#markofwinter

aw man, peter sucks. here he is, living with captain america and bucky barnes, and what does he do? totally forgets one of their birthdays. he's the worst, he's the absolute worst. and it was like three weeks ago and bucky didn't even say anything!

and peter just thinks birthdays are important. they are, even if technically you don't know how old you are anymore. like they have the year bucky was born, but it's complicated, alright? so he panics in the store for like twenty full minutes, and then just ends up buying a whole pack of candles. all of which he manages to fit into a cupcake, which was the only thing he could realistically afford. what that means is that even though peter times it pretty well, by the time bucky's actually in the kitchen they're working their way up to a full blown fire hazard.

he feels a little awkward about it, is the thing. peter's made it pretty clear to bucky that he knows more about bucky than bucky knows about him, but it still feels kind of weird. and it's also really stupid! because bucky probably has this already, but peter saw it in a thrift store and it was really nice, so he just thought - but now he feels kind of stupid, climbing through the guest bedroom window with it in his bag. still, he gets changed and clatters around a bit to make sure they know he's there, and then comes down the stairs, his hair an absolute disgrace and his sweatpants threadbare, smiling sheepishly.

it could've been worse, is the thing. that's what steve always tells himself, when they come back bruised and broken but alive. steve's got a concussion like he hasn't had since before he got serumed up, and he's thrown up twice already but he's pretty sure it's already abating. besides that, he's got a laceration that's not bleeding anymore, and some fingers that need icing.

it's fine, though. he's got something else to focus on which is helpful. even if he wishes he didn't, given the circumstance.

❛ hey, ❜ it's not often peter comes through the door. it's almost never that he has a bag. at this point, he's got a tiny collection of clothes in the bottom drawer of the guest room dresser, and he feels guilty having that there. so the dufflebag is...something. the way he's shuffling awkwardly in the doorway is something too.

❛ how you feelin'? ❜ steve drops down onto bucky's cot, pulls his legs up to his chest. it's been a long couple of weeks, and steve's the only one with a big old iron shield built around him. the rest of them are just...bodies. and steve's terrified for all of them, but bucky most of all.

it's a record. he makes it a full thirty minutes before his gaze starts drifting. thirty-two minutes before he slides his hand, gently, onto bucky's thigh. before he digs his fingers in a little bit and slides up a little bit and leans in a little bit.

their sleep schedules are almost never aligned ; between trauma and coffee consumption and their various...jobs, there’s always a strong chance that one of them wakes up long before the other. 

it’s not usually steve.

but it’s an abnormal morning. he wakes up slowly, easy. bucky’s still asleep, curled up tight, and close ; he never looks more peaceful than when he’s sleeping dreamlessly. his cheeks are a warm pink, his lips a little bit parted. steve just lies there for a while, watching him. then he reaches up, gently, smoothes his thumb carefully down the space between bucky’s eyebrows, to the end of his nose. kisses his temple lightly and then gets out of bed achingly slowly.