numb feet rushing forward to where his friend lies on the concrete. 

"Bucky!" He cries, lifting his head into his lap. "Buck you're gonna be okay, yeah? Just hang on buddy." 

Bucky's croaking, blood bubbling up over his lips. He gurgles, like he's trying to speak only nothing comes out. His hand lifts, covered in his own blood. It touches Steve's face, just for a moment. 

Then he goes slack.

In an instant his skin goes gray, eyes glazing over as all the light from them disappears.

Steve's heart stops. It freezes in his chest, seized by grief and fear and worst of all anger. 

He remembers this morning at the shop. The smile on Bucky's face, the familar warmth of his friend. 

The gun in his waistband. 

Steve doesn't think about you when he reaches for it. 

He looks down at his best-friends body, and does the only thing he can think of.

He points it directly at Vis' chest.

The sun is nearly up when Steve finally comes.

The sky has started to turn blue, the first sign of morning peeking from the horizon. He slips inside your window, nearly falling over when he bends to fit his head in. 

You're at his side immediately, arms throwing themselves around his neck. 

"Stevie!" You whisper, sighing into his neck with relief. You wait for his arms to wrap around you, for their comfort. 

Only they never come. 

Slowly you pull away, confusion etched between your eyebrows.

"Stevie?" You whisper. 

Finally, you take him in.

He looks awful, face gaunt and grey. His clothes are torn, the knees of his jeans ripped and bruises in the crook of his arm. That's not what makes you stumble backwards.

He's covered in blood. 

It's splattered across his face, smeared along his cheek bones and dusting his blonde hair. It's all over his clothes, covering his hands and-

He has a gun. 

It's limp in his palm, hand loose around the grip. 

Your blood runs cold, a sudden and very sure feeling in your gut that something isn't right.

"What did you do?" You whisper. 

Steve lets out a tortured noise, something almost resembling an apology. 

He falls, knees giving out and bringing him down to your floor. The gun falls away, pushed to the side by his own hand. 

"What happened?" You try again, tentatively coming closer as you speak. "Stevie what happened? Vis hasn't come home yet and there have been cops up and down the street all night."

You get onto your knees in front of him, and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Steve hiccups, tears covering his cheeks, turning dried blood in pink streaks. 

"I couldn't stop them-" he gasps, "I tried I promise I tried, but they just wouldn't listen." 

You can hardly make out what he says between breaths, the words coming out wet and messy. 

"It's okay," you try to sooth him, maneuvering until your pressed behind his back, pulling his head against your chest. "Sssh, it's okay."

Steve falls apart in your arms, broken cries and gasps pressed into your skin. 

"Bucky…" He whispers, "he's gone."

Your heart aches at the way he says, as if absorbing his own pain. 

"Oh Stevie." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Steve croaks, "no I don't deserve it." 

You feel yourself tense. 

"What do you mean?"

Steve goes rigid in your arms, his tears still rolling down his cheeks and under his jaw. He reaches up to you with shaking hands, wrapping them around your forearm where it sits over his chest. 

"Vis had a knife and Bucky didn't see it." Steve manages to whisper. "I didn't mean to but it was like I couldn't think."

You eyes flash back to the gun in the corner of your room. 

Your ears reply the cry you heard from Wanda's apartment, the wail you blamed on someone else. 

Your brother still isn't home. 

"No." You whisper, shaking your head as soon as the thought makes itself known.

"No you didn't." You beg, tears already brimming over your lashes. "Tell me you didn't."

Steve turns in your arms and this time its him who holds your face. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs, "I'm so so sorry."

Your heart splinters. 

Grief like you've never known consumes it. 

Like the floor has been pulled out from beneath you and sent you in a spiraling free fall. Or as if someone has ripped off the roof and left you alone in the rain. 

It consumes you fast, tearing into your soul and taking a piece you know you can never get back. 

It's wearying. sawing you in half and then placing what's left to dry out. 

"No." You mutter, tears falling fast down your cheeks. "No, no, no, no." Your fists slam into his chest, banging into him with as much strength as you can muster. "Why?" You whimper, tossing the word at him over and over. "Why? Why? Why!" You repeat, until it devolves from a question to a curse.

Steve takes it all, letting you hit, scream, and cry. His hands fall from your cheeks, wrapping around your wrists in loose cuffs. 

He's still weeping, gasping with pain as you take out every wave of your grief on him. 

"It should have been me." Steve says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "It should have been me."

You heart drops, even through the pain you find the room to protest. 

"No!" You whimper, shaking your head. "No I can't-" You break off into a sob. "I love you both."

Steve's eyes clear and for just a moment the storm lifts. 

"You love me?" He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, tears finally slowing. 

"I love you more than I hate you."

His kiss is wet, salty with your tears. It's messy and more sad than anything you ever hoped to share with him. 

For every press of your lips becomes an exchange, another apology, another profession,

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Until the words blend together. 

I'm sorry I love you.

You both mean it, Steve for all of the pain he's brought. You for all of the guilt eating you alive. 

Still you don't stop, bodies shifting until your back finds the floor, lips pressed together with even greater desperation.

I'm sorry I love you.

You can't stop, and some sicker part of you doesn't want to. There's no idea what the daylight will bring, what other sins will come out of hiding. You have no doubt the cops are searching for him, you could live with that. You could move on knowing he's safe, knowing he's alive. 

It's the Strays you're worried about. The boys who followed your brother, the ones who won't let his bloodshed be where this ends. The boys who have become such a big part of your new life here. The ones who sit at your dinner table and muss your hair like you're their sister too. 

They won't let Steve go. 

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve's body hovers over yours, the strong arms that made you feel so protected on either side of your head. 

His kisses have an edge to them now, a bite you match with intensity. A nibble on his lip, a suck where your teeth are still indented. Steve takes it all with a gasp, one of his thighs holding his weight between your legs

I'm sorry I love you.

You still want him. 

Your stomach twists with heat, a feeling you've never given credence too. It burns in your belly, driving your hips up against his leg. Your nightgown bunches between your thighs, wrinkling against his jeans getting caught between your bodies.

Your body lights up at the sensation, toes curling at the first press of pleasure. 

The gasp you let out into Steve's mouth is different this time, there's no pain behind it, no anger. It's something more pure.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie!" You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips over his thigh again.

"I know." Steve whispers, pressing his leg firmer against your heat. "I know."

Your breath catches, the pleasure between your legs climbing up to your stomach. The fire catches there too, body seeking out as much friction as possible. 

It pulls behind your belly button, new and confusing and tantalizingly out of reach.

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pulls back, sitting up on to his haunches and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls at it like an inconvenience, down past the expanse of his shoulders and away from the swells of his biceps. 

He tosses it aside, his belt following suit. He undoes the buckle with one hand and pulls it through the loops in one swift movement. 

Then he's back on top of you, one hand holding himself while the other palms at your hip.

With how high your nightgown as ridden up, his hand slips under it with ease, palming the skin there as if he's not sure he's actually allowed to touch it.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie." You say, grabbing at the thin material of his tank top with both hands. 

"Yes?" He answers, lips brushing yours as he speaks. "Anything."

You nod, knowing he means it. 

"I want you." You whisper, carding your hands through his hair. 

You want him, want him while he's still yours. 

Steve nods, placing another sweet kiss on your lips. "Then you can have me." 

His hands go further, emboldened by your words and your own exploration over his body. His slides between your bodies, where your cunt rests against his pants and cups it. Thin cotton turns damp beneath his touch, fabric ruined as you rut into his palm. 

You whine, pushing into him for more, desperately trying to chase the feeling he's ignited.

"This okay?" He mutters, flattening his fingers over your folds, pushing the gusset of your panties between them. 

You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "Please." You whisper, "more." 

Steve's hands stay soft, but their touch turns firm. He pulls your underwear down your legs, pushing your nightgown up to fully reveal yourself to him.

"Beautiful." He breathes, "so beautiful."

His hands come to your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowers his head between them.

I'm sorry I love you.

Your throat turns dry, breathing stops altogether as Steve looks up at you from the apex of your thighs. 

He blinks at you, giving you a chance to push him away. 

"I want you." You affirm instead, shifting your hips to give him a better angle.

Steve descends with a nod, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. 

If you thought what you felt before was fire, then Steve's lips are lava. 

It burns with the first swipe of his tongue, more exploratory than purposeful. Then a second, before he's diving in with gusto. Like a starving man Steve feasts on your cunt, as if it may as well be his last meal. 

You're wetter than you ever believed possible, slick to his chin with want. More than you've ever felt on your fingers. 

"Stevie!" You cry out, hand knotting in his hair, a sharp grip on his roots. You're gasping, a writhing mess on the floor of your bedroom. It's made all that much dirtier by your bed just a few feet over. A simple luxury denied because you couldn't wait to give in to your baser instincts.

Steve's tongue lays flat over your clit, tonguing it with kitten licks while two of his fingers explore your entrance. 

They work you over, scissoring inside of you with the best of intentions. A curl of his knuckles and you're clenching around him like a vice.

Steve doesn't speak, doesn't find any words worth interrupting your pretty sounds.

With his lips closed around your clit you cum on his tongue. A full body spasm that leaves you gasping and wrecked. A thin sheen of sweat over every inch of your skin and stars in your eyes so bright you nearly can't see Steve when he comes back up to kiss you. 

The taste of yourself on his tongue is filthier than sin, a reminder of just how far you've fallen in single night. A different girl lays beneath him than the one Steve met at the dance. This one's known joy, known sadness, known anger and pleasure. 

How is she supposed to move on?

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pushes inside you with a gentleness you wouldn't think is possible for a boy covered in blood. He lets your entrance kiss the crown of his cock and waits until you nod before breaching it.

There's a stretch, a big one. Your entire body goes tense, freezing in shock at the sheer size of him. Everytime you think it must be over, he must be done there's another inch, another circle over your clit as he tries to soothe the ache.

It's a fullness you've never known, unlike anything else you've felt. 

He pushes inside the deepest part of you, heat throbbing as he lets you adjust. 

"Stevie." You whimper, a single tear breaking over your lash line. "So much." 

Steve twitches inside you, cock stirring at the sound of his name on your tongue. You say it slower than everyone else, like he deserves the extra time. It makes his chest feel like it could burst. 

"I know." He soothes, "I know." He kisses your forehead, but gives a tentative thrust. A slow roll of his hips to see how your body receives it. 

You gasp again, eyes still squeezed shut. Your expression changes though, from pain to something sweeter. 

There's a hum, a soft little moan this time when he gives you another.

You say his name again and this time his entire body reacts, another twitch but also a firmer roll of his hips. 

"You like when I say your name." You whisper, nose pressing against his. 

Steve nods, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself back. 

"I like when you do anything."

You sigh, dreamy and pleasure drunk. This time it's you who teases, giving a testing clench around his length. 

Steve starts to unravel, his hips jerking in response to your test. 

"Stevie." You repeat both his name and the action, pleased when it marries both reactions. 

"Stevie." And he picks up the pace, thrusts changed from delicate to purposeful. Any fear of breaking you replaced with a fear of not having enough of you. 

"Stevie." A ragged moan falls past his lips, the sound landing directly on your lower back, igniting with tingles that send your hips canting to meet his thrusts. 

"Stevie!" When you fall over the edge again, tumbling into a free fall of pleasure and an overwhelming flood of love in your chest.

Steve falls right behind you, pulling out just as he begins to spill his spend. It makes a mess on the floor instead, a mess equal to your gasping and exhausted bodies.

You lay there with him in the aftermath, a blanket pulled half-hazardly off your bed and onto your bodies. It takes minutes for your breath to catch, for your frantic heart to calm down. 

When it's settled, when your head lays on his chest and his hand draws absentminded circles on your back, Steve finally speaks.

"Run away with me." 

The words hit you between the ribs. The prospect of leaving everything you've ever known, all the people you love, the home you've made in this strange place. You've done that before, you're not eager to do it again. 

But it's him, it's your Stevie. It's your boy with the blue eyes and big heart and even with the blood on his hands you still want them to be the hands that hold you. 

You shake your head, but your smile gives you away. The future that had been so suddenly ripped from you feels within reach again. Like maybe you can be happy, maybe you can forgive and grow. Maybe that little house is waiting for you to come and fill it.

"Okay." You agree. 

"Really?" Steve asks, eyebrows lifted high. "I didn't think you'd say yes." 

You hum, tracing a line down his chest with your finger. "Me either." You tease, "there's a word in a country, for when two people are meant to love." 

"Soulmates?" Steve offers, his own grin nearly unbearable.

"Yes." You nod, tucking your head into his chest. "You are my soulmate." You tell him. 

"You're mine." Steve breathes in return, "there will never be anyone but you." 

"Then it's settled." You tell him, moving so you're leaning on his chest. "We will go somewhere, and we will find a place for us." 

"A place for us." He agrees.

You get dressed in a quiet exchange of knowing looks and stolen kisses. You take from each others lips with familiarity, two bodies shared inside one soul. 

As Steve leaves, you give him one last kiss, one last whispered exchange. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I love you." 

You're not sure what tomorrow will bring. It has clothes shoved hastily into a napsack, a note addresses itself to your parents with an apology and a promise to write. 

Outside the streets start to come to life, New York flutters in through your open window. A neighbor starts to hang her washing, a bird sings its alarm. 

A boy runs home, blonde hair shining on the sun and a smile on his lips. 

Behind him another stares with bloodshot eyes, rage in his blood. 

Only a block away, you hear the shot when it rings out. 

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, seriously this fic was such a fun departure from my usual stuff and it was so nice to get back to Steve!!! Love you! Say it back!

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Even the mention of his old crew left a sour note on his tongue. Their memory burned deep in his blood. The mark his years running the streets had left on him, the matching stain on his record. 

"I'd just be slowing you down anyway." He lamented. 

Bucky scoffed, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He tightened his grip, "You're our founding father, we're always gonna need you." 

His friend let go, taking just a few steps back. It'd been at least a week since they'd seen each other, if not two. Steve hated to say it, but he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, greasy strands oh hair sticking to his forehead. He looked skinnier too, like he'd been running more than usual and not eating enough to make up for it. 

"I need you Steve." Bucky finished, this time a little softer. None of that bravado behind it. "There's gonna be a rumble." He whispered. 

Steve's eyes blew wide. "A rumble? Are you crazy?" 

The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis, the feeling in his gut warping with it. A wave of dread, heavy and ice cold washing over him. 

Bucky sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't have a choice!" 

"Of course you do." Steve challenged, poking two fingers into Bucky's chest, "What the hell could be so bad that you need to do something dumb as a rumble?" 

Bucky lost his balance, falling back a few steps with the force of Steve's push. 

"All for a couple streets? The Strays'll never go for it I'm telling you now." 

Bucky shook his head, something terrible set in his eyes. "No it's not like it was when you were running with us Steve. It's worse now." He took a deep breath. "There's a fight every day, last week Sam almost lost an eye 'cause one of them pulled a switch knife."

Steve shrugged, "Did Sam pull his first?"

"Doesn't matter." Bucky denied. 

"Of course it does!"

"No!" Bucky shouted, "it doesn't."

Silence filled the space between them. Cavernous and wide. They just stood there for a minute, two young men. Two young men who knew each other inside and out, who had seen each other through the deaths of their parents and raised themselves on the streets.

"I need this all settled I go." Bucky finally spoke up, all the vitriol gone from his voice. Surrender taking its place.

"Go?" Steve asked, "Buck what are you talkin' about?"

Bucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumbled letter. 

"Got my orders." He held up the envelope, unfolding it so Steve could see the Government stamp on the front. "I leave in a week." 

"Shit, Buck I had no idea-"

"So you're coming tonight right?" Bucky interrupted, stuffing the letter back in his jacket. "Need my best man if I'm gonna end this once and for all." 

Steve recognized the look now. He'd seen it on other kids they'd grown up with, ones who had left in a uniform and never come back. Fear. 

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'll be there." 

He'd sent Bucky off with a promise and an agreement to meet at the soda shop before hand. The wind blew his entire walk home, angry gusts carrying bitter cold breezes. It felt like a warning, like a sign. 

The day you met Steve Rogers had been completely ordinary. 

Well that's not entirely true, it was also the day of your first dance. 

Sure, you went to the dress shop as usual. Stopped at the market on your way home and picked up bread for dinner like your mother had asked. Although today Then you'd used some of your earnings to buy new ribbon. Bright red and silky, it shone against your skin and would surely do the same in your hair. 

All the same, nothing a miss. 

It was just the butterflies in your stomach, the pep in your step. The way you couldn't seem to stop smiling even as the wind tried to wipe it off your face. 

Like your body knew something you didn't, every ounce of your crying out with joy for something it didn't even know existed yet. 

Then you saw your dress. 

"Wanda please I am begging you," you pleaded, holding the dress up to her. "Just a few inches off the hem, please!" 

Wanda is the closest thing you know to an older sister, her family moved into the building around the same time as yours. 

They immigrated from Sokovia only two months prior to your own arrival. You'd bonded over missing food from home and the struggles of adjusting to life as newly minted American girls. 

Then she'd started dating your older brother, Vis and you really became family. 

"Absolutely not." She insisted, shaking her head as she took the dress from your hands. "Your mother would kill me. Then your brother would kill me again."

"Not true!" You promised, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to look at you. "They would kill me first and you'd have plenty of time to run!" 

Your jutted your lip out, giving her your best version of puppy dog eyes, the same ones you used to get permission to go to the dance in the first place. 

Wanda stared deadpan, completely unmoved by your efforts. 

"Ugh!" You groaned, "please Wanda. It's my first night out since we moved here and I want to make an impression."

"These aren't the kind of boys you need to worry about that with." Wanda tried to appease you, "you already know most of them. The ones you don't know are for a reason."

"Oh Wanda enough!" You groaned, "They're just boys."

"Boys who don't like anyone different from them. Remember that." She narrowed her eyes, "just stay to our side of the gym will you?"

You sighed, but nodded. "Fine." 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from you and taking a seat at her sewing machine with the dress still in her hand. She stretched it out on the table in front of her, assessing the seams and feeling them between her fingers. Then with a sigh, she spoke. "Two inches off the hem, that's it." 

Your squeal surely echoed down the hallway, loud enough make Wanda jump in her seat.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" You giggled, running over to squeeze a hug around her shoulders. "You are the bestest friend a girl could ask for."

"I am your only friend." She reminded you, licking the end of her thread before pulling it through the needle. 

"My only friend who will also take two inches off the neckline?" You poked, giggling all the while.

Wanda threw you a glare over her machine, reaching into her bag and pulling it some ribbons. 

"Don't push, I could make it longer just as easily." 

"No!" You panicked, shaking your head. "Two inches is perfect! Nothing else that is wonderful thank you Wanda." 

He lips curled into a smile, a little laugh falling past her lips. 

You sat in silence while she worked, mindlessly playing with your hair while she toiled over the old fabric. What necklace would you wear? Perhaps mother would let you borrow one of hers, or even a bangle for your wrist. Oh the possibilities were endless. 

Perhaps you would meet a boy, someone your brother doesn't know. Someone who would see a woman and not just the little girl he had declared off limits the moment you touched ground in this city. 

Wanda finished the dress with a triumph "Aha!" Happily sliding it off her sewing machine and holding it up for you see. 

The hem was shorter, probably closer to two and a half inches. A small mercy you immediately threw her a grateful smile for. Then your eyes darted to the neckline, while she hadn't lowered it, she'd squared off the neckline. What had previously been a round neck with a sweet bow in the center was now a square neck free of any frills. It was womanly, undeniably so. 

Finally you noticed the pièce de résistance sitting at the waist. 

There against the fabric, shining bright against the white dress was a beautiful red ribbon. It was a near perfect match to the one you'd bought for your hair. A completely innocent way to highlight all the curves you often had to hide. 

"It's perfect!" You gasped, reaching out to touch it, running your fingers over the ribbon in disbelief. "Oh Wanda thank you!" 

Wanda smiled, standing up and bringing the dress and you in front of the mirror. Then she held it up in front of you, holding the neck where it would fall so you could see. 

"So beautiful." She whispered. "Any boy who doesn't notice you would have to be blind."

You took the dress into your own hands, pressing it to your shoulders and giving it a good twirl. "It's wonderful!" You ran your finger over the new neckline before laying it out over your dress.

"Tonight's the night Wanda I can feel it." You pulled her into a tight hug, whispering the words conspiratorially in her ear. "My whole life changes tonight."

The gym feels like another world. 

As if a gateway to different life has emptied out onto the waxed floors. The light catches them differently than usual, casting the wooden planks in an amber glow. 

A fifth of rum poured in the punch is just the cherry on top. 

There's a live band is playing on the stage, loud enough to drown out the click of heels on the floor and out of the way enough to nearly be forgotten. 

They're playing Steve's favorite song.

He's late, at least later than he told Bucky he'd be. 

Nearly an hour of debating if he should even come in the first place. A battle fought between loyalty and self-preservation. 

Loyalty won in the end. 

Maybe. 

Steve had spotted Bucky almost immediately, a blur of dark curls holding a on to a spinning blonde. They hadn't stopped since he got there, dancing from one song to the next with hardly a break to breathe. 

So he took root in a corner and waited. Planting himself in the protective shadows of the bleachers. 

It was the same as it had been a few months ago, back when was Steve was alongside them on the floor, a girl to match Bucky's on his arm. Back before his time at the Reform House, before he had been stupid and paid the price. 

It feels like a whole 'nother life now. 

He can't go back, can't lose another six months. 

He can't afford to lose another friend either.

He has to get Bucky to call it off. 

The Strays have been piling in slowly, each group gaining in numbers until the dance floor began to split itself. A gang on each side, a room filled with kids forgotten by the rest of the world. 

It may be neutral territory, but that doesn't mean there isn't still tension. 

It's palpable, static cracking across the divide, threatening a lightning strike every time someone drifts to close to the invisible line. 

Another reason to stay in the shadows.

It changes the way he views the entire room, how it morphs under the weight of this silly feud. He pays extra attention to every grimace, how when Vision lifts his girl Bucky has to do the same. How Bucky tries to throw her even higher. 

It makes Officer Ross stick out like a sore thumb, his frumpy uniform blending blue and black together until he becomes the human approximation of a bruise. 

When you're in the shadows, it makes it that much easier to spot the light.

There, across the gym, is where he sees you. Similarly sidelined, you stand just a hundred feet away at the other end of the bleachers. Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away once it finds you. Like a magnet finally finding its South Pole. The seats are extended, framing you beneath them in a halo and making it so Steve can see straight through. 

You're busy staring at the scene in front of you, a soft smile playing at you lips. Unconsciously swaying to the music with gentle turns of your hips in just enough to make the hem of your dress dance around your knees. 

Steve's heart cracks wide open. The feeling in his gut- the one he's spent all day trying to name- unravels. It floods his chest with warmth and begins to carry his legs in your direction. 

It's everything you had pictured and absolutely nothing like you imagined. 

You're hypnotized by the dancing, the way everyone seems to just know what to do. How skirts flare and skinny shoes refract the light. Every time someone lifts you hold your breath, every time they hit the group you clap. You're enraptured, hypnotized, utterly bewitched. 

You're standing in the corner. All that fuss with Wanda and your hem just for it to be wasted under the bleachers. 

Speaking of Wanda, she's breathless from dancing and yet making no moves to slow down. Her smile is the brightest it gets, all teeth and happiness. The smile she only gets around your brother. 

Vis, is well, a vision. The tallest one in the room, he towers over everyone, shoulders set with his arms drawn tight around Wanda. He's smiling too, it's your mother's smile, her cheeks and the nose you both share. His skin glows under the lights like this, casting him ethereal. It's the same shade as yours, and yet you somehow doubt the same effect is being cast on you. 

Still, it's every bit as magical as yours imagination advertised.

Wanda spins again, her dress fanning out around her. She looks every ounce the woman you so desperately want to be. Effortless, sexy, poised at every turn, and loved. 

The boys are- well, boys. They cower in the corners and nurse the same glass of punch. They flash you a smile but never for too long, lest your brother see. 

You aren't sure how Vis came to be so important here, what he did to earn the respect of so many of his peers. For some reason every boy on the block would do anything he asked. Including but not limited to, staying away from his baby sister. 

One dance. That was what you'd managed. 

More accurately half a dance. Peter, the nice boy from a few apartments down. He'd been brave enough to approach, ask you to dance and taken your hand in his sweaty palm. 

Then he'd scampered like a kicked puppy when he realized your brother was there. 

So here you stand along the bleachers, enjoying their protection and the view. Even if you weren't out there it was still exciting to watch everyone. How the couples move like they're anticipating each-others movements. The way they slip into a language spoken only with their bodies. 

The more you watch the more you want to know what it feels like. 

Love.

You think about love a lot, you're surrounded by it after all. 

You see it in your brother and Wanda, the way she softens his edges in a way no one else can. It's in your parents, most of the time. Sometimes it's across the street, between the old couple from Ireland who sit on their stoop and feed the pigeons. It's in one of the girls you work with, Natasha. In the letters she reads you from her beau back in Russia. 

You covet it, lean in closer when they speak as if you can catch it like a cold. 

You feel it breathing down your neck, waiting to strike. Your heart is open, you just need someone to walk into it. 

Or stare into it.

You feel Steve's eyes on you before you find him. The heat of a gaze and that intangible feeling that you're being watched. It breaks the spell that the dancers had cast on you, turning your head as if with a magnet. An undeniable pull to look.

Steve recognizes you before he even knows your name. 

Not from seeing you around, or because you came into the shop while he was working. No, he'd remember that.

It's something deeper, like his body- like his soul knows yours.

When your eyes meet his it's as if he turns to air, disembodied and floating toward you. 

The entire room disappears, fades into the back of his mind. All that's left the thump of the music beneath his feet and you standing about ten feet away from him.

He's not sure who gets there first, but the middle finds you only a foot apart, toe to toe and locked on each other's gaze.

You're stunning. 

Stunning doesn't even really do you justice, as if you've been carved from the likeness of Aphrodite herself. 

Angelic is more apt. Soft curves emphasized by the cut of your dress. The swell of your hips and delicate outline haloed by the gym lights. 

There's a curve in your lips, a soft smile that threatens to blind him with the light exude. He's hooked. 

His feet move first, one half step in your direction then a pivot. It's a poor copycat of what the couples are doing just on the other side of the bleachers. 

You fall right into step anyway, smile breaking even further as you match his pose. It brings you chest to chest, hardly an inch them. 

Then a spin, each of you carefully walking around the other, ensuring no loss of distance. 

The music finally fades back in, triumphant and joyous as tensions continue to grow in the rest of the room. 

It gives Steve the courage to touch. First the palm of his hand, laying over top of yours as you turn it upwards to meet him. Your skin is hot against his, electricity bubbling between you. 

You're burning, a fire lit under the weight of his stare.

You've never felt more alive. 

You've hardly known the boy five minutes and you already never want to feel anything else.

He could holds the entire world in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and all you can see is yourself.

Your tongue slips with a drop of your name, soft and breathlessly shared. As if talking too much will break the spell. 

He stops moving, his fingers slowly lacing through yours. 

"Steve." He whispers. His voice matches the rest of him, soft but unyielding. 

"Stevie?" You repeat, dragging the syllables along your tongue as you try to get it right. 

"Yeah." He whispers, neck craning and bringing his face an inch closer to yours. "Stevie."

Stevie is like the men in the movies, broad and sturdy. There's a beauty in his face you didn't know was possible in real life, in the cut of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

His lips, now that you've looked at them you can't look away. They part just enough for air to pass, pink and pretty and you can't get over the way they shaped around your name. 

You want to feel them, want to know how they would press against yours. You want to know every kind of kiss with him. The hungry ones, the slow ones, the chaste ones and hello-goodbye ones. 

The first one is at the top of your list though. 

Steve isn't much better, his palm is turning clammy in your grasp. Nerves spiking the longer you hold his gaze. 

You laugh, sudden and unbridled. It's like a songbird, sweet and natural. Like it's one of the worlds most natural wonders. 

No wonder he gave in. 

The kiss is tentative, barely more than lips pressed to lips. It's a test, making sure neither of you erupt into flames. 

It only survives that way for a moment, then the damn breaks. 

Your hands grab first, reaching up for fistfuls of shirt and using the leverage to pull his mouth firmer against yours.

Steve's are similarly unrestrained, wrapping around your waist and bringing your chests flush as well. 

Together you cross a line that was drawn by people in the very same room. You tear it apart and dance on its memory, stomping it into the ground with completely disregard of everything it stands for. 

A war between boys means nothing in the face of a love orchestrated by fate. 

That's what you have between your hands, a boy who you believe with every confidence was made for you. As his hands slot over your hips, his nose tilting and falling into place along yours, you're certain he was made for you too. 

Steve's kissed plenty of girls, he never really understood the appeal. Kissing was a means to an end, a bridge he had to cross to get to the next step of intimacy. Girls liked kissing, so he would kiss to appease them. It was never something he felt the need to do.

With his lips pressed to yours Steve already feels like he needs to kiss you for the rest of his life. 

It's softer than kisses he's known before, there's no rushing or wandering hands. There's no room for the voice in his head to be bored or complain about lipstick getting on his skin. 

He's consumed by it. His chest is air and his head is empty and all that exists is you in his arms. 

Neither of you hear the stop in the music, the sudden cut off or the way the trombone flails with one last note before falling to silence. 

Neither of you hear the shouting, the raised voices and thrown insults. 

Neither of you hear the gasps, the sound of Officer Ross pulling his baton from his belt. 

Neither of you hear the footsteps as everyone starts to scatter.

There's a hand at the back of your dress, Wanda's manicured fingers scratching your skin as she pulls you back and out of Steve's arms. 

When it finally comes back into focus, the gym is chaos. Vis stands at the end of the bleachers, yelling for you and Wanda to hurry. There's something about getting you home, getting you both safe. 

Your feet move, walking backwards as Wanda loosens her grip and takes you by the hand instead. 

The look in Vis' eyes is enough for Steve to recognize what line he crossed. It weren't than the similarities between you would be. Nevertheless his heart pounds, any reservations he had for him disappearing. 

Steve takes a few steps after you before remembering himself. Bucky is out there yelling his name and he doesn't even care. By the time he stops staring at the space you left behind, the gym is nearly empty. All that's left is the sound of rubber soles on the floor and distant footsteps 

Steve searches the streets for an hour.

With your name etches on his tongue he shouts it down every alley, cries it toward every open window. 

It's nearly eleven when he finally finds you. 

A silhouette glows from a two stories above, soft yellow light escaping around it and filtering onto where he stands on the pavement.

Steve knows it in an instant. 

You can hear his smile when he calls your name again. 

It bounces off of brick walls, shakes the puddles and threatens to wake your neighbors.

Your head snaps in his direction, a mix of excitement to see him and panic at the risk of getting caught. With as much restraint as you can bear, you race towards the window sill. 

The glass creaks with a groan, pushing out into the fire escape as you swing it up and open. 

"Stevie!" You gasp, heart jumping at the sight of him. It's only been a few hours but your aching heart immediately eases. "How did you find me?"

Steve's at the bottom of your fire escape in an instant, climbing up two rungs at a time. He doesn't slow down until he on the platform below you, stopping at the bottom of the steps just as you move to stand at the top of them. 

"I've been to every building south of the waterfront." He says, "I looked for your light."

"You found it." You affirm, smiling breaking. "Found me." 

You both move at the same time, meeting in the middle of the steps and wrapping your arms around each other. 

Steve's arms close around your waist, encircling you in his embrace just like at the gym. You do the same, squeezing him even tighter this time. 

You breathe him in, deeper than you'd been able to before. He smells like summer air, a heavy musk mixed with cheap cologne. You want to bottle it. Spray it on your pillow and pretend it's his chest. 

"I know it's silly but-" 

"I missed you too." Steve whispers. He did, from the moment you left his arms a chill had settled over his bones. Like when anxiety curdles in your stomach, or a fever burns behind your eyelids. An utterly physical reaction to the lack of you. 

He bends his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he pulls away just enough to read your face, taking a step down so you're eye level with him. "I just had to see you." 

You curl a hand over his cheek, resting it in the swell of his jawline. "I'm glad you came." You promise, using your other hand to card through his hair. "I didn't get to give you..." you trail off struggling to find the english version of the word. "Uh sleep kiss? Happy night kiss?"

Steve watches you shrink into the insecurity, heart aching as you tense for his reaction. 

"A goodnight kiss." Steve says it slowly, careful not to sound cruel. 

"Yes." You breathe a sigh of relief, repeating him in your own accent. "a goodnight kiss." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning into your touch like a dog. You wonder if you scratched behind his ear would he pant? 

"Mhm." You hum, shuffling forward until only your heels are on the step. You like being this height you realize, you can see his face better. Especially with the moonlight, you can make out all the beauty in his features. The way his blue eyes shine, the long curl of his lashes. There's a curve in his nose, a gentle swell you want to trace with your finger. 

Steve stares up at you, just an inch shorter now, but the height different makes his stomach flip. His hand fans out over your lower back, both in possession and to help you balance on the step. 

He wants to speak, to say something clever and charming the was Bucky would. They way he would have just a few months ago. The words run dry though, nothing left but earnestness and the urge to beg.

"What did I do to deserve that?" He asks, licking his lips without even thinking of it. 

His eyes dart to yours, just as hypnotizing as they were at the gym. Maybe even more so now that he knows what they feel like. 

"You were handsome." You nod, leaning in until your nose touches his. Your chest rests against his own, leaning your weight onto his body. "Also kind."

Steve takes it without complaint, leaning just as hard into you. He can feel your breath fan his lips, how it hitches when he juts his chin just a little. 

"Than thank goodness I found you." 

Distance disappears, another kiss and it's exactly the same but also completely different than the first one. 

The world doesn't disappear this time, instead it reorients itself around you. The moon shines with its approval, the night bird sing with envy. Even the crickets chirp in time with your heart. There's no threat of being caught, no tensions seeping between bleachers and staining the moment. 

It's just his lips against yours, their sweet movement and the way they seem to be trying to memorize yours. 

Steve's a good kisser, you think. I could kiss him forever.

Steve is similarly wrecked, pulling back from you with reverence painting his vision.

"Tonight," he breathes, holding you in place with his gaze. "When I saw you it was like the entire world disappeared."

You can't help but melt, spine turning to dripping butter under his touch. "All I saw was you." You whisper, fingers curling through his hair. "All I see is you." 

"So you'll see only me?" Steve asks, nerves shaking his voice despite the way you're currently wrapped in each other. 

"Only you," you promise. "Forever."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, more needy. It's relief bottled with want and then shook up like a soda pop. You're both bubbling over, nerves fizzing with love and sugar.

"When can I see you again?" Steve asks the question before he's even completely pulled again, lips moving even as they still touch yours. 

You giggle, unabashed and joyful. "You haven't even left me yet and you're already worrying about when you're going to see me again?" 

He nods, instant and insistent. "I don't want there to be any uncertainty about this, about us." His hand cradles your cheek, swiping his thumb over it. "I refuse to leave this to chance."

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, the feeling in your chest so pure you can't see past it. 

"Tomorrow." You tell him, "I work at the dress shop over on main. Come by at four, just after we close." 

Steve kisses you one more time, less a kiss and more so a pressing of smiles. Teeth clink and lips miss and it's just as beautiful as the one in the gym. 

"Tomorrow." He agrees. "At the dress shop. I'll be there." He pushes onto his toes, kissing your forehead. 

Steve detaches himself from you slowly, letting his touch linger as much as possible. Then he backs down the steps, eyes never leaving yours. 

"Goodnight." He whispers, blue eyes catching in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Stevie." You whisper, backing up until you're finally on the platform with your bedroom windows. 

Your father calls one more time from inside, this time closer than before. You allow yourself one last look, one final sweep over his shoulders and account of his mussed hair. You want to remember him exactly how he is tonight, the version of him that exists in this moment. The one that is utterly and completely yours.

"Goodnight." He whispers again. 

You climb back through your window, reluctantly putting the barrier of brick back between you. Through the grates you answer one more time. "Goodnight Stevie." 

The window clicks shut and your curtains are drawn just in time. Your father coming inside to lecture you for still being awake. 

Outside Steve stares at your window his entire descent, as if he still can't believe that you're real on the other side of it. 

Tomorrow, he'd see you again. He'd hold you again. He can only imagine how slowly time will move in the meantime. Whatever it brings though, nothing will change the blooming in his chest.

Bucky comes in like a storm.

The slam of the door, a loud ring of the bell, both matched by stomping foot steps. 

"Steve." He yells, voice bouncing off the walls. "Steve!"

Steve nearly hits his head rushing up from the cellar, "What- Jesus Buck what is it?"

His friend looks even worse than yesterday, like he hasn't slept since before the dance. He's still in the same clothes, dress shirt muddies and pants torn. He's out of breath and wild-eyed. 

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Bucky prods. "Been lookin' for you everywhere."

Steve shakes his head, "I had something to take care of." 

Bucky laughs, full of mirth and disbelief. 

"Something more important than us?" He accuses.

"Us?"

"The Wolves- for fucks sake Steve what the hell?" 

The Wolves. Steve remembers with a grimace, the very thing that brought him to you and threatens to take him away. A worse thought follows. The Rumble. 

"I can't be apart of it Bucky, like I told you I'm not in that life anymore."

"I ain't asking." Bucky bites back, his answer immediate. "This is bigger than us Steve."

"No." Steve holds firm, "It's not just me anymore."

Bucky freezes, face crumbling as if he's been stabbed. The words hang in the air between them, building a bridge but already flooding the river beneath it. Forgiveness and distance created in the same breath. 

When the moment breaks there's a smile, the pop of his friend's chin dimple followed by a clasp of his hand on his shoulder. 

"You dog." Bucky whispers. "Who is she?"

Steve freezes with the realization that, his oldest, best friend would never understand. 

So he shakes his head, lets himself smile but give nothing else away. "It's new."

"C'mon that's all you're gonna give me?" Bucky groans, "you're smiling like the cat who ate the damn canary."

"I don't kiss and tell." Steve insists, shooting his friend a look. "Anymore."

Bucky rolls his eyes, holding a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. 

"Wow I see how it is." He laughs, "good for you man. You deserve it."

There's an honesty in the way he says it, something that throws Steve off a little. There's weight behind his implication. 'It' could be a-lot of things. Love? A future? Something new?

The memory of Bucky's news flashes through his mind, the fast approaching deadline. 

"Is this really how you want to spend your last few days in the city?" Steve asks, daring to prod. "Fightin' and looking over your shoulder?"

Bucky sighs and Steve waits for his defense. Waits for the anger or raised voice. Only it never comes.

"We always said we wanted to make things better." Bucky says, "that the Wolves were our way to do that." 

Sure, that had been how it started when they were kids. A couple of preteens wandering the city and looking for ways to keep busy and maybe make a little money. Helping old ladies cross the street, shining shoes outside the barbershop, the summer they ran groceries at the farmers market. The ethos had always been the leave their city better than they found it.

When had it devolved to this?

"Yeah, I remember." Steve says, nodding along as the memory plays. "What's that got to do with all this?"

"They're changing things, it's all so different with them here."

"Different doesn't mean back Buck-"

"They're pushing us out!" Bucky exclaims, anger flashing across his face. "Taking what used to be ours and leavin' nothing left for us." 

"Its not that simple-"

Bucky shakes his head, cutting Steve off. "Isn't it though?"

His words hang between them, heavy and mean. Bucky's anger falters in the silence, resigning itself to something more bleak.

Bucky rolls his shoulders back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and averting his eyes to the ground. "I wanna leave knowing I put this behind us." He shrugs. "All of us."

The last bit is pointed at Steve. A not so subtle reminder that try as he might to escape, he's still in this worlds orbit. 

"What time is it?" Steve asks, finally caving. 

Bucky sighs, "Midnight at the docks." 

"Hands or knives?"

"Hands." Bucky confirms, "each side is picking their best man." 

Steve feels his surprise paint his face. Bucky never chooses to shrink a fight, he's always been more of a strength in numbers leader than one to honor a fair fight. 

"I'll be there." Steve promises. 

Bucky scoffs, "like hell you will be."

"What?" 

Bucky shakes his head, "you're not gonna be anywhere near this you hear me?" 

His voice is firm, commanding in a way Steve's never heard before. A solemn reminder how much his friend was forced to change in his absence. 

"You got a girl now, a chance to make something better for yourself." 

"But Buck-" Steve starts, "what if you need backup?" He's not sure why he's pushing, why now that it's been taken off the table he's suddenly crushed with guilt at the thought of not being there. 

"Don't worry," Bucky promises, and then as if he's just stretching Bucky lifts his arm over his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of skin and a handgun tucked into his waist band. "I'll be ready if things go south." 

Steve doesn't have time to react, Bucky slapping him on the shoulder and slipping out of the shop.

Even with Bucky's blessing, his heart feels pulled in two different directions. One half tugging him toward you, placing a future into his lap. The other one is tangled with loyalty, the overwhelming guilt of abandoning the family he created. 

When morning breaks you can't help but feel like the whole world should be as happy as you are you.

The sun spills joy onto the streets, the birds sing a song perfectly in-tune, and there is nothing that could possibly ruin it. 

You feel different than you did yesterday. Like your skin as grown thicker, your hair shinier. It's as if you went to bed a girl and woke up a woman, a beautiful one at that. 

Every mirror you pass it sings it back to you, each reflection you don't see yourself, you see the girl who has stolen a boys heart. Even if you gave yours in return it still fills you with a giddy thrill. 

The work that typically bores you can't even sway your emotion. The prick of a needle in your finger does no damage. When you spend an hour scrubbing the floors the ache in your back never comes. 

It's as if a cloud as come and replaced your body, filling you with light and promise. 

"What has gotten into you today?" One of the girls asks, laughing as she catches you staring into a mirror for the third time. "Even Narcissus was not so self obsessed."

You ignore her, not even bothering to listen. 

"Wanda do you know what this is all about?" She asks. 

Your friend hums from across the shop, a dress in her lap that hardly spares a glance as she answers with a knowing smirk.

"Haven't you heard? She's in love."

The shop erupts, half a dozen voices abandoning their tasks in favor of crowding you instead. 

You don't even have to temptation to deny it, no shyness or insecurity to hide behind.

"Is it true?" 

"Who is he?"

"How long?" 

Their questions come flying, everyone speaking at once and leaving no room for you to even try and answer. 

"He's sweet." Is what you settle on. 

"And handsome." Wanda adds, unmoved from her own project as she pulls the needle through a seam. 

You throw her a dirty look, only have meaning it. 

The girls squeal around you. "Our baby is all grown up!" One of the coos. 

"Did you use protection?" Another one prods, more accusatory than excited.

"Where is he from?" 

The last one stings, it settles uncomfortably in your stomach. He's from here. You think to yourself, something you decidedly are not. Something that is blatantly obvious and yet Steve didn't even care to ask about.

"It's not like that," you assure them. "We haven't- not yet anyway." You promise. "It's new."

A chorus of 'ooohs' echo through the room.

They start to disperse, one by one leaving you be as they realize they won't get anymore answers. 

"What did he do to get you all smiley anyway?" The last one asks, "You're practically glowing." 

You shake your head, not bothering to hide your giddiness. "He just," you think about it for the moment, struggling to find the right word. "Makes me feel pretty." 

She nods, understanding. 

"We should all be so lucky." She whispers, nudging you with one last smile before she too goes back to her work load. 

You only get a few moments of peace, a chance to check the clock and do the math one more time on just how long it will be until you see him again.

"It's a fair question." Wanda startles you, not having moves from her chair.

The rest of the girls are occupied enough to not even hear her. 

"What is?" You ask, finding dress to mend and taking a seat beside her. 

Wanda fixes you with a look, one of those all-knowing ones she reserves for special conversations. 

"Where is he from?" She asks. The question isn't pointed, no edge or teasing. It's more like when a mother shares a worry, like she's propping you up to a learn a lesson. 

You shake your head. "Here." You admit, "he's one of them." 

Wanda stops all together, hand freezing with the needle still pinched between her fingers. 

You panic, rushing to better explain. "He's not really though, at least I don't think he is." 

Wanda's voice is much too steady when she does speak. "You want that kind of trouble?" 

Protectiveness creeps into your veins, spidering across your chest. "He's not like the rest of them." You assure her, "he's gentle. And kind."

"And you've known him a day." She reminds you. "If Vis heard about this…" 

"It feels like longer!" You insist. You've turned to face her now, entire body shifted towards hers as you try to get through. "Vis doesn't need to know, not yet." 

You put down your work, taking one of her wrists in your hand as you plea. "Please Wanda, just give me sometime to enjoy this before the rest of the world decides I don't deserve to."

She sighs, closing her eyes with frustration but nodding nonetheless. When she looks at you again her familiar fondness is there, the one that predates her relationship with your brother and goes back to when you were just each-others first friends. 

"Fine." She agrees. 

Too happy to help it you reach over and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a tight squeeze. "Thank you Wanda." 

She nods, pushing you off with a smile that gives her away. "C'mon back to work." She waves her hand over the dress on your lap. 

You pick it up happily returning to your stitching. An anxiety that had bubbled in your chest sufficiently quelled.

There's only a few minutes of peace though, before you dear friend speaks again. 

"You should know though," she begins, a heavy sigh at the top. "There's going to be a rumble tonight." 

"A rumble?" You ask, heart dropping. 

"The Strays and the Wolves." She reminds you, "Vis wants to settle this once and for all." 

"Wanda they'll kill each other." Your spark dims, terrifying visions of them all covered in blood and dirt conjuring themselves. Your brother beaten and bruised within an inch of his life. You've seen him like that before, you can hardly bear the thought of seeing it again.

"Maybe." Wanda says, "probably not." 

You sit with her words. Letting their weight rest across your shoulders. 

"It's not your brother I'd be worried about anyway."

Stevie.

Would he be there? Could he stop it if he is? What could possibly be worth the torn knuckles and black eyes? 

Yes, you think. I'll have to ask him to stop it. For both their sakes.

"You're going to have a busy night then." You tell her, doing your best to push the fear aside. "Why don't you let me lock up tonight?" 

Wanda drops her needle once again, looking toward you with a raised brow. "You hate locking up. You think it's creepy when you're alone."

"I'll be okay." You assure her.

"Ah." She breathes, her smirk shifting to something more mischievous and knowing. "You won't be alone."

You don't dignify her with an answer, or more aptly a lie. 

"Fine." She agrees, "you can lock up." 

You have to bite your lip to stop yet another squeal from escaping. 

Steve's knock comes at exactly ten minutes after four. Eight minutes after your last customer left. Four minutes after Wanda and the rest of the girls slipped out for the day. Two minutes after you flipped the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed.'

He feels sheepish, standing on the street and waiting for you to answer with baited breath and his heart in his hands. Also flowers, a little bundle he bought from one of the corner shops on his way over. Mostly baby's breath it smells delicious and looks as delicate as the dress you wore to the dance.

Like a fool, he even dressed up. One of his nicer button downs, one with no stains on the cuff or loose threads.

You're still in your uniform when you answer, apron pulled tight around your waist. 

He steps inside the second you open the door, laying his hand over yours on the knob to push it shut behind him.

The air in the store goes still once it clicks in the lock. 

"Hello." He whispers. 

"Hi." You beam, both of your hands still resting on the door. 

Steve's other hand hand flexes, causing the bouquet in his grip to crinkle. 

"Are those for me?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you take notice of them. 

Steve flusters, pink dusting his cheeks as he remembers himself. 

"Yes." He passes them over, a clumsy stretch as he all but forced them into your hands.

"They're beautiful Stevie." You hum as you take a deep breath, sticking your nose between the petals and closing your eyes. "Thank you." 

Steve doesn't answer, too distracted by how your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. 

Your hand gently pulls out from beneath his, walking over to one of the stations and putting the flowers down next to your things. 

"We don't have long." You warn him, "Wanda's expecting me home by five. She wants us all to eat dinner together before-" 

You cut yourself, voice trailing with what's unsaid. 

Steve catches your shift anyway, sighing and walking further into the shop with you. 

"Before the rumble?" He finishes for you.

You nod, a short one that makes your nerves clear to him. 

"I'm not going."

Your head snaps up at that, eyes flaring with surprise and something else.

"Stevie you have to go." You insist, moving until you're toe to toe with him. "You have to go and you have to stop it."

Steve's heart drops. 

"I don't know if I could- even if I went Bucky and Vis are both set." He shakes his head, petting a hand over your hair as if to soothe. "It's going to happen." 

You pull away, stepping back just out of reach. "You have to at least try." 

"What makes you think I can stop them?" He asks, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Not with you, no with himself. With the twist in his gut and the fact that he knows he'll go. If you're asking? Steve would do anything if the request came from your lips.

You hum, as if thinking of your answer. Slowly, you close the distance again, toeing your way closer until your hands find his. "You're kind." You start, "you have a good heart, people listen to those who have a good heart." 

Steve's unconvinced, but the look in your eye is steadfast. You're not trying to telling him anything untrue, you're simply trying to make him see himself as you do. 

"Please Stevie." You try one more time, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout. "I don't want anyone hurt." 

Steve bends like a wave to your tide, nodding before he can find another excuse. 

If you can see that good in him, than perhaps it really is there. 

"Fine." He whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "But only because it is you asking."

You brighten, l if that is even possible. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

A chaste press of lips follows, casual familiar contact. You take it as if his lips belong to you, and as far as Steve is concerned, they do. 

You pull back just as quickly, moving to fuss with something else in the store as you finish closing up.

The picture paints itself in front of him. The store replaced with a house, something small but homey, covered in decorations and colors and something distinctly you. 

There's dinner on the stove, fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, and open windows letting in the sun. There's bird song instead of cars honking, city noise substituted for something more suburban. 

It feels tangible, inevitable. 

You stop what you're doing, turning to look at him with a shy small and a small "What?" on your lips.

Steve walks over to you, taking you in his arms and this time stealing a deeper kiss. 

You melt into him, spine curving as you arch into his touch. It's like molten lava seeping through your bones, bigger than the butterflies you've always been told to expect.

"What was that for?" You gasp when he finally lets you go.

Steve smiles, baring all his teeth and dimples to boot. 

"Just saw our future for a minute there." He whispers.

"Yeah?" You hum, arms encircling his waist. "What was it like?"

"You being there when I come home." Steve starts, throat bobbing as he speaks. "A ring on your finger and your things in our house." 

You bring your hands between your chests, making a show of sliding a ring off of your right hand and onto your left. It's a simple band, a gift from your mother on your eighteenth birthday. You hold it up for Steve to see, pretending to assess it yourself. 

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yeah." Steve says, taking your hand in his and bringing the ring to his lips. "Like that." He places a kiss over the cool metal, leaving tingles across your entire hand in their wake. 

"What else?" You ask, voice hardly audible.

Steve pretends to think, holding your gaze as he pulls the moment out between you. 

"No fire escapes, no sirens or gangs." He continues, "Just a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood."

"Sounds nice." You hum. 

Steve nods, leaning down to lave one more soft kiss over your lips. 

You're the one who deepens it, pushing onto your tiptoes and threading your hands through his hair.

When you let him go Steve looks dazed, eyes glossy and lips even pinker than usual. 

"I keep thinking about our wedding," you confess. "Working here, surrounded by these dresses all day." You half gesture around you, the dozens of white dresses littering the walls. 

Steve looks around, finally taking note of them. 

"I think about who we would invite, who would be your man of honor-"

"Bucky of course." Steve butts in.

"Wanda would be my matron of honor, I mean I can't imagine her and Vis won't be married before the end of the year."

"So a spring wedding for us?" Steve asks. 

"Yes!" You agree excitedly. "With wildflowers and baby's breath and a great big cake."

"Who will officiate?"

"Officiate?" You ask, head tilting. It makes you look so cute Steve has to push down the urge to kiss your nose.

"Who will marry us?"

You nod, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "I'll leave that up to my parents, I'm sure they have strong feelings about it."

"I don't care who does it," Steve breathes. "As long as they tie me to you."

"So you, Steve. Take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You ask.

"I do." He whispers, "I take you sick, I take you hungry, I take your poor, I take you rich. I take you as long as I live."

Steve kisses you again and you think that you'll need to buy more chap-stick if he keeps this up. Not that you mind in the slightest. 

When your heart has stopped hammering, Steve finally lets you go long enough to check the time. 

"It's late." You tell him begrudgingly. "I have to get home."

Steve nods, understanding. "Bucky's waiting for me too."

You sigh, stealing one last embrace. "Come by tonight? After it's done?"

"Leave your window open." 

The Wolves are on a warpath. 

By the time Steve catches up to them, sense is impossible to find. 

With any entire day left to simmer their anger has completely bubbled over. 

Bucky's the worst of it, insisting he'll be the one to fight. 

Steve's not convinced he's even planning to try and win. There's a look in his eyes, something dark and hopeless. He's decided he's a dead man either way.

Still, every time he feels the urge to run, when the voice in his head tells him its pointless, he sees your face. He sees the look in your eyes, the way you think he's good. 

He's determined to be worthy of it. 

Vis is more subtle in his anger. 

There's a rigidness in his posture, a careful control Bucky has never known. A skill Steve would desperately like to learn. 

In his hands is a switch knife. 

He spins it around, passing it over his knuckles and spinning it between long fingers. 

It moves like a piece of him, an extension of an already lethal weapon. 

"Thought we said hands." Bucky's voice echoes into the night, bouncing off shipping containers.

"Was just warming up." Vis responds, voice level as he passes the blade off to someone else. 

His words bristle through the Wolves, the hairs on every one of their necks standing on edge. 

I should say something. Steve thinks, I need to say something.

"Who fights?" Vis asks, breaking the tension. He holds out his knuckles and cracks them. "I have work tomorrow and would prefer to finish this sooner than later."

Two voices ring out. 

"I'll finish this." Bucky says just as Steve calls out-

"We don't need to do this."

Every head snaps toward him, both sides united in their reaction. 

"No." Bucky starts.

"I think we do." Vis finishes. "I would prefer to fight the one who kisses my sister though." 

A gasp echoes through the Wolves, friends turning to him with disgust. 

Bucky's gaze is the worst of all, thick with betrayal. Despite it, he still looks back to Vis. 

"No," He insists. "He's not one of us. He won't fight."

Arms encircle themselves around Steve's, holding him in place. 

Protests start to fall in a panic, pleas for them to stop, to think this through. Bucky's name slips like a beg, desperate to make his friend listen. 

A circle forms around them, Steve held just out of reach, unable to break loose, unable to do anything but watch.

Both men square up, Vis' lean build and Bucky's broad shoulders. Each with their fists raised protectively in front of their faces. 

Bucky strikes first, always too eager for his own good. 

It's a miss, Vis dodging it with ease and countering with a punch directly to Bucky's abdomen. It lands with a thud, folding Bucky's position. 

Bucky's quick to recover, dodging a second hit and landing one square on Vis' jaw. 

They trade blows for long enough that time begins to drag. The noise in Steve's ears reduced to the rush of his blood and then sickening sound of fists and flesh.

Then Bucky gains the upper hand, a loud crack as his knuckles collide with Vis' cheek. 

The taller man crumbles, knees giving out and sending him straight to the concrete. 

It should be enough, should be the end. 

But Bucky's never known when to stop.

He clambers over his crumpled body, pushing him flat onto his back and laying another punch, then another, then a third.

He keeps going, until his fists are covered in Vis' blood. 

Steve hears himself yelling, throat raw with Bucky's name. 

"Bucky you're gonna kill him!" He finally manages, voice ragged.

By some miracle it gets through to him, Bucky turning to face Steve. 

As quickly as Bucky turns, Vis rallies.

One of the Stray's passes him a switch blade, the knife already drawn in.

It happens to fast, not even enough time to get the warning out.

The knife sinks into Bucky's stomach with a dull thud. 

The entire world tilts on it's axis. 

Steve finally breaks free, numb feet rushing forward to where his friend lies on the concrete. 

"Bucky!" He cries, lifting his head into his lap. "Buck you're gonna be okay, yeah? Just hang on buddy." 

Bucky's croaking, blood bubbling up over his lips. He gurgles, like he's trying to speak only nothing comes out. His hand lifts, covered in his own blood. It touches Steve's face, just for a moment. 

Then he goes slack.

In an instant his skin goes gray, eyes glazing over as all the light from them disappears.

Steve's heart stops. It freezes in his chest, seized by grief and fear and worst of all anger. 

He remembers this morning at the shop. The smile on Bucky's face, the familar warmth of his friend. 

The gun in his waistband. 

Steve doesn't think about you when he reaches for it. 

He looks down at his best-friends body, and does the only thing he can think of.

He points it directly at Vis' chest.

The sun is nearly up when Steve finally comes.

The sky has started to turn blue, the first sign of morning peeking from the horizon. He slips inside your window, nearly falling over when he bends to fit his head in. 

You're at his side immediately, arms throwing themselves around his neck. 

"Stevie!" You whisper, sighing into his neck with relief. You wait for his arms to wrap around you, for their comfort. 

Only they never come. 

Slowly you pull away, confusion etched between your eyebrows.

"Stevie?" You whisper. 

Finally, you take him in.

He looks awful, face gaunt and grey. His clothes are torn, the knees of his jeans ripped and bruises in the crook of his arm. That's not what makes you stumble backwards.

He's covered in blood. 

It's splattered across his face, smeared along his cheek bones and dusting his blonde hair. It's all over his clothes, covering his hands and-

He has a gun. 

It's limp in his palm, hand loose around the grip. 

Your blood runs cold, a sudden and very sure feeling in your gut that something isn't right.

"What did you do?" You whisper. 

Steve lets out a tortured noise, something almost resembling an apology. 

He falls, knees giving out and bringing him down to your floor. The gun falls away, pushed to the side by his own hand. 

"What happened?" You try again, tentatively coming closer as you speak. "Stevie what happened? Vis hasn't come home yet and there have been cops up and down the street all night."

You get onto your knees in front of him, and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Steve hiccups, tears covering his cheeks, turning dried blood in pink streaks. 

"I couldn't stop them-" he gasps, "I tried I promise I tried, but they just wouldn't listen." 

You can hardly make out what he says between breaths, the words coming out wet and messy. 

"It's okay," you try to sooth him, maneuvering until your pressed behind his back, pulling his head against your chest. "Sssh, it's okay."

Steve falls apart in your arms, broken cries and gasps pressed into your skin. 

"Bucky…" He whispers, "he's gone."

Your heart aches at the way he says, as if absorbing his own pain. 

"Oh Stevie." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Steve croaks, "no I don't deserve it." 

You feel yourself tense. 

"What do you mean?"

Steve goes rigid in your arms, his tears still rolling down his cheeks and under his jaw. He reaches up to you with shaking hands, wrapping them around your forearm where it sits over his chest. 

"Vis had a knife and Bucky didn't see it." Steve manages to whisper. "I didn't mean to but it was like I couldn't think."

You eyes flash back to the gun in the corner of your room. 

Your ears reply the cry you heard from Wanda's apartment, the wail you blamed on someone else. 

Your brother still isn't home. 

"No." You whisper, shaking your head as soon as the thought makes itself known.

"No you didn't." You beg, tears already brimming over your lashes. "Tell me you didn't."

Steve turns in your arms and this time its him who holds your face. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs, "I'm so so sorry."

Your heart splinters. 

Grief like you've never known consumes it. 

Like the floor has been pulled out from beneath you and sent you in a spiraling free fall. Or as if someone has ripped off the roof and left you alone in the rain. 

It consumes you fast, tearing into your soul and taking a piece you know you can never get back. 

It's wearying. sawing you in half and then placing what's left to dry out. 

"No." You mutter, tears falling fast down your cheeks. "No, no, no, no." Your fists slam into his chest, banging into him with as much strength as you can muster. "Why?" You whimper, tossing the word at him over and over. "Why? Why? Why!" You repeat, until it devolves from a question to a curse.

Steve takes it all, letting you hit, scream, and cry. His hands fall from your cheeks, wrapping around your wrists in loose cuffs. 

He's still weeping, gasping with pain as you take out every wave of your grief on him. 

"It should have been me." Steve says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "It should have been me."

You heart drops, even through the pain you find the room to protest. 

"No!" You whimper, shaking your head. "No I can't-" You break off into a sob. "I love you both."

Steve's eyes clear and for just a moment the storm lifts. 

"You love me?" He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, tears finally slowing. 

"I love you more than I hate you."

His kiss is wet, salty with your tears. It's messy and more sad than anything you ever hoped to share with him. 

For every press of your lips becomes an exchange, another apology, another profession,

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Until the words blend together. 

I'm sorry I love you.

You both mean it, Steve for all of the pain he's brought. You for all of the guilt eating you alive. 

Still you don't stop, bodies shifting until your back finds the floor, lips pressed together with even greater desperation.

I'm sorry I love you.

You can't stop, and some sicker part of you doesn't want to. There's no idea what the daylight will bring, what other sins will come out of hiding. You have no doubt the cops are searching for him, you could live with that. You could move on knowing he's safe, knowing he's alive. 

It's the Strays you're worried about. The boys who followed your brother, the ones who won't let his bloodshed be where this ends. The boys who have become such a big part of your new life here. The ones who sit at your dinner table and muss your hair like you're their sister too. 

They won't let Steve go. 

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve's body hovers over yours, the strong arms that made you feel so protected on either side of your head. 

His kisses have an edge to them now, a bite you match with intensity. A nibble on his lip, a suck where your teeth are still indented. Steve takes it all with a gasp, one of his thighs holding his weight between your legs

I'm sorry I love you.

You still want him. 

Your stomach twists with heat, a feeling you've never given credence too. It burns in your belly, driving your hips up against his leg. Your nightgown bunches between your thighs, wrinkling against his jeans getting caught between your bodies.

Your body lights up at the sensation, toes curling at the first press of pleasure. 

The gasp you let out into Steve's mouth is different this time, there's no pain behind it, no anger. It's something more pure.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie!" You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips over his thigh again.

"I know." Steve whispers, pressing his leg firmer against your heat. "I know."

Your breath catches, the pleasure between your legs climbing up to your stomach. The fire catches there too, body seeking out as much friction as possible. 

It pulls behind your belly button, new and confusing and tantalizingly out of reach.

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pulls back, sitting up on to his haunches and unbuttoning his shirt. He pulls at it like an inconvenience, down past the expanse of his shoulders and away from the swells of his biceps. 

He tosses it aside, his belt following suit. He undoes the buckle with one hand and pulls it through the loops in one swift movement. 

Then he's back on top of you, one hand holding himself while the other palms at your hip.

With how high your nightgown as ridden up, his hand slips under it with ease, palming the skin there as if he's not sure he's actually allowed to touch it.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie." You say, grabbing at the thin material of his tank top with both hands. 

"Yes?" He answers, lips brushing yours as he speaks. "Anything."

You nod, knowing he means it. 

"I want you." You whisper, carding your hands through his hair. 

You want him, want him while he's still yours. 

Steve nods, placing another sweet kiss on your lips. "Then you can have me." 

His hands go further, emboldened by your words and your own exploration over his body. His slides between your bodies, where your cunt rests against his pants and cups it. Thin cotton turns damp beneath his touch, fabric ruined as you rut into his palm. 

You whine, pushing into him for more, desperately trying to chase the feeling he's ignited.

"This okay?" He mutters, flattening his fingers over your folds, pushing the gusset of your panties between them. 

You nod, bottom lip pulled between your teeth. "Please." You whisper, "more." 

Steve's hands stay soft, but their touch turns firm. He pulls your underwear down your legs, pushing your nightgown up to fully reveal yourself to him.

"Beautiful." He breathes, "so beautiful."

His hands come to your thighs, pushing them apart as he lowers his head between them.

I'm sorry I love you.

Your throat turns dry, breathing stops altogether as Steve looks up at you from the apex of your thighs. 

He blinks at you, giving you a chance to push him away. 

"I want you." You affirm instead, shifting your hips to give him a better angle.

Steve descends with a nod, the barest hint of a smile on his lips. 

If you thought what you felt before was fire, then Steve's lips are lava. 

It burns with the first swipe of his tongue, more exploratory than purposeful. Then a second, before he's diving in with gusto. Like a starving man Steve feasts on your cunt, as if it may as well be his last meal. 

You're wetter than you ever believed possible, slick to his chin with want. More than you've ever felt on your fingers. 

"Stevie!" You cry out, hand knotting in his hair, a sharp grip on his roots. You're gasping, a writhing mess on the floor of your bedroom. It's made all that much dirtier by your bed just a few feet over. A simple luxury denied because you couldn't wait to give in to your baser instincts.

Steve's tongue lays flat over your clit, tonguing it with kitten licks while two of his fingers explore your entrance. 

They work you over, scissoring inside of you with the best of intentions. A curl of his knuckles and you're clenching around him like a vice.

Steve doesn't speak, doesn't find any words worth interrupting your pretty sounds.

With his lips closed around your clit you cum on his tongue. A full body spasm that leaves you gasping and wrecked. A thin sheen of sweat over every inch of your skin and stars in your eyes so bright you nearly can't see Steve when he comes back up to kiss you. 

The taste of yourself on his tongue is filthier than sin, a reminder of just how far you've fallen in single night. A different girl lays beneath him than the one Steve met at the dance. This one's known joy, known sadness, known anger and pleasure. 

How is she supposed to move on?

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve pushes inside you with a gentleness you wouldn't think is possible for a boy covered in blood. He lets your entrance kiss the crown of his cock and waits until you nod before breaching it.

There's a stretch, a big one. Your entire body goes tense, freezing in shock at the sheer size of him. Everytime you think it must be over, he must be done there's another inch, another circle over your clit as he tries to soothe the ache.

It's a fullness you've never known, unlike anything else you've felt. 

He pushes inside the deepest part of you, heat throbbing as he lets you adjust. 

"Stevie." You whimper, a single tear breaking over your lash line. "So much." 

Steve twitches inside you, cock stirring at the sound of his name on your tongue. You say it slower than everyone else, like he deserves the extra time. It makes his chest feel like it could burst. 

"I know." He soothes, "I know." He kisses your forehead, but gives a tentative thrust. A slow roll of his hips to see how your body receives it. 

You gasp again, eyes still squeezed shut. Your expression changes though, from pain to something sweeter. 

There's a hum, a soft little moan this time when he gives you another.

You say his name again and this time his entire body reacts, another twitch but also a firmer roll of his hips. 

"You like when I say your name." You whisper, nose pressing against his. 

Steve nods, arms shaking with the effort of holding himself back. 

"I like when you do anything."

You sigh, dreamy and pleasure drunk. This time it's you who teases, giving a testing clench around his length. 

Steve starts to unravel, his hips jerking in response to your test. 

"Stevie." You repeat both his name and the action, pleased when it marries both reactions. 

"Stevie." And he picks up the pace, thrusts changed from delicate to purposeful. Any fear of breaking you replaced with a fear of not having enough of you. 

"Stevie." A ragged moan falls past his lips, the sound landing directly on your lower back, igniting with tingles that send your hips canting to meet his thrusts. 

"Stevie!" When you fall over the edge again, tumbling into a free fall of pleasure and an overwhelming flood of love in your chest.

Steve falls right behind you, pulling out just as he begins to spill his spend. It makes a mess on the floor instead, a mess equal to your gasping and exhausted bodies.

You lay there with him in the aftermath, a blanket pulled half-hazardly off your bed and onto your bodies. It takes minutes for your breath to catch, for your frantic heart to calm down. 

When it's settled, when your head lays on his chest and his hand draws absentminded circles on your back, Steve finally speaks.

"Run away with me." 

The words hit you between the ribs. The prospect of leaving everything you've ever known, all the people you love, the home you've made in this strange place. You've done that before, you're not eager to do it again. 

But it's him, it's your Stevie. It's your boy with the blue eyes and big heart and even with the blood on his hands you still want them to be the hands that hold you. 

You shake your head, but your smile gives you away. The future that had been so suddenly ripped from you feels within reach again. Like maybe you can be happy, maybe you can forgive and grow. Maybe that little house is waiting for you to come and fill it.

"Okay." You agree. 

"Really?" Steve asks, eyebrows lifted high. "I didn't think you'd say yes." 

You hum, tracing a line down his chest with your finger. "Me either." You tease, "there's a word in a country, for when two people are meant to love." 

"Soulmates?" Steve offers, his own grin nearly unbearable.

"Yes." You nod, tucking your head into his chest. "You are my soulmate." You tell him. 

"You're mine." Steve breathes in return, "there will never be anyone but you." 

"Then it's settled." You tell him, moving so you're leaning on his chest. "We will go somewhere, and we will find a place for us." 

"A place for us." He agrees.

You get dressed in a quiet exchange of knowing looks and stolen kisses. You take from each others lips with familiarity, two bodies shared inside one soul. 

As Steve leaves, you give him one last kiss, one last whispered exchange. 

"I'm sorry." 

"I love you." 

You're not sure what tomorrow will bring. It has clothes shoved hastily into a napsack, a note addresses itself to your parents with an apology and a promise to write. 

Outside the streets start to come to life, New York flutters in through your open window. A neighbor starts to hang her washing, a bird sings its alarm. 

A boy runs home, blonde hair shining on the sun and a smile on his lips. 

Behind him another stares with bloodshot eyes, rage in his blood. 

Only a block away, you hear the shot when it rings out. 

Thank you so much for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it, seriously this fic was such a fun departure from my usual stuff and it was so nice to get back to Steve!!! Love you! Say it back!

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Even the mention of his old crew left a sour note on his tongue. Their memory burned deep in his blood. The mark his years running the streets had left on him, the matching stain on his record. 

"I'd just be slowing you down anyway." He lamented. 

Bucky scoffed, grabbing him by the shoulders and giving them a good shake. 

"Don't be ridiculous." He tightened his grip, "You're our founding father, we're always gonna need you." 

His friend let go, taking just a few steps back. It'd been at least a week since they'd seen each other, if not two. Steve hated to say it, but he looked terrible. Dark circles under his eyes, greasy strands oh hair sticking to his forehead. He looked skinnier too, like he'd been running more than usual and not eating enough to make up for it. 

"I need you Steve." Bucky finished, this time a little softer. None of that bravado behind it. "There's gonna be a rumble." He whispered. 

Steve's eyes blew wide. "A rumble? Are you crazy?" 

The whole room seemed to tilt on its axis, the feeling in his gut warping with it. A wave of dread, heavy and ice cold washing over him. 

Bucky sighed, crossing his arms. "I don't have a choice!" 

"Of course you do." Steve challenged, poking two fingers into Bucky's chest, "What the hell could be so bad that you need to do something dumb as a rumble?" 

Bucky lost his balance, falling back a few steps with the force of Steve's push. 

"All for a couple streets? The Strays'll never go for it I'm telling you now." 

Bucky shook his head, something terrible set in his eyes. "No it's not like it was when you were running with us Steve. It's worse now." He took a deep breath. "There's a fight every day, last week Sam almost lost an eye 'cause one of them pulled a switch knife."

Steve shrugged, "Did Sam pull his first?"

"Doesn't matter." Bucky denied. 

"Of course it does!"

"No!" Bucky shouted, "it doesn't."

Silence filled the space between them. Cavernous and wide. They just stood there for a minute, two young men. Two young men who knew each other inside and out, who had seen each other through the deaths of their parents and raised themselves on the streets.

"I need this all settled I go." Bucky finally spoke up, all the vitriol gone from his voice. Surrender taking its place.

"Go?" Steve asked, "Buck what are you talkin' about?"

Bucky reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a crumbled letter. 

"Got my orders." He held up the envelope, unfolding it so Steve could see the Government stamp on the front. "I leave in a week." 

"Shit, Buck I had no idea-"

"So you're coming tonight right?" Bucky interrupted, stuffing the letter back in his jacket. "Need my best man if I'm gonna end this once and for all." 

Steve recognized the look now. He'd seen it on other kids they'd grown up with, ones who had left in a uniform and never come back. Fear. 

"Yeah." He agreed, nodding solemnly. "I'll be there." 

He'd sent Bucky off with a promise and an agreement to meet at the soda shop before hand. The wind blew his entire walk home, angry gusts carrying bitter cold breezes. It felt like a warning, like a sign. 

The day you met Steve Rogers had been completely ordinary. 

Well that's not entirely true, it was also the day of your first dance. 

Sure, you went to the dress shop as usual. Stopped at the market on your way home and picked up bread for dinner like your mother had asked. Although today Then you'd used some of your earnings to buy new ribbon. Bright red and silky, it shone against your skin and would surely do the same in your hair. 

All the same, nothing a miss. 

It was just the butterflies in your stomach, the pep in your step. The way you couldn't seem to stop smiling even as the wind tried to wipe it off your face. 

Like your body knew something you didn't, every ounce of your crying out with joy for something it didn't even know existed yet. 

Then you saw your dress. 

"Wanda please I am begging you," you pleaded, holding the dress up to her. "Just a few inches off the hem, please!" 

Wanda is the closest thing you know to an older sister, her family moved into the building around the same time as yours. 

They immigrated from Sokovia only two months prior to your own arrival. You'd bonded over missing food from home and the struggles of adjusting to life as newly minted American girls. 

Then she'd started dating your older brother, Vis and you really became family. 

"Absolutely not." She insisted, shaking her head as she took the dress from your hands. "Your mother would kill me. Then your brother would kill me again."

"Not true!" You promised, grabbing her forearm and forcing her to look at you. "They would kill me first and you'd have plenty of time to run!" 

Your jutted your lip out, giving her your best version of puppy dog eyes, the same ones you used to get permission to go to the dance in the first place. 

Wanda stared deadpan, completely unmoved by your efforts. 

"Ugh!" You groaned, "please Wanda. It's my first night out since we moved here and I want to make an impression."

"These aren't the kind of boys you need to worry about that with." Wanda tried to appease you, "you already know most of them. The ones you don't know are for a reason."

"Oh Wanda enough!" You groaned, "They're just boys."

"Boys who don't like anyone different from them. Remember that." She narrowed her eyes, "just stay to our side of the gym will you?"

You sighed, but nodded. "Fine." 

She rolled her eyes, walking away from you and taking a seat at her sewing machine with the dress still in her hand. She stretched it out on the table in front of her, assessing the seams and feeling them between her fingers. Then with a sigh, she spoke. "Two inches off the hem, that's it." 

Your squeal surely echoed down the hallway, loud enough make Wanda jump in her seat.

"Oh thank you thank you thank you!" You giggled, running over to squeeze a hug around her shoulders. "You are the bestest friend a girl could ask for."

"I am your only friend." She reminded you, licking the end of her thread before pulling it through the needle. 

"My only friend who will also take two inches off the neckline?" You poked, giggling all the while.

Wanda threw you a glare over her machine, reaching into her bag and pulling it some ribbons. 

"Don't push, I could make it longer just as easily." 

"No!" You panicked, shaking your head. "Two inches is perfect! Nothing else that is wonderful thank you Wanda." 

He lips curled into a smile, a little laugh falling past her lips. 

You sat in silence while she worked, mindlessly playing with your hair while she toiled over the old fabric. What necklace would you wear? Perhaps mother would let you borrow one of hers, or even a bangle for your wrist. Oh the possibilities were endless. 

Perhaps you would meet a boy, someone your brother doesn't know. Someone who would see a woman and not just the little girl he had declared off limits the moment you touched ground in this city. 

Wanda finished the dress with a triumph "Aha!" Happily sliding it off her sewing machine and holding it up for you see. 

The hem was shorter, probably closer to two and a half inches. A small mercy you immediately threw her a grateful smile for. Then your eyes darted to the neckline, while she hadn't lowered it, she'd squared off the neckline. What had previously been a round neck with a sweet bow in the center was now a square neck free of any frills. It was womanly, undeniably so. 

Finally you noticed the pièce de résistance sitting at the waist. 

There against the fabric, shining bright against the white dress was a beautiful red ribbon. It was a near perfect match to the one you'd bought for your hair. A completely innocent way to highlight all the curves you often had to hide. 

"It's perfect!" You gasped, reaching out to touch it, running your fingers over the ribbon in disbelief. "Oh Wanda thank you!" 

Wanda smiled, standing up and bringing the dress and you in front of the mirror. Then she held it up in front of you, holding the neck where it would fall so you could see. 

"So beautiful." She whispered. "Any boy who doesn't notice you would have to be blind."

You took the dress into your own hands, pressing it to your shoulders and giving it a good twirl. "It's wonderful!" You ran your finger over the new neckline before laying it out over your dress.

"Tonight's the night Wanda I can feel it." You pulled her into a tight hug, whispering the words conspiratorially in her ear. "My whole life changes tonight."

The gym feels like another world. 

As if a gateway to different life has emptied out onto the waxed floors. The light catches them differently than usual, casting the wooden planks in an amber glow. 

A fifth of rum poured in the punch is just the cherry on top. 

There's a live band is playing on the stage, loud enough to drown out the click of heels on the floor and out of the way enough to nearly be forgotten. 

They're playing Steve's favorite song.

He's late, at least later than he told Bucky he'd be. 

Nearly an hour of debating if he should even come in the first place. A battle fought between loyalty and self-preservation. 

Loyalty won in the end. 

Maybe. 

Steve had spotted Bucky almost immediately, a blur of dark curls holding a on to a spinning blonde. They hadn't stopped since he got there, dancing from one song to the next with hardly a break to breathe. 

So he took root in a corner and waited. Planting himself in the protective shadows of the bleachers. 

It was the same as it had been a few months ago, back when was Steve was alongside them on the floor, a girl to match Bucky's on his arm. Back before his time at the Reform House, before he had been stupid and paid the price. 

It feels like a whole 'nother life now. 

He can't go back, can't lose another six months. 

He can't afford to lose another friend either.

He has to get Bucky to call it off. 

The Strays have been piling in slowly, each group gaining in numbers until the dance floor began to split itself. A gang on each side, a room filled with kids forgotten by the rest of the world. 

It may be neutral territory, but that doesn't mean there isn't still tension. 

It's palpable, static cracking across the divide, threatening a lightning strike every time someone drifts to close to the invisible line. 

Another reason to stay in the shadows.

It changes the way he views the entire room, how it morphs under the weight of this silly feud. He pays extra attention to every grimace, how when Vision lifts his girl Bucky has to do the same. How Bucky tries to throw her even higher. 

It makes Officer Ross stick out like a sore thumb, his frumpy uniform blending blue and black together until he becomes the human approximation of a bruise. 

When you're in the shadows, it makes it that much easier to spot the light.

There, across the gym, is where he sees you. Similarly sidelined, you stand just a hundred feet away at the other end of the bleachers. Steve can't seem to pull his gaze away once it finds you. Like a magnet finally finding its South Pole. The seats are extended, framing you beneath them in a halo and making it so Steve can see straight through. 

You're busy staring at the scene in front of you, a soft smile playing at you lips. Unconsciously swaying to the music with gentle turns of your hips in just enough to make the hem of your dress dance around your knees. 

Steve's heart cracks wide open. The feeling in his gut- the one he's spent all day trying to name- unravels. It floods his chest with warmth and begins to carry his legs in your direction. 

It's everything you had pictured and absolutely nothing like you imagined. 

You're hypnotized by the dancing, the way everyone seems to just know what to do. How skirts flare and skinny shoes refract the light. Every time someone lifts you hold your breath, every time they hit the group you clap. You're enraptured, hypnotized, utterly bewitched. 

You're standing in the corner. All that fuss with Wanda and your hem just for it to be wasted under the bleachers. 

Speaking of Wanda, she's breathless from dancing and yet making no moves to slow down. Her smile is the brightest it gets, all teeth and happiness. The smile she only gets around your brother. 

Vis, is well, a vision. The tallest one in the room, he towers over everyone, shoulders set with his arms drawn tight around Wanda. He's smiling too, it's your mother's smile, her cheeks and the nose you both share. His skin glows under the lights like this, casting him ethereal. It's the same shade as yours, and yet you somehow doubt the same effect is being cast on you. 

Still, it's every bit as magical as yours imagination advertised.

Wanda spins again, her dress fanning out around her. She looks every ounce the woman you so desperately want to be. Effortless, sexy, poised at every turn, and loved. 

The boys are- well, boys. They cower in the corners and nurse the same glass of punch. They flash you a smile but never for too long, lest your brother see. 

You aren't sure how Vis came to be so important here, what he did to earn the respect of so many of his peers. For some reason every boy on the block would do anything he asked. Including but not limited to, staying away from his baby sister. 

One dance. That was what you'd managed. 

More accurately half a dance. Peter, the nice boy from a few apartments down. He'd been brave enough to approach, ask you to dance and taken your hand in his sweaty palm. 

Then he'd scampered like a kicked puppy when he realized your brother was there. 

So here you stand along the bleachers, enjoying their protection and the view. Even if you weren't out there it was still exciting to watch everyone. How the couples move like they're anticipating each-others movements. The way they slip into a language spoken only with their bodies. 

The more you watch the more you want to know what it feels like. 

Love.

You think about love a lot, you're surrounded by it after all. 

You see it in your brother and Wanda, the way she softens his edges in a way no one else can. It's in your parents, most of the time. Sometimes it's across the street, between the old couple from Ireland who sit on their stoop and feed the pigeons. It's in one of the girls you work with, Natasha. In the letters she reads you from her beau back in Russia. 

You covet it, lean in closer when they speak as if you can catch it like a cold. 

You feel it breathing down your neck, waiting to strike. Your heart is open, you just need someone to walk into it. 

Or stare into it.

You feel Steve's eyes on you before you find him. The heat of a gaze and that intangible feeling that you're being watched. It breaks the spell that the dancers had cast on you, turning your head as if with a magnet. An undeniable pull to look.

Steve recognizes you before he even knows your name. 

Not from seeing you around, or because you came into the shop while he was working. No, he'd remember that.

It's something deeper, like his body- like his soul knows yours.

When your eyes meet his it's as if he turns to air, disembodied and floating toward you. 

The entire room disappears, fades into the back of his mind. All that's left the thump of the music beneath his feet and you standing about ten feet away from him.

He's not sure who gets there first, but the middle finds you only a foot apart, toe to toe and locked on each other's gaze.

You're stunning. 

Stunning doesn't even really do you justice, as if you've been carved from the likeness of Aphrodite herself. 

Angelic is more apt. Soft curves emphasized by the cut of your dress. The swell of your hips and delicate outline haloed by the gym lights. 

There's a curve in your lips, a soft smile that threatens to blind him with the light exude. He's hooked. 

His feet move first, one half step in your direction then a pivot. It's a poor copycat of what the couples are doing just on the other side of the bleachers. 

You fall right into step anyway, smile breaking even further as you match his pose. It brings you chest to chest, hardly an inch them. 

Then a spin, each of you carefully walking around the other, ensuring no loss of distance. 

The music finally fades back in, triumphant and joyous as tensions continue to grow in the rest of the room. 

It gives Steve the courage to touch. First the palm of his hand, laying over top of yours as you turn it upwards to meet him. Your skin is hot against his, electricity bubbling between you. 

You're burning, a fire lit under the weight of his stare.

You've never felt more alive. 

You've hardly known the boy five minutes and you already never want to feel anything else.

He could holds the entire world in those big, beautiful, blue eyes and all you can see is yourself.

Your tongue slips with a drop of your name, soft and breathlessly shared. As if talking too much will break the spell. 

He stops moving, his fingers slowly lacing through yours. 

"Steve." He whispers. His voice matches the rest of him, soft but unyielding. 

"Stevie?" You repeat, dragging the syllables along your tongue as you try to get it right. 

"Yeah." He whispers, neck craning and bringing his face an inch closer to yours. "Stevie."

Stevie is like the men in the movies, broad and sturdy. There's a beauty in his face you didn't know was possible in real life, in the cut of his jaw and the plump of his lips. 

His lips, now that you've looked at them you can't look away. They part just enough for air to pass, pink and pretty and you can't get over the way they shaped around your name. 

You want to feel them, want to know how they would press against yours. You want to know every kind of kiss with him. The hungry ones, the slow ones, the chaste ones and hello-goodbye ones. 

The first one is at the top of your list though. 

Steve isn't much better, his palm is turning clammy in your grasp. Nerves spiking the longer you hold his gaze. 

You laugh, sudden and unbridled. It's like a songbird, sweet and natural. Like it's one of the worlds most natural wonders. 

No wonder he gave in. 

The kiss is tentative, barely more than lips pressed to lips. It's a test, making sure neither of you erupt into flames. 

It only survives that way for a moment, then the damn breaks. 

Your hands grab first, reaching up for fistfuls of shirt and using the leverage to pull his mouth firmer against yours.

Steve's are similarly unrestrained, wrapping around your waist and bringing your chests flush as well. 

Together you cross a line that was drawn by people in the very same room. You tear it apart and dance on its memory, stomping it into the ground with completely disregard of everything it stands for. 

A war between boys means nothing in the face of a love orchestrated by fate. 

That's what you have between your hands, a boy who you believe with every confidence was made for you. As his hands slot over your hips, his nose tilting and falling into place along yours, you're certain he was made for you too. 

Steve's kissed plenty of girls, he never really understood the appeal. Kissing was a means to an end, a bridge he had to cross to get to the next step of intimacy. Girls liked kissing, so he would kiss to appease them. It was never something he felt the need to do.

With his lips pressed to yours Steve already feels like he needs to kiss you for the rest of his life. 

It's softer than kisses he's known before, there's no rushing or wandering hands. There's no room for the voice in his head to be bored or complain about lipstick getting on his skin. 

He's consumed by it. His chest is air and his head is empty and all that exists is you in his arms. 

Neither of you hear the stop in the music, the sudden cut off or the way the trombone flails with one last note before falling to silence. 

Neither of you hear the shouting, the raised voices and thrown insults. 

Neither of you hear the gasps, the sound of Officer Ross pulling his baton from his belt. 

Neither of you hear the footsteps as everyone starts to scatter.

There's a hand at the back of your dress, Wanda's manicured fingers scratching your skin as she pulls you back and out of Steve's arms. 

When it finally comes back into focus, the gym is chaos. Vis stands at the end of the bleachers, yelling for you and Wanda to hurry. There's something about getting you home, getting you both safe. 

Your feet move, walking backwards as Wanda loosens her grip and takes you by the hand instead. 

The look in Vis' eyes is enough for Steve to recognize what line he crossed. It weren't than the similarities between you would be. Nevertheless his heart pounds, any reservations he had for him disappearing. 

Steve takes a few steps after you before remembering himself. Bucky is out there yelling his name and he doesn't even care. By the time he stops staring at the space you left behind, the gym is nearly empty. All that's left is the sound of rubber soles on the floor and distant footsteps 

Steve searches the streets for an hour.

With your name etches on his tongue he shouts it down every alley, cries it toward every open window. 

It's nearly eleven when he finally finds you. 

A silhouette glows from a two stories above, soft yellow light escaping around it and filtering onto where he stands on the pavement.

Steve knows it in an instant. 

You can hear his smile when he calls your name again. 

It bounces off of brick walls, shakes the puddles and threatens to wake your neighbors.

Your head snaps in his direction, a mix of excitement to see him and panic at the risk of getting caught. With as much restraint as you can bear, you race towards the window sill. 

The glass creaks with a groan, pushing out into the fire escape as you swing it up and open. 

"Stevie!" You gasp, heart jumping at the sight of him. It's only been a few hours but your aching heart immediately eases. "How did you find me?"

Steve's at the bottom of your fire escape in an instant, climbing up two rungs at a time. He doesn't slow down until he on the platform below you, stopping at the bottom of the steps just as you move to stand at the top of them. 

"I've been to every building south of the waterfront." He says, "I looked for your light."

"You found it." You affirm, smiling breaking. "Found me." 

You both move at the same time, meeting in the middle of the steps and wrapping your arms around each other. 

Steve's arms close around your waist, encircling you in his embrace just like at the gym. You do the same, squeezing him even tighter this time. 

You breathe him in, deeper than you'd been able to before. He smells like summer air, a heavy musk mixed with cheap cologne. You want to bottle it. Spray it on your pillow and pretend it's his chest. 

"I know it's silly but-" 

"I missed you too." Steve whispers. He did, from the moment you left his arms a chill had settled over his bones. Like when anxiety curdles in your stomach, or a fever burns behind your eyelids. An utterly physical reaction to the lack of you. 

He bends his head, pressing a kiss to your hairline. "I'm sorry for coming so late," he pulls away just enough to read your face, taking a step down so you're eye level with him. "I just had to see you." 

You curl a hand over his cheek, resting it in the swell of his jawline. "I'm glad you came." You promise, using your other hand to card through his hair. "I didn't get to give you..." you trail off struggling to find the english version of the word. "Uh sleep kiss? Happy night kiss?"

Steve watches you shrink into the insecurity, heart aching as you tense for his reaction. 

"A goodnight kiss." Steve says it slowly, careful not to sound cruel. 

"Yes." You breathe a sigh of relief, repeating him in your own accent. "a goodnight kiss." 

"Yeah?" Steve asks, leaning into your touch like a dog. You wonder if you scratched behind his ear would he pant? 

"Mhm." You hum, shuffling forward until only your heels are on the step. You like being this height you realize, you can see his face better. Especially with the moonlight, you can make out all the beauty in his features. The way his blue eyes shine, the long curl of his lashes. There's a curve in his nose, a gentle swell you want to trace with your finger. 

Steve stares up at you, just an inch shorter now, but the height different makes his stomach flip. His hand fans out over your lower back, both in possession and to help you balance on the step. 

He wants to speak, to say something clever and charming the was Bucky would. They way he would have just a few months ago. The words run dry though, nothing left but earnestness and the urge to beg.

"What did I do to deserve that?" He asks, licking his lips without even thinking of it. 

His eyes dart to yours, just as hypnotizing as they were at the gym. Maybe even more so now that he knows what they feel like. 

"You were handsome." You nod, leaning in until your nose touches his. Your chest rests against his own, leaning your weight onto his body. "Also kind."

Steve takes it without complaint, leaning just as hard into you. He can feel your breath fan his lips, how it hitches when he juts his chin just a little. 

"Than thank goodness I found you." 

Distance disappears, another kiss and it's exactly the same but also completely different than the first one. 

The world doesn't disappear this time, instead it reorients itself around you. The moon shines with its approval, the night bird sing with envy. Even the crickets chirp in time with your heart. There's no threat of being caught, no tensions seeping between bleachers and staining the moment. 

It's just his lips against yours, their sweet movement and the way they seem to be trying to memorize yours. 

Steve's a good kisser, you think. I could kiss him forever.

Steve is similarly wrecked, pulling back from you with reverence painting his vision.

"Tonight," he breathes, holding you in place with his gaze. "When I saw you it was like the entire world disappeared."

You can't help but melt, spine turning to dripping butter under his touch. "All I saw was you." You whisper, fingers curling through his hair. "All I see is you." 

"So you'll see only me?" Steve asks, nerves shaking his voice despite the way you're currently wrapped in each other. 

"Only you," you promise. "Forever."

Another kiss, this one more fervent, more needy. It's relief bottled with want and then shook up like a soda pop. You're both bubbling over, nerves fizzing with love and sugar.

"When can I see you again?" Steve asks the question before he's even completely pulled again, lips moving even as they still touch yours. 

You giggle, unabashed and joyful. "You haven't even left me yet and you're already worrying about when you're going to see me again?" 

He nods, instant and insistent. "I don't want there to be any uncertainty about this, about us." His hand cradles your cheek, swiping his thumb over it. "I refuse to leave this to chance."

Your smile is so wide it hurts your cheeks, the feeling in your chest so pure you can't see past it. 

"Tomorrow." You tell him, "I work at the dress shop over on main. Come by at four, just after we close." 

Steve kisses you one more time, less a kiss and more so a pressing of smiles. Teeth clink and lips miss and it's just as beautiful as the one in the gym. 

"Tomorrow." He agrees. "At the dress shop. I'll be there." He pushes onto his toes, kissing your forehead. 

Steve detaches himself from you slowly, letting his touch linger as much as possible. Then he backs down the steps, eyes never leaving yours. 

"Goodnight." He whispers, blue eyes catching in the moonlight.

"Goodnight Stevie." You whisper, backing up until you're finally on the platform with your bedroom windows. 

Your father calls one more time from inside, this time closer than before. You allow yourself one last look, one final sweep over his shoulders and account of his mussed hair. You want to remember him exactly how he is tonight, the version of him that exists in this moment. The one that is utterly and completely yours.

"Goodnight." He whispers again. 

You climb back through your window, reluctantly putting the barrier of brick back between you. Through the grates you answer one more time. "Goodnight Stevie." 

The window clicks shut and your curtains are drawn just in time. Your father coming inside to lecture you for still being awake. 

Outside Steve stares at your window his entire descent, as if he still can't believe that you're real on the other side of it. 

Tomorrow, he'd see you again. He'd hold you again. He can only imagine how slowly time will move in the meantime. Whatever it brings though, nothing will change the blooming in his chest.

Bucky comes in like a storm.

The slam of the door, a loud ring of the bell, both matched by stomping foot steps. 

"Steve." He yells, voice bouncing off the walls. "Steve!"

Steve nearly hits his head rushing up from the cellar, "What- Jesus Buck what is it?"

His friend looks even worse than yesterday, like he hasn't slept since before the dance. He's still in the same clothes, dress shirt muddies and pants torn. He's out of breath and wild-eyed. 

"Where the hell did you go last night?" Bucky prods. "Been lookin' for you everywhere."

Steve shakes his head, "I had something to take care of." 

Bucky laughs, full of mirth and disbelief. 

"Something more important than us?" He accuses.

"Us?"

"The Wolves- for fucks sake Steve what the hell?" 

The Wolves. Steve remembers with a grimace, the very thing that brought him to you and threatens to take him away. A worse thought follows. The Rumble. 

"I can't be apart of it Bucky, like I told you I'm not in that life anymore."

"I ain't asking." Bucky bites back, his answer immediate. "This is bigger than us Steve."

"No." Steve holds firm, "It's not just me anymore."

Bucky freezes, face crumbling as if he's been stabbed. The words hang in the air between them, building a bridge but already flooding the river beneath it. Forgiveness and distance created in the same breath. 

When the moment breaks there's a smile, the pop of his friend's chin dimple followed by a clasp of his hand on his shoulder. 

"You dog." Bucky whispers. "Who is she?"

Steve freezes with the realization that, his oldest, best friend would never understand. 

So he shakes his head, lets himself smile but give nothing else away. "It's new."

"C'mon that's all you're gonna give me?" Bucky groans, "you're smiling like the cat who ate the damn canary."

"I don't kiss and tell." Steve insists, shooting his friend a look. "Anymore."

Bucky rolls his eyes, holding a hand to his chest as if he's been wounded. 

"Wow I see how it is." He laughs, "good for you man. You deserve it."

There's an honesty in the way he says it, something that throws Steve off a little. There's weight behind his implication. 'It' could be a-lot of things. Love? A future? Something new?

The memory of Bucky's news flashes through his mind, the fast approaching deadline. 

"Is this really how you want to spend your last few days in the city?" Steve asks, daring to prod. "Fightin' and looking over your shoulder?"

Bucky sighs and Steve waits for his defense. Waits for the anger or raised voice. Only it never comes.

"We always said we wanted to make things better." Bucky says, "that the Wolves were our way to do that." 

Sure, that had been how it started when they were kids. A couple of preteens wandering the city and looking for ways to keep busy and maybe make a little money. Helping old ladies cross the street, shining shoes outside the barbershop, the summer they ran groceries at the farmers market. The ethos had always been the leave their city better than they found it.

When had it devolved to this?

"Yeah, I remember." Steve says, nodding along as the memory plays. "What's that got to do with all this?"

"They're changing things, it's all so different with them here."

"Different doesn't mean back Buck-"

"They're pushing us out!" Bucky exclaims, anger flashing across his face. "Taking what used to be ours and leavin' nothing left for us." 

"Its not that simple-"

Bucky shakes his head, cutting Steve off. "Isn't it though?"

His words hang between them, heavy and mean. Bucky's anger falters in the silence, resigning itself to something more bleak.

Bucky rolls his shoulders back, stuffing his hands into his pockets and averting his eyes to the ground. "I wanna leave knowing I put this behind us." He shrugs. "All of us."

The last bit is pointed at Steve. A not so subtle reminder that try as he might to escape, he's still in this worlds orbit. 

"What time is it?" Steve asks, finally caving. 

Bucky sighs, "Midnight at the docks." 

"Hands or knives?"

"Hands." Bucky confirms, "each side is picking their best man." 

Steve feels his surprise paint his face. Bucky never chooses to shrink a fight, he's always been more of a strength in numbers leader than one to honor a fair fight. 

"I'll be there." Steve promises. 

Bucky scoffs, "like hell you will be."

"What?" 

Bucky shakes his head, "you're not gonna be anywhere near this you hear me?" 

His voice is firm, commanding in a way Steve's never heard before. A solemn reminder how much his friend was forced to change in his absence. 

"You got a girl now, a chance to make something better for yourself." 

"But Buck-" Steve starts, "what if you need backup?" He's not sure why he's pushing, why now that it's been taken off the table he's suddenly crushed with guilt at the thought of not being there. 

"Don't worry," Bucky promises, and then as if he's just stretching Bucky lifts his arm over his head, pulling the hem of his shirt up enough to reveal a sliver of skin and a handgun tucked into his waist band. "I'll be ready if things go south." 

Steve doesn't have time to react, Bucky slapping him on the shoulder and slipping out of the shop.

Even with Bucky's blessing, his heart feels pulled in two different directions. One half tugging him toward you, placing a future into his lap. The other one is tangled with loyalty, the overwhelming guilt of abandoning the family he created. 

When morning breaks you can't help but feel like the whole world should be as happy as you are you.

The sun spills joy onto the streets, the birds sing a song perfectly in-tune, and there is nothing that could possibly ruin it. 

You feel different than you did yesterday. Like your skin as grown thicker, your hair shinier. It's as if you went to bed a girl and woke up a woman, a beautiful one at that. 

Every mirror you pass it sings it back to you, each reflection you don't see yourself, you see the girl who has stolen a boys heart. Even if you gave yours in return it still fills you with a giddy thrill. 

The work that typically bores you can't even sway your emotion. The prick of a needle in your finger does no damage. When you spend an hour scrubbing the floors the ache in your back never comes. 

It's as if a cloud as come and replaced your body, filling you with light and promise. 

"What has gotten into you today?" One of the girls asks, laughing as she catches you staring into a mirror for the third time. "Even Narcissus was not so self obsessed."

You ignore her, not even bothering to listen. 

"Wanda do you know what this is all about?" She asks. 

Your friend hums from across the shop, a dress in her lap that hardly spares a glance as she answers with a knowing smirk.

"Haven't you heard? She's in love."

The shop erupts, half a dozen voices abandoning their tasks in favor of crowding you instead. 

You don't even have to temptation to deny it, no shyness or insecurity to hide behind.

"Is it true?" 

"Who is he?"

"How long?" 

Their questions come flying, everyone speaking at once and leaving no room for you to even try and answer. 

"He's sweet." Is what you settle on. 

"And handsome." Wanda adds, unmoved from her own project as she pulls the needle through a seam. 

You throw her a dirty look, only have meaning it. 

The girls squeal around you. "Our baby is all grown up!" One of the coos. 

"Did you use protection?" Another one prods, more accusatory than excited.

"Where is he from?" 

The last one stings, it settles uncomfortably in your stomach. He's from here. You think to yourself, something you decidedly are not. Something that is blatantly obvious and yet Steve didn't even care to ask about.

"It's not like that," you assure them. "We haven't- not yet anyway." You promise. "It's new."

A chorus of 'ooohs' echo through the room.

They start to disperse, one by one leaving you be as they realize they won't get anymore answers. 

"What did he do to get you all smiley anyway?" The last one asks, "You're practically glowing." 

You shake your head, not bothering to hide your giddiness. "He just," you think about it for the moment, struggling to find the right word. "Makes me feel pretty." 

She nods, understanding. 

"We should all be so lucky." She whispers, nudging you with one last smile before she too goes back to her work load. 

You only get a few moments of peace, a chance to check the clock and do the math one more time on just how long it will be until you see him again.

"It's a fair question." Wanda startles you, not having moves from her chair.

The rest of the girls are occupied enough to not even hear her. 

"What is?" You ask, finding dress to mend and taking a seat beside her. 

Wanda fixes you with a look, one of those all-knowing ones she reserves for special conversations. 

"Where is he from?" She asks. The question isn't pointed, no edge or teasing. It's more like when a mother shares a worry, like she's propping you up to a learn a lesson. 

You shake your head. "Here." You admit, "he's one of them." 

Wanda stops all together, hand freezing with the needle still pinched between her fingers. 

You panic, rushing to better explain. "He's not really though, at least I don't think he is." 

Wanda's voice is much too steady when she does speak. "You want that kind of trouble?" 

Protectiveness creeps into your veins, spidering across your chest. "He's not like the rest of them." You assure her, "he's gentle. And kind."

"And you've known him a day." She reminds you. "If Vis heard about this…" 

"It feels like longer!" You insist. You've turned to face her now, entire body shifted towards hers as you try to get through. "Vis doesn't need to know, not yet." 

You put down your work, taking one of her wrists in your hand as you plea. "Please Wanda, just give me sometime to enjoy this before the rest of the world decides I don't deserve to."

She sighs, closing her eyes with frustration but nodding nonetheless. When she looks at you again her familiar fondness is there, the one that predates her relationship with your brother and goes back to when you were just each-others first friends. 

"Fine." She agrees. 

Too happy to help it you reach over and hug her, arms wrapping around her shoulders with a tight squeeze. "Thank you Wanda." 

She nods, pushing you off with a smile that gives her away. "C'mon back to work." She waves her hand over the dress on your lap. 

You pick it up happily returning to your stitching. An anxiety that had bubbled in your chest sufficiently quelled.

There's only a few minutes of peace though, before you dear friend speaks again. 

"You should know though," she begins, a heavy sigh at the top. "There's going to be a rumble tonight." 

"A rumble?" You ask, heart dropping. 

"The Strays and the Wolves." She reminds you, "Vis wants to settle this once and for all." 

"Wanda they'll kill each other." Your spark dims, terrifying visions of them all covered in blood and dirt conjuring themselves. Your brother beaten and bruised within an inch of his life. You've seen him like that before, you can hardly bear the thought of seeing it again.

"Maybe." Wanda says, "probably not." 

You sit with her words. Letting their weight rest across your shoulders. 

"It's not your brother I'd be worried about anyway."

Stevie.

Would he be there? Could he stop it if he is? What could possibly be worth the torn knuckles and black eyes? 

Yes, you think. I'll have to ask him to stop it. For both their sakes.

"You're going to have a busy night then." You tell her, doing your best to push the fear aside. "Why don't you let me lock up tonight?" 

Wanda drops her needle once again, looking toward you with a raised brow. "You hate locking up. You think it's creepy when you're alone."

"I'll be okay." You assure her.

"Ah." She breathes, her smirk shifting to something more mischievous and knowing. "You won't be alone."

You don't dignify her with an answer, or more aptly a lie. 

"Fine." She agrees, "you can lock up." 

You have to bite your lip to stop yet another squeal from escaping. 

Steve's knock comes at exactly ten minutes after four. Eight minutes after your last customer left. Four minutes after Wanda and the rest of the girls slipped out for the day. Two minutes after you flipped the sign on the door from 'open' to 'closed.'

He feels sheepish, standing on the street and waiting for you to answer with baited breath and his heart in his hands. Also flowers, a little bundle he bought from one of the corner shops on his way over. Mostly baby's breath it smells delicious and looks as delicate as the dress you wore to the dance.

Like a fool, he even dressed up. One of his nicer button downs, one with no stains on the cuff or loose threads.

You're still in your uniform when you answer, apron pulled tight around your waist. 

He steps inside the second you open the door, laying his hand over yours on the knob to push it shut behind him.

The air in the store goes still once it clicks in the lock. 

"Hello." He whispers. 

"Hi." You beam, both of your hands still resting on the door. 

Steve's other hand hand flexes, causing the bouquet in his grip to crinkle. 

"Are those for me?" You ask, eyes lighting up as you take notice of them. 

Steve flusters, pink dusting his cheeks as he remembers himself. 

"Yes." He passes them over, a clumsy stretch as he all but forced them into your hands.

"They're beautiful Stevie." You hum as you take a deep breath, sticking your nose between the petals and closing your eyes. "Thank you." 

Steve doesn't answer, too distracted by how your eyelashes kiss your cheeks. 

Your hand gently pulls out from beneath his, walking over to one of the stations and putting the flowers down next to your things. 

"We don't have long." You warn him, "Wanda's expecting me home by five. She wants us all to eat dinner together before-" 

You cut yourself, voice trailing with what's unsaid. 

Steve catches your shift anyway, sighing and walking further into the shop with you. 

"Before the rumble?" He finishes for you.

You nod, a short one that makes your nerves clear to him. 

"I'm not going."

Your head snaps up at that, eyes flaring with surprise and something else.

"Stevie you have to go." You insist, moving until you're toe to toe with him. "You have to go and you have to stop it."

Steve's heart drops. 

"I don't know if I could- even if I went Bucky and Vis are both set." He shakes his head, petting a hand over your hair as if to soothe. "It's going to happen." 

You pull away, stepping back just out of reach. "You have to at least try." 

"What makes you think I can stop them?" He asks, dragging a hand down his face in frustration. Not with you, no with himself. With the twist in his gut and the fact that he knows he'll go. If you're asking? Steve would do anything if the request came from your lips.

You hum, as if thinking of your answer. Slowly, you close the distance again, toeing your way closer until your hands find his. "You're kind." You start, "you have a good heart, people listen to those who have a good heart." 

Steve's unconvinced, but the look in your eye is steadfast. You're not trying to telling him anything untrue, you're simply trying to make him see himself as you do. 

"Please Stevie." You try one more time, jutting out your bottom lip in a pout. "I don't want anyone hurt." 

Steve bends like a wave to your tide, nodding before he can find another excuse. 

If you can see that good in him, than perhaps it really is there. 

"Fine." He whispers, leaning down to press his forehead against yours. "But only because it is you asking."

You brighten, l if that is even possible. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!" 

A chaste press of lips follows, casual familiar contact. You take it as if his lips belong to you, and as far as Steve is concerned, they do. 

You pull back just as quickly, moving to fuss with something else in the store as you finish closing up.

The picture paints itself in front of him. The store replaced with a house, something small but homey, covered in decorations and colors and something distinctly you. 

There's dinner on the stove, fresh flowers in a vase on the counter, and open windows letting in the sun. There's bird song instead of cars honking, city noise substituted for something more suburban. 

It feels tangible, inevitable. 

You stop what you're doing, turning to look at him with a shy small and a small "What?" on your lips.

Steve walks over to you, taking you in his arms and this time stealing a deeper kiss. 

You melt into him, spine curving as you arch into his touch. It's like molten lava seeping through your bones, bigger than the butterflies you've always been told to expect.

"What was that for?" You gasp when he finally lets you go.

Steve smiles, baring all his teeth and dimples to boot. 

"Just saw our future for a minute there." He whispers.

"Yeah?" You hum, arms encircling his waist. "What was it like?"

"You being there when I come home." Steve starts, throat bobbing as he speaks. "A ring on your finger and your things in our house." 

You bring your hands between your chests, making a show of sliding a ring off of your right hand and onto your left. It's a simple band, a gift from your mother on your eighteenth birthday. You hold it up for Steve to see, pretending to assess it yourself. 

"Like this?" You ask.

"Yeah." Steve says, taking your hand in his and bringing the ring to his lips. "Like that." He places a kiss over the cool metal, leaving tingles across your entire hand in their wake. 

"What else?" You ask, voice hardly audible.

Steve pretends to think, holding your gaze as he pulls the moment out between you. 

"No fire escapes, no sirens or gangs." He continues, "Just a quiet house, on a quiet street, in a quiet neighborhood."

"Sounds nice." You hum. 

Steve nods, leaning down to lave one more soft kiss over your lips. 

You're the one who deepens it, pushing onto your tiptoes and threading your hands through his hair.

When you let him go Steve looks dazed, eyes glossy and lips even pinker than usual. 

"I keep thinking about our wedding," you confess. "Working here, surrounded by these dresses all day." You half gesture around you, the dozens of white dresses littering the walls. 

Steve looks around, finally taking note of them. 

"I think about who we would invite, who would be your man of honor-"

"Bucky of course." Steve butts in.

"Wanda would be my matron of honor, I mean I can't imagine her and Vis won't be married before the end of the year."

"So a spring wedding for us?" Steve asks. 

"Yes!" You agree excitedly. "With wildflowers and baby's breath and a great big cake."

"Who will officiate?"

"Officiate?" You ask, head tilting. It makes you look so cute Steve has to push down the urge to kiss your nose.

"Who will marry us?"

You nod, thinking seriously about it for a moment. "I'll leave that up to my parents, I'm sure they have strong feelings about it."

"I don't care who does it," Steve breathes. "As long as they tie me to you."

"So you, Steve. Take me to be your lawfully wedded wife?" You ask.

"I do." He whispers, "I take you sick, I take you hungry, I take your poor, I take you rich. I take you as long as I live."

Steve kisses you again and you think that you'll need to buy more chap-stick if he keeps this up. Not that you mind in the slightest. 

When your heart has stopped hammering, Steve finally lets you go long enough to check the time. 

"It's late." You tell him begrudgingly. "I have to get home."

Steve nods, understanding. "Bucky's waiting for me too."

You sigh, stealing one last embrace. "Come by tonight? After it's done?"

"Leave your window open." 

The Wolves are on a warpath. 

By the time Steve catches up to them, sense is impossible to find. 

With any entire day left to simmer their anger has completely bubbled over. 

Bucky's the worst of it, insisting he'll be the one to fight. 

Steve's not convinced he's even planning to try and win. There's a look in his eyes, something dark and hopeless. He's decided he's a dead man either way.

Still, every time he feels the urge to run, when the voice in his head tells him its pointless, he sees your face. He sees the look in your eyes, the way you think he's good. 

He's determined to be worthy of it. 

Vis is more subtle in his anger. 

There's a rigidness in his posture, a careful control Bucky has never known. A skill Steve would desperately like to learn. 

In his hands is a switch knife. 

He spins it around, passing it over his knuckles and spinning it between long fingers. 

It moves like a piece of him, an extension of an already lethal weapon. 

"Thought we said hands." Bucky's voice echoes into the night, bouncing off shipping containers.

"Was just warming up." Vis responds, voice level as he passes the blade off to someone else. 

His words bristle through the Wolves, the hairs on every one of their necks standing on edge. 

I should say something. Steve thinks, I need to say something.

"Who fights?" Vis asks, breaking the tension. He holds out his knuckles and cracks them. "I have work tomorrow and would prefer to finish this sooner than later."

Two voices ring out. 

"I'll finish this." Bucky says just as Steve calls out-

"We don't need to do this."

Every head snaps toward him, both sides united in their reaction. 

"No." Bucky starts.

"I think we do." Vis finishes. "I would prefer to fight the one who kisses my sister though." 

A gasp echoes through the Wolves, friends turning to him with disgust. 

Bucky's gaze is the worst of all, thick with betrayal. Despite it, he still looks back to Vis. 

"No," He insists. "He's not one of us. He won't fight."

Arms encircle themselves around Steve's, holding him in place. 

Protests start to fall in a panic, pleas for them to stop, to think this through. Bucky's name slips like a beg, desperate to make his friend listen. 

A circle forms around them, Steve held just out of reach, unable to break loose, unable to do anything but watch.

Both men square up, Vis' lean build and Bucky's broad shoulders. Each with their fists raised protectively in front of their faces. 

Bucky strikes first, always too eager for his own good. 

It's a miss, Vis dodging it with ease and countering with a punch directly to Bucky's abdomen. It lands with a thud, folding Bucky's position. 

Bucky's quick to recover, dodging a second hit and landing one square on Vis' jaw. 

They trade blows for long enough that time begins to drag. The noise in Steve's ears reduced to the rush of his blood and then sickening sound of fists and flesh.

Then Bucky gains the upper hand, a loud crack as his knuckles collide with Vis' cheek. 

The taller man crumbles, knees giving out and sending him straight to the concrete. 

It should be enough, should be the end. 

But Bucky's never known when to stop.

He clambers over his crumpled body, pushing him flat onto his back and laying another punch, then another, then a third.

He keeps going, until his fists are covered in Vis' blood. 

Steve hears himself yelling, throat raw with Bucky's name. 

"Bucky you're gonna kill him!" He finally manages, voice ragged.

By some miracle it gets through to him, Bucky turning to face Steve. 

As quickly as Bucky turns, Vis rallies.

One of the Stray's passes him a switch blade, the knife already drawn in.

It happens to fast, not even enough time to get the warning out.

The knife sinks into Bucky's stomach with a dull thud. 

The entire world tilts on it's axis. 

Steve finally breaks free, numb feet rushing forward to where his friend lies on the concrete. 

"Bucky!" He cries, lifting his head into his lap. "Buck you're gonna be okay, yeah? Just hang on buddy." 

Bucky's croaking, blood bubbling up over his lips. He gurgles, like he's trying to speak only nothing comes out. His hand lifts, covered in his own blood. It touches Steve's face, just for a moment. 

Then he goes slack.

In an instant his skin goes gray, eyes glazing over as all the light from them disappears.

Steve's heart stops. It freezes in his chest, seized by grief and fear and worst of all anger. 

He remembers this morning at the shop. The smile on Bucky's face, the familar warmth of his friend. 

The gun in his waistband. 

Steve doesn't think about you when he reaches for it. 

He looks down at his best-friends body, and does the only thing he can think of.

He points it directly at Vis' chest.

The sun is nearly up when Steve finally comes.

The sky has started to turn blue, the first sign of morning peeking from the horizon. He slips inside your window, nearly falling over when he bends to fit his head in. 

You're at his side immediately, arms throwing themselves around his neck. 

"Stevie!" You whisper, sighing into his neck with relief. You wait for his arms to wrap around you, for their comfort. 

Only they never come. 

Slowly you pull away, confusion etched between your eyebrows.

"Stevie?" You whisper. 

Finally, you take him in.

He looks awful, face gaunt and grey. His clothes are torn, the knees of his jeans ripped and bruises in the crook of his arm. That's not what makes you stumble backwards.

He's covered in blood. 

It's splattered across his face, smeared along his cheek bones and dusting his blonde hair. It's all over his clothes, covering his hands and-

He has a gun. 

It's limp in his palm, hand loose around the grip. 

Your blood runs cold, a sudden and very sure feeling in your gut that something isn't right.

"What did you do?" You whisper. 

Steve lets out a tortured noise, something almost resembling an apology. 

He falls, knees giving out and bringing him down to your floor. The gun falls away, pushed to the side by his own hand. 

"What happened?" You try again, tentatively coming closer as you speak. "Stevie what happened? Vis hasn't come home yet and there have been cops up and down the street all night."

You get onto your knees in front of him, and take his face between your hands, forcing him to look at you.

Steve hiccups, tears covering his cheeks, turning dried blood in pink streaks. 

"I couldn't stop them-" he gasps, "I tried I promise I tried, but they just wouldn't listen." 

You can hardly make out what he says between breaths, the words coming out wet and messy. 

"It's okay," you try to sooth him, maneuvering until your pressed behind his back, pulling his head against your chest. "Sssh, it's okay."

Steve falls apart in your arms, broken cries and gasps pressed into your skin. 

"Bucky…" He whispers, "he's gone."

Your heart aches at the way he says, as if absorbing his own pain. 

"Oh Stevie." You whisper, pressing a kiss to his hair. "I'm so sorry."

"No." Steve croaks, "no I don't deserve it." 

You feel yourself tense. 

"What do you mean?"

Steve goes rigid in your arms, his tears still rolling down his cheeks and under his jaw. He reaches up to you with shaking hands, wrapping them around your forearm where it sits over his chest. 

"Vis had a knife and Bucky didn't see it." Steve manages to whisper. "I didn't mean to but it was like I couldn't think."

You eyes flash back to the gun in the corner of your room. 

Your ears reply the cry you heard from Wanda's apartment, the wail you blamed on someone else. 

Your brother still isn't home. 

"No." You whisper, shaking your head as soon as the thought makes itself known.

"No you didn't." You beg, tears already brimming over your lashes. "Tell me you didn't."

Steve turns in your arms and this time its him who holds your face. 

"I'm so sorry." He murmurs, "I'm so so sorry."

Your heart splinters. 

Grief like you've never known consumes it. 

Like the floor has been pulled out from beneath you and sent you in a spiraling free fall. Or as if someone has ripped off the roof and left you alone in the rain. 

It consumes you fast, tearing into your soul and taking a piece you know you can never get back. 

It's wearying. sawing you in half and then placing what's left to dry out. 

"No." You mutter, tears falling fast down your cheeks. "No, no, no, no." Your fists slam into his chest, banging into him with as much strength as you can muster. "Why?" You whimper, tossing the word at him over and over. "Why? Why? Why!" You repeat, until it devolves from a question to a curse.

Steve takes it all, letting you hit, scream, and cry. His hands fall from your cheeks, wrapping around your wrists in loose cuffs. 

He's still weeping, gasping with pain as you take out every wave of your grief on him. 

"It should have been me." Steve says, pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. "It should have been me."

You heart drops, even through the pain you find the room to protest. 

"No!" You whimper, shaking your head. "No I can't-" You break off into a sob. "I love you both."

Steve's eyes clear and for just a moment the storm lifts. 

"You love me?" He asks, voice hoarse.

You nod, tears finally slowing. 

"I love you more than I hate you."

His kiss is wet, salty with your tears. It's messy and more sad than anything you ever hoped to share with him. 

For every press of your lips becomes an exchange, another apology, another profession,

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

"I'm sorry."

"I love you."

Until the words blend together. 

I'm sorry I love you.

You both mean it, Steve for all of the pain he's brought. You for all of the guilt eating you alive. 

Still you don't stop, bodies shifting until your back finds the floor, lips pressed together with even greater desperation.

I'm sorry I love you.

You can't stop, and some sicker part of you doesn't want to. There's no idea what the daylight will bring, what other sins will come out of hiding. You have no doubt the cops are searching for him, you could live with that. You could move on knowing he's safe, knowing he's alive. 

It's the Strays you're worried about. The boys who followed your brother, the ones who won't let his bloodshed be where this ends. The boys who have become such a big part of your new life here. The ones who sit at your dinner table and muss your hair like you're their sister too. 

They won't let Steve go. 

I'm sorry I love you.

Steve's body hovers over yours, the strong arms that made you feel so protected on either side of your head. 

His kisses have an edge to them now, a bite you match with intensity. A nibble on his lip, a suck where your teeth are still indented. Steve takes it all with a gasp, one of his thighs holding his weight between your legs

I'm sorry I love you.

You still want him. 

Your stomach twists with heat, a feeling you've never given credence too. It burns in your belly, driving your hips up against his leg. Your nightgown bunches between your thighs, wrinkling against his jeans getting caught between your bodies.

Your body lights up at the sensation, toes curling at the first press of pleasure. 

The gasp you let out into Steve's mouth is different this time, there's no pain behind it, no anger. It's something more pure.

I'm sorry I love you.

"Stevie!" You gasp, back arching as you roll your hips over his thigh again.