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They’ve been in the car for exactly five hours and forty-seven, forty-eight minutes. Bucky’s counting. Isn’t there a better way to spend the day before Christmas Eve than cooped up in a car with Steven Grant Rogers, sitting in traffic, because everyone and their mothers have decided that today is the perfect day to travel? And really, Captain America belting out Christmas songs on the top of his lungs for the first thirty minutes might be cute, is cute and makes Bucky smile and laugh and maybe he sang along, okay fine, he sang along, but now it’s just damn annoying.
“Steve,” Bucky whines. “Are we almost there?”
“Yes, Buck. We’re almost there.” Steve chuckles as he veers the car off the highway.
“Dunno why we had to come all the way out here,” He grumbles, pouts, and rolls his eyes.
Steve sighs and doesn’t answer that. It’s not true anyway. Bucky does know. Knows why Steve’s brought him out of the city, hours away from all the clamour and the silver bells and even the rest of the Avengers. Here where buildings and concrete jungles have turned to snowcapped mountaintops, curved dirt roads dotted with quaint and spacious shops and houses.
Christmas time means a lot more hustle and bustle. A lot more noise. A lot more people. A lot more everything. It’s just been a year. Just a month shy, since Bucky’s come back with Steve and Sam. Found a home in the Tower. Found a family with the Avengers.
Weeks of silence. Sleepless nights and daytime nightmares. Shadowing Steve; the only thing that made sense in a world of chaos and turmoil. Trapped in his own mind, a place that wasn’t even really his own sometimes.
Less things set him off now. He doesn’t flinch at every noise. Doesn’t panic at the sight of so many people. Hasn’t slipped inside his own head and disappeared behind the eyes of the Winter Soldier in months. Bucky knows that this not because the Avengers don’t want him around. Not because they don’t trust him. He knows that Steve knows if something happens, then Bucky’ll feel like the world’s biggest fucking asshole for ruining his first Christmas he’s spent back with him in seventy years.
Bucky worked hard. Struggled, fought, pushed, failed. Struggled, fought, and pushed harder against the Winter Soldier inside of him to succeed. Worked with the therapists Steve brought him to. Worked with Steve’s shoulder to cry on, Sam’s open ear, Nat’s Russian tongue, Clint’s so-called clever quips, Tony’s sarcasm, Bruce’s kindness, Pepper’s mothering, Thor’s over-the-top encouragement. He’s worked hard, failed, and worked again to become this Bucky.
Not the Winter Soldier. Not the person who leapt into the Potomac. Not the James Buchanan Barnes who followed Captain America in the 1940s. Not the man who loved Steve Rogers before he was Captain America. Not the man who loved Steve Rogers after he was Captain America.
This man is… someone different. A mix of all that, maybe? A mix of all that and none of that at the same time. There are still so many memories struggling to break through. Bits and pieces of a broken puzzle trying to fit back together in the right order. One constant? One thing that’s remained the same? How much he loves Steve Rogers. Always has; always will.
He hasn’t said anything to him, never has. Bucky’s gone several agonizing decades never saying anything about how he feels and he’s much too fucking scared to say something now and Steve’s never once said a word about it either. But Bucky’s done little things. Brushed a hand up against his. Steve didn’t pull away. Rested his head in his lap. Steve ran his hand through his hair. Every touch, every little sign of affection, they make his head spin, his heart race. Make him giddy as a kid in a fucking candy shop. Always have; always will.
Thing is, Bucky can’t tell if that’s just Steve being Steve and just indulging him or if Steve’s doing those things because he genuinely wants to. Like he did with Peggy, who Steve loved, loves still. Still visits and calls his best girl. S’not like Bucky minds, not in the least, because Bucky adores Peggy. How could he not? She saw Steve in Steve before he was Captain America.
It’s just… ugh, he just wishes he could make sense of another jumbled up mess in his head. And being away from the rest of the Avengers, they haven’t done it yet. Not for any extended length of time. Not since remembering how strongly he feels for Steve. Still feels for Steve. Without someone else around, Bucky’ll have no way to distract himself, to keep from blurting things he’ll regret.
The words have come close to bursting from his mouth several times over the past few weeks. They’re always there. On his tongue. When he’s with Steve. When he’s not with Steve. They hover silently around him.
But that still doesn’t mean he wants to listen to Steve sing Jingle Bell Rock for the seven hundred and fifteenth time since starting this little road trip. So on the second verse, Bucky jerks forward and switches the radio off.
“Ah, c’mon, Bucky!” Steve laughs. “Where’s your holiday spirit?”
“I left it back with the sixth hundred rendition of Frosty the Snowman.” He huffs.
He’s very aware that he’s sulking. Acting very much like a petulant child. He just hates feeling babied. Being treated like fragile glass. Like any touch might crack and shatter him. Even though Bucky’s aware that a few precautions are better than setbacks and that acting like a child doesn’t really help in the not being babied area. He still hates this. Hates not fully being one hundred percent in control of himself. Hates that there’s still that chance that no one wants to risk.
Hates that he loves Steve so much and is too afraid to tell him. Too afraid even though things are different now and they can have a relationship. That Bucky can kiss him the way he likes kissing dames, no, women, not dames, and he’s too afraid. Bucky can let himself get wrapped up in those big arms of his. Not what he dreamed of when they were younger. Used’ta be dreaming of wrapping Steve up in his arms. This is no better or worse. Someone is still wrapped in someone’s arms. And he’s afraid.
It doesn’t really help that Steve’s been acting sorta strange with the whole overprotective thing today either. Made Bucky breakfast. Carried Bucky’s bags to the car. Was insistent that they stop where Bucky wanted to stop for lunch. Bucky figures he’s just trying to make up for dragging him out here. That maybe Steve thinks he’s made Bucky feel broken or unwelcome. Not the case. Bucky’d like to tell Steve that, but he can’t find the right words. The only words he wants to say are the three he can’t bring himself to say.
When the car turns down a long driveway, Bucky finally catches a glimpse of their destination. The top of a chimney, the tip of a roof. And the stiff arms pinned against Bucky’s chest loosen a bit. He perks up enough that Steve, only Captain America, notices. A bit of a grin twitches on the corners of his lips.
There’s nothing around for miles. Just this little, or not so little, house nestled neatly on the mountainside, betset in wintery woods and several feet of snow. They’re high enough on the mountain that even though down on the mainroad it wasn’t, it’s snowing here; soft flakes that gently glide to the ground and add to the snow already piled up. A land of finely ground sugar, sparkling brightly in the evening sun, that’s been… shoveled?
“I thought we…” Bucky twists his lips. Sure, he felt dragged away from the rest of the Avengers, but now faced with the prospect that it might not just be he and Steve for the next few days, his insides feel too small. “I thought it was just going to be…” His voice trails off to something of a pathetic whimper, “us.”
“Yeah, it is.” Steve says as he puts the car in park. “Why?”
“Then who…” He points out to the clear path. “Who shoveled?”
“Oh!” He laughs. “Stark. No, not that Tony shoveled or anything. Yeah, right.” Steve scoffs. “He made sure everything’d be set up for us when we got here.”
“Oh.” The relief sinks in, resting comfortably in the very marrow of his bones. And he smiles for the first time in hours.
Steve must notice that too since there’s definitely a laugh in his voice when he pops the trunk and says, “C’mon, Bucky. I’ll get the bags. We’ll head inside. Take a look around.”
After bickering over it and wrestling with the punk, Bucky finally convinces Steve that he’s perfectly capable of carrying his own bag into the fucking house. More fucking babying. Steve was real careful in the beginning. Soft words and gentle touches, but this is just starting to border on ridiculous.
The place is real nice. Two stories. Entire south wall made of wood and glass windows and doors leading to outdoor balconies. Amazing views. Breathtaking, really. Stone, mantled fireplace on a friendly, plush carpet that even feels soft under shoed feet. Second floor home to two bedrooms, conjoined by one large bathroom, temping jacuzzi tub.
Bucky looks around a bit wide-eyed at the place. Though Stark may have recommended or rented or loaned it out or something for them, and it’s simply gorgeous, it’s a lot cozier than Bucky would imagine a spot a man like Tony Stark would prefer. And it’s now sinking in, rock in water, floating down fast, that he’s going to be here with Steve for the next few days. He hasn’t been this alone with Steve since as long as he can remember, and his memories of those times are fuzzy at best. He can’t tell if he’s more nervous or excited.
“So... if you want,” Steve says as he drops his bag in the room he apparently intends on taking. Bucky, still standing in the bathroom glances at him through the open door. “Um, y’know, if you wanna… share…”
He trails off and Bucky’s honestly not sure what he’s getting at.
“Share?” He shakes his head. “Share what?”
“Uh… a room? Cause…” Steve swallows hard and Bucky’s heart picks up doubletime. “I mean, it’s a new place and all. So… if you feel… Just, if you wanna share a bed, I really wouldn’t mind or nothing, or anything.”
“Oh.” Of course that’s why. No other reason. Bucky tosses his bag back into to the room behind him. “No. I’ll be fine.”
“Okay.” Steve murmurs. Softly. Like maybe he’s sad, disappointed even. Or maybe Bucky’s just reading into things. “Um, you wanna wash up or rest or something? I’ll cook some dinner?”
“Jesus Christ, Steve, I can help you with dinner.”
Steve just stares at him for a moment. Blinks twice and then nods his head.
“Yeah, okay. Sorry, Buck, I…” Steve chokes back whatever he was going to say there. “Um. I was just gonna fry up some cutlets. That okay with you?”
“That’s fine.” Bucky grumbles. “I’ll be down in a minute.”
“‘Kay.”
Steve disappears quickly. Bucky sighs. Lets out a pitiful breath and glances at the mirror.
“What’re you looking at?” He grunts at his reflection.
Cranky. He’s just cranky from the long car ride, that’s it. This has nothing to do with anything else. He can do this. Do a long weekend with just Steve and him in this picturesque house in the woods during the season of perpetual hope and not give into the feelings inside of him. Bucky’s been doing it for as long as he can remember. Well… he almost laughs.
When Bucky gets downstairs, Steve is at the island in the kitchen, spilling a bit of oil onto the marble countertop when he spots him coming. Doesn’t seem to mind the mess. Then again, of the two of them, Bucky’s always been the neater one. Still, Steve lights up with a smile and, hot damn, Bucky fucking loves that smile. Seems the air is still clear between them.
“Hey!” Steve greets as though the two of them didn’t just see each other a few minutes go. “There you are. Grab the chicken, would’ya?”
“Um, yeah, okay.” Bucky says, pulling his hands out of his pocket. Hands he didn’t even realize were tucked away. “Here.”
Chicken’s already breaded up. Bucky’s not sure how long he actually took upstairs trying to steady his nerves. Clearly a lot longer than he thought.
“Throw ‘em in, huh?” Steve asks.
“Sure.”
They get through dinner okay. Steve doesn’t appear to know that anything is amiss. Really, Bucky’s not sure why anything is wrong at all. Maybe it’s just this place. Its intimacy, the confinement. The sweetness surrounding them in hands soft and warm, shielding off a world that’s kept them apart for ages and ages. Eventually, they’ll have to leave.
Bucky’s washing the dishes when Steve shouts, “Hey, Bucky!”
He turns right into the shirt being flung at his face. There isn’t even enough time for him to pull it away when something is on his head. When his vision is no longer being obscured by scratchy fabric, Bucky sees Steve standing in front of him, big goofy grin on his face and…
“Steve, what the hell are you wearing?”
An ugly red sweater, that’s what. Knit with a big, gaudy Christmas tree on the front, all decorated with tons of presents sleeping soundly underneath it. Stupid Santa hat on his head as well.
Steve just grins wider. Says, “Got one for you, too.”
That’s what was thrown at his face. Bucky holds it out for further inspection. His is green, with several stockings hanging from a fireplace and a table donning a half eaten plate of cookies on it. Takes the white fuzzy thing tickling the side of his cheek for Bucky to remember that there’s also a hat on his head.
Bucky’s still staring at the hideous thing while Steve goes over to the pine tree in the corner that Bucky’s been pretending he hadn’t noticed. He kicks the few boxes out from underneath it.
“I thought when we finished cleaning up dinner we could decorate.” Steve suggests. Bucky’s eyes lift over the top of the sweater clenched under his fists. “Give this place the ol’ Bucky and Steve Christmas touch?”
He’s smiling. Smiling like a goddamn Cheshire Cat. Just won a million dollars. And Bucky just feels empty inside. Angry. Has no idea why.
The sweater falls from his hands. Bucky takes the stupid hat off and it joins its friend on the floor.
“You don’t need to do this, Steve.” He mumbles. “Just stop.”
Steve’s face falls. Smiles breaks. Shatters into thousands of pieces to be carried away by Christmas winds.
“Do what?”
“Act like this. Like we’ll have our own little private Christmas. For fuck’s sake I’m not a fucking baby. You don’t need to treat me like one. I know why I’m fucking here.”
Steve pales. Goes completely ashen like Bucky’s just ran over several puppies and looks as though he might throw up.
“You…” His voice barely reaches Bucky. “You do?”
“Of course I fucking do, Steve! I’m not a fucking idiot!”
“Bucky… I…” Steve doesn’t look him in the eye. “Then… do you… can… we… talk about it? Or do you not…”
His voice cracks and it sounds like he might cry. Shit. Shit, shit shit. Bucky rattles his head.
“God damn, Steve, you don’t need to be so upset about it.”
Steve glances up at him. He looks hurt now. “What?”
“Look, I get it. You didn’t wanna chance me having an episode or a breakdown or a bad day, whatever you wanna call it, with all the stuff going on with Christmas and all, being it’s my first one back. It’s alright. But that don’t mean I want you fucking babying me and shit.”
The color’s slowly returning to Steve’s face. Only now he looks really confused. His eyes are slowly tracing over things in the foreground. Searching for answering that his mind is having trouble coming up with.
“Bucky, what’re you… is that what…” Steve shakes his head. “Shit. Holy shit…” He murmurs and scrubs hands over his face. Moans, “This is not how this was supposed to go.”
He ambles over to the tan, leather couch and plops down. Steve suddenly looks exhausted. So tired that he could sleep for weeks.
It’s quiet for a while. All Bucky can hear is his hot pulse pounding in his ears. He’s not quite sure what just happened.
“I never thanked you.” Steve says. Soft, hushed. Voice as gentle as the snowflakes outside.
“Thanked me?”
“For when we were kids. Y’know? For treated me like… like a person. You didn’t baby me. Didn’t… make me feel useless. Even when I wanted to first enlist. Dunno if you…” Steve hesitates. Sucks in oxygen and goes on. “Dunno if you remember, but when we first talked about enlistin’ I asked you to teach me how to box. You didn’t wanna at first, but you did.”
Bucky can remember drips and drabs of that, but those memories are mixed in with more recent ones of the Winter Soldier fighting with Captain America.
“You didn’t hold back either. Or, well, maybe you did, a little. But you hauled off and slugged me right in the face, first lesson. Beat the hell outta me, too. Pushed me to the max every time. You treated me good, Buck. Made me feel like I could conquer the world.” Steve gets out one humorless chuckle. “Maybe I pushed it a little too far sometimes. But… with you by my side I knew I could do anything.”
Bucky’s speechless. Words not forming for his mouth, not even entering his mind. Only three of them. Three he can’t bring himself to say. Steve rises off the couch. He can remember some of this. Back alley fights, Steve defending himself, usually defending others. Bullies and downright assholes that he and Steve, a couple of punks running around the streets of Brooklyn, got into it with. Bumps and cuts and bruises. Patching each other up. Laughs and smiles. But Bucky always saw it as him being at Steve’s side.
“I’m sorry I made you feel babied. That’s not what I was…” He bites that back. Goes for, “I didn’t mean to. We can go, if you want. Tonight even.” Steve walks by him. Heads back upstairs. “I’m sorry, Bucky.”
Bucky can only watch as Steve gets further and further away. The second Steve’s out of sight, he lets out a long, disgruntled moan. Sounds of waking animals fighting over a scrap of meat. Falls to the couch and buries his face in his hands.
“Nice.” He grunts. “Real nice. Way to go, Barnes.”
Steve looked so damn heartbroken just now and after everything the guy’s done for him, continues to do for him, Bucky’ll be damned if he’s gonna be the one to hurt him now. No way. He’s not going to be this big baby when Steve’s only trying to look out for him. Steve loves him. It might not be the same way Bucky feels for him, but he does love him.
Bucky heaves himself off the couch and puts on the damned ugly Christmas sweater, adding the stupid Santa hat for good measure. He goes back to the cardboard boxes and lifts the lid off the first one. It’s filled with stringed lights.
“Of course.” He says.
He’s not sure how long he’s been fumbling around with all the strings. Pulling them apart, untangling, getting more tangled in his strings of profanities, going from blinking to not blinking, but Bucky’s managed to get half the tree lit in colorful twinkling lights and half of himself wrapped up in the process as well.
Bucky’s reaching into the box, pulling out a huge knot of lights and swearing along with it, when he backs up and catches his the heel of his foot on the corner of another box. In steadying himself, his other foot happens to land on the remote for the stereo and it goes on, blasting the music he had very meticulously planned out.
“No!” He pleads with the stereo as Mariah Carey’s All I Want for Christmas starts belting out of the speakers. “Not yet! I’m not ready for you!”
This is not how this was supposed to happen. The song was supposed to start when he was ready to call Steve down. After the tree was all finished. Not now. Not yet. Bucky’s desperate to get the damn thing to turn off before the song really gets going.
But the remote is broken under his weight and Bucky’s found himself unceremoniously attached by lights to a Christmas tree and any harsh movements will knock the whole thing over.
He’s fumbling about. Trying to get the damn things to just let him go without ripping them apart.
“C’mon! Please!”
“Bucky?”
He twirls around, just giving the lights what they want and adding another loop around his body.
“Steve!” He exclaims. “I…”
“What’re you doing?”
“I was trying…”
“Can we lower the music?”
“Oh. I…” He points to the shattered remote. “I sorta broke it.”
Steve nods and goes to the stereo. Lowers it and faces it a few moments longer than necessary. His face a bit unreadable when he turns around.
“What’s going on?” He asks.
“Well, I…” Bucky twists his lips. “You weren’t supposed to see yet. I wanted… Shit, Stevie, I’m sorry. I didn’t, I mean, I shouldn’t have yelled at you before. I’m sorry.”
Steve makes his way back over and Bucky watches as that patent, Rogers’ shit-eating grin crawls on his lips.
“So you thought wrapping yourself up in Christmas lights was the best way to make it up to me?”
“Shut up, punk!” He laughs. “I didn’t mean to end up like this. It was an accident. See if I ever do anything for you again.”
For another long moment, Steve just stares at him with that look at his face. A laugh bursts loud and hard, both expected and unexpectedly from his chest, rocks his entire body and makes his whole face red. Bucky tries hard, he really does, not to join in, but he just can’t help it. He laughs so much, his sides hurt.
“C’mere,” Steve says, wiping the moisture from the corner of his eyes. “Let’s get you out of there.”
They end up emptying all the boxes. Six of them altogether which decorates almost the entire first floor. A winter wonderland. Garland strung along banisters, sparkling cutouts hanging from beams along the ceiling, icicles that catch the light by the windows.
It’s well into the night by the time they finish and Bucky’s positively beaming.
“Do you wanna go to bed?” Steve asks as he packs the last empty box into a closet. “It’s pretty late.”
“Oh…” No, he doesn’t. He wants to stay up with Steve. Afraid the magic they’ve seemed to have found, the spark this place has brought back to them will burn out if sleep takes them. “Can we watch a movie or something?”
Steve smiles. “Yeah, sure. Shall we stick with our theme? Christmas movie?”
A grin twitches on Bucky’s lips with his nod. Christmas is being kind now. Good to go with it.
Steve chooses A Christmas Carol. The one they went to see when they were kids. And just like when they were kids, Bucky hides his eyes when the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come shows up. Only this time, he does it into Steve’s shoulder. The second, the very instant he moves, Steve shifts, as though it’s exactly what he’s been waiting for, and he puts his arm around him, guiding Bucky and him down so that they’re stretched out across the couch.
Bucky freezes. He’s warm, very warm against Steve. Even warmer when Steve drapes a blanket over them.
Whenever the Avengers have their movie nights, it usually finds Bucky cuddled up with someone. Nat, Sam, and Clint mostly. Steve is his favorite. But cuddling with Steve leads to choking back words.
This is different. This is… Bucky can’t even describe what this is. His heart is pounding. Pushing so many different emotions through his body and Bucky’s not sure if he want to smile and laugh or scream and cry. This feels so right. So perfect and comfortable. This is where he belongs. A few tears do escape his eyes. Silent, crawling down the side of his face, to be wiped away before the can reach Steve’s shirt.
Bucky doesn’t even realize he’s slept until Steve’s no longer under him and the smell of bacon is pulling him out of a dreamless sleep. The pillow under his head is damp and Bucky wipes the bit of drool away from the corner of his mouth. He lifts his head and looks up from the couch.
“Steve?”
“Good morning.” He smiles from at the stove. “Sleep well?”
“I…” God yes. More than well. He hasn’t that well since as far back as he can remember. “Yes. Did you… did you leave?”
He chuckles. “No. I fell asleep there. Didn’t even make the end of the movie.” Steve turns what appears to be a pancake over. “Got up just a little while ago.”
“Oh.”
Steve looks up at him. Question on his face. Doesn’t ask whatever it is though.
“Hungry?”
“Yeah. A little.”
He fills a plate up. Holds it out. Yep. Pancakes.
“Want some?”
Bucky smirks. “Sure.”
They’re at the table. Eating quietly. It’s not awkward or uncomfortable now. Just nice. Bucky’s gazing out the glass doors. Out at the view. The bare trees, tops swaying gently in the wind. The tops of the faraway mountains, the start of another world. Fairy tales and magic, away from the tragedy that have taken both Steve and him for a whirlwind of two lives. He likes the view. Likes the thought.
“Hey, Bucky?”
Steve’s voice, comforting, familiar, pulls him back into this world. Not a bad world so long as Steve Rogers is in it.
“Yeah?”
“Um…”
There’s lots of thoughts on Steve’s face. So many of them. Bucky hasn’t seen him this frazzled in a few months. When Steve wasn’t sure how to handle something going on with him. When English failed Bucky and only Russian was coming out. When the tears wouldn’t stop and only a hugs would work. When the unforgiving world felt like it was too much. But these are different thoughts.
And instead of one of those coming out, Steve’s eyes glance out the window and come up with another thought.
He says, “Do you wanna build a snowman?”
Only instead of saying it, he sings it.
Bucky rolls his eyes. He gets the reference. Clint’s made them watch the movie a hundred times.
“Shut up.”
Steve laughs. “No really. You wanna?”
Bucky pushes a bit of the leftover pancake around on his plate. He nibbles a bit on his lips. He… does want to, actually.
“Um… yes?”
“Do you? Really?”
Okay, now he just feels stupid.
“No. Never mind.”
“No, really!” Steve laughs. “I want to! I’m going to. Will you? With me?”
“Are you being an ass?”
“No!”
Bucky grins. “Really?”
“Yes, Bucky! I wanna build a snowman! Like when we were kids!”
And that Bucky does remember. Rolling up stacks of snow, making them taller than Steve himself. Lifting up Steve so he could put the newspaper hat on top of the snowman’s head cause it was his favorite part. Bucky smiles. At the memory. At doing it again today.
“Okay.” He whispers.
They swap the ugly sweaters for two more ugly sweaters. Steve seems to have an endless supply. They’re outside, one snowman already completed. He’s got a scarf around his neck that Bucky insisted he’d need to keep him warm.
“He’s made out of snow, Bucky.” Steve had said.
“Don’t care, Steve.” He huffed. “He’ll catch cold.”
Steve rolled his eyes, but smiled anyway.
Now they’re working on two separate snow people. Bucky’s making a snowlady. Steve said he’s making a snow dog, even though Bucky’s not sure how the hell someone can go about making a snow dog. As Bucky is sticking little twigs in her head to give her an “in” hair style, something hits his head.
It’s light, not really so much a hit. More like a touch. Snow. He brushes his left hand across the spot. Shakes a few extra flakes out of his hair. Assumes the obvious. He looks over at Steve. But Steve is crouched down and mumbling something to his supposed snow dog. Bucky looks up at the branch swaying above his head. The snow could have easily fallen from up there. He goes back to working.
But it happens again a few minutes later. This time he huffs. Doesn’t bother to turn around.
“Damn it, Rogers. I swear to God.”
“What?”
“Steve…”
“Bucky, what’d I do?”
If it wasn’t Steve, if it was anyone but Steve, Bucky might be fooled. The sheer amount of pure innocence in that voice, and, when he does turn to look, that shimmer to those baby blues in that cherubic carved face, how could he not be fooled? In fact, now that he’s looking, Bucky’s really not all that sure it was Steve.
“Cut it out, Rogers.” He mumbles anyway.
“Bucky, I didn’t do nothing.”
“Whatever.”
When it happens again, it has the makings of a snowball. Just the makings. Bucky stays quiet. Looks over his shoulders. Can just make out the hints of that Steve Rogers’, that little punk, snicker of his. Bucky gathers snow in his hand.
“Steve.” He calls.
The snowball hits Steve right in the side of the head. A laugh bubbles inside Bucky and a second later he gets hit again. Steve laughs in suit. Another few snowballs fly across the space between them until Bucky tackles Steve to the snow covered ground. They roll around twice until Bucky pins Steve down under him. There’s snow clinging to both of them, stuck in Steve’s dark gold hair. His face his pale with cold, but his cheeks and nose are bright red and he’s laughing under Bucky’s weight.
“Bucky!” He shouts as he struggles to get up. Inhibited by his own laughter. “No!”
“Yeah, punk? Not so tough now, are ya? C’mon, Cap? What’chya gonna do?”
Bucky grabs a handful of snow and rubs it all over Steve’s face. It goes in his mouth, up his nose, down his shirt and Steve yelps and squirms and laughs some more.
“No! Bucky, I’m sorry!” He pleads in between breaths, “I won’t do it again! I swear!”
Bucky gasps. Under him is no longer big Steve. Little Steve appears. They’re in Brooklyn. No war. No Captain America. No Winter Soldier. Snowball fights. Snowmen. Day after Christmas.
“Not so tough now, punk, huh?” Bucky teases, shoving snow in Steve’s face.
Steve giggles and wiggles under him. Spits out the snow and laughs harder. “No! Bucky, I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! Promise!”
“Bucky?”
“No wait!” He begs. “Don’t move! Please…”
Bucky leans in closer. Noses just touching. He’s not sure why. He just…
“Alright, alright, punk.” He chuckles. “Let’s get you home. You got a rabbit nose.”
Steve wiggles his nose at him. “Rabbits would be warmer in the winter.”
“I’ll keep you warm, Stevie.” Bucky promises and leans in to rub their noses. “You know that.”
“Bucky…” Steve whispers.
Bucky moves away, having rubbed their noses together without even realizing it. A deep blush warms his entire body.
“I’m sorry.” He murmurs. And then notices the tears in Steve’s eyes. “Shit. I’m sorry, Steve. Please, don’t cry.”
“Good tears, Buck. They’re good tears. Do it again?”
Bucky smiles through his own tears and does. He lets their noses meet again and rubs them together.
“I’ll keep you warm, Stevie,” He murmurs. “You know that.”
Steve’s eyes are closed when Bucky backs away again. He’s all smiles, wishy-washy almost. Dreamy. When he opens them, he’s looking at Bucky with all those thoughts again.
“Bucky, I…” He licks his lips and shakes his head. “You wanna go in? Warm up?”
“Oh. Yeah, okay.”
Only Bucky doesn’t move. He stays just like that and wishes that time would just let them remain this way forever. Wants to press his lips against the ones so close to him. The ones he’s wanted more than any he’s ever had the pleasure of kissing before. It’d be so easy to steal just one right now. Just a quick one. It’d be so wrong though and Bucky knows that.
“Um, I’m gonna need you to get up now, Bucky.”
Bucky chuckles. “Yeah, yeah. Alright, punk.”
Steve gives him a playful jab in the arm on the way back up. “Jerk.”
Back inside, once the snow is brush off their clothes and they’re sure they’re not tracking it in with them, Steve suggests warm showers.
“You wanna take the jacuzzi upstairs?” He offers. “I’ll take the shower down here?” Steve gives Bucky something of a panicked look. “Oh. I don’t… I mean, whatever you want…”
“It’s okay, Steve.” Steve’s probably backtracking over what happened yesterday. Over Bucky accusing him of babying him. “Whatever you want to do is fine.”
“Are you sure? Cause…”
“Steve, look…”
Bucky hugs him. He must shock him a little cause at first he’s a bit stiff before hugging him back. God, Bucky loves holding him. Loves when Steve holds him. Just loves being close to him.
They’re still hugging when he says, “I’m sorry I said all that yesterday. I know you’re just trying to help. Please don’t feel bad.”
“But, Bucky, that’s not… I mean…” Steve can’t seem to get his thoughts organized. “Mmm… okay. Go up and get relaxed then, huh? I’ll get us some lunch ready? Is that okay?”
“Sounds good, Stevie.”
Right before Bucky unwinds from Steve, he pulls back the collar of Steve’s shirt and shoves in the bit of snow he’s kept hidden in his left hand the whole time. Steve yelps and jumps and Bucky sprints away. Laughs his head off as Steve swears he’ll pay for that.
After Bucky gives him the best puppy-dog eyes he conjure during their lunch--soup, really good soup, too--Steve says he forgives him for the snow-down-his-shirt bit and promises that he won’t do anything to get him back for it. Not now anyway. Bucky’ll take it. They spend the rest of the afternoon making gingerbread houses and cutting out paper snowflakes which Steve’s are ten times better than Bucky’s even though Steve insists that Bucky’s are wonderful when most of Bucky’s are just paper with holes in them. They bake cookies and sing even more Christmas songs, watch several Christmas movies, string popcorn to put around the tree and tuck wrapped gifts under the tree before dinner.
It’s not until Bucky smells the roasted chicken cooking that he remembers his ma making it every Christmas Eve. It tastes different, most things do, but he cries a little, both happy and sad tears when they eat. Steve holds him. He holds Steve. Now that Christmas is fully upon him, Bucky’s really glad it’s just the two of them, even if he has nothing to distract himself from the ever growing feelings inside. Glad that Steve thought to take him away from everyone else.
“You wanna put cookies and milk out?” Steve asks when they’ve cleaned up dinner. “Before we go to bed?”
“What?” Bucky chuckles. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve outgrown that.”
“Aw, you’re no fun.”
“I’m a fucking blast and you know it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Steve, can we light a fire?”
Steve looks over to the fireplace in the sitting room. He smiles at it and then to Bucky.
“Sure, Buck. Lemme just make sure the chute’s open.”
Funny thing about Steve Rogers trying to check whether a chimney's chute is open or closed is that he’s not really sure what he’s doing and ends up with soot all over him. Which, in turn, gets soot all over the place. Bucky laughs at Steve as black dust settles around him and all over the carpet. He offers to let Steve shower--again--while he vacuums up the mess.
Thirty minutes later there’s finally a fire going. Big and beautiful. Passionate and warm and throwing off heat and light everywhere. Bucky’s seated on the carpet in front of the stone ledge just watching the flames hop around, entranced by their famous dancing. Behind him, on one of the plush seats, Steve is sitting, and Bucky’s pretty sure he knows what he’s doing.
“Are you sketching me?” He asks.
Steve chuckles. “You’re in the moment.” He says. “S’not my fault you just happen to be there.”
“Ugh.” But Bucky snickers just the same. “You gotta show me when you’re done then.”
“Will do, Sarge.”
They stay like that for a while, Steve’s super soldier eyes allowing him to sketch by the light of the fire. Bucky doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to disturb the moment. Just one more he wishes he could fold up and put in his pocket; keep it forever. He’s so content, warm and comfortably lazy, that the hand on his shoulder almost startles him.
He looks up to find Steve hovered over him, timid grin pulling his mouth up. Steve’s always been shy about showing off his work. Even to Bucky. The paper’s folded in half when Steve hands it to him. Bucky holds in a gasp when he opens it. Always has to. No matter how often he sees it, Steve’s work never ceases to amaze him. He captures everything. Everything. Not just the fireplace, and the fire in it, or the decorations around it and Bucky in front of it, but every little detail around them, too. The sparks jumping out of the flames, the small pulls in the fabrics of the stockings hanging from the mantle, the bit of flour that’s apparently still in Bucky’s hair from when they baked earlier. And the emotion--the serenity, the peace and ease of which circles around the whole thing--it’s all there, all drawn out to be remembered forever, for Bucky to fold up and put in his pocket. Just like he wanted.
“Can I…” Bucky needs to clear his throat. Make sure the tears in his eyes don’t betray him. “Can I keep this one?”
“Sure, Bucky. Anything you want.”
Bucky’s eyes are still focused on the drawing, but he can hear the smile in Steve’s voice. Like liquid gold--warmth and comfort. A soft hum buzzes in back of Bucky’s throat and he rises to his feet, ready to thank Steve for not only allowing him to keep this, but for drawing it, when Steve leans in quickly and pecks his cheek.
His chest feels tight. Limbs tremble and eyes go saucer-wide. There’s a crooked, almost playful smile on Steve’s face, like what’s he’s done is perfectly normal.
“What--what’d you do that for?” Bucky asks.
Steve chuckles. “Mistletoe.”
“What?”
“See?”
He points to the mantle and, sure enough, there’s mistletoe right at eye level. It’s in the drawing, too, and Bucky feels his heartbreaking. Feels a rush of heartbreaks. Over and over. He thought, for one second he thought…
“I…” He can hear the shattering pieces hitting the ground in that one word. “I think I want to go home.”
“What?”
“I wanna go home.”
“Why?” Steve sounds like he might cry, too. “Bucky, why? What’d I do?”
“No, nothing.” Bucky says, trying like hell, and failing miserably, to keep his voice even. “You didn’t do nothing, Steve.” He wraps arms around his chest. He can’t do this. Thought he could. Just can’t. “I just wanna go home. Please, Steve? You said we could.”
“Yeah, we can, but…” He looks panicked. Looks like the world is about to fall apart. “Bucky, I know, I know you thought we came here…”
“I know why we’re here!” Bucky exclaims. “You don’t need--”
“You don’t know why we’re here!”
It takes a lot for Steve to raise his voice and that’s the very first time Bucky can recall him doing so towards him since he’s come back. He stops, words drying up.
“What?”
“You think we’re here cause…” Steve groans and his face turns red. Blushing. Steve’s blushing, but Bucky can’t figure out why on Earth he’d be blushing now. “Bucky, we’re not here because of you. Or, yeah, we are, but it’s not what you think.”
“Then… why?”
“I wanted… Buck, I wanted to take you out here to tell you something.”
“Tell me something?”
Steve wants to tell him something? Out here? In the middle of no where? Now he’s got Bucky thinking that maybe he’s been doused in some sort of gamma radiation. He’s about to Hulk out, isn’t he?
“What’s wrong, Steve?” He asks.
“No nothing wrong! It’s…” Steve gets all bashful and maybe Bucky’s completely miscalculated again.
“Stevie…” Bucky says softly. “Whatever it is, you can tell me. You know that.”
“No, you… it’s… everyone else…”
“Oh everyone else knows?” He rolls his eyes. “Real nice. Nice to know--”
“Bucky, I love you!”
Bucky flicks his eyes up just in time to see Steve clap his hand over his mouth. Those words, the words that he’s been holding back for as long as he can remember, could they really have come from Steve?
“What?” Bucky whispers.
“I… oh hell.” Steve groans. “That’s not… I didn’t wanna… shit. Bucky. Bucky, I love you. I didn’t want it to come out like that. To do it like this, but I do. I love you so much. I wanted it to be, y’know, special. Or something. That sounds so stupid probably, and I know you probably want someone more than a knucklehead like me, but I wanted to let you know at least…”
“Steve, I’ve loved you since we were kids.”
But Steve just goes on. Like he’s not heard one word Bucky’s said.
“...and maybe you can love me, too? I mean, if you don’t, I can understand. If you want someone like Nat or Sam or something. Or someone not in the Avengers altogether. Someone new, totally different, but I’ve loved you for so, so long, ever since we were kids in Brooklyn…”
“Stevie, you’ve been it since 1930.”
“I just…” He pauses. Eyebrows pull in. “Did you just… did you say 1930?”
“I… you didn’t say nothing either!”
“I didn’t know you felt… you love me?”
“I love you.”
Immediate relief. Like the weight of the world’s been lifted from his shoulders. Bucky’s said the words. Said the words that have been stuck inside of him for decades. They’re out now. Out in the world, said to the one person meant to hear them most.
“1930, Bucky?”
“I’m sorry! You didn’t say it!”
“I know! I…”
He doesn’t finish. Steve just stares at him. The soft glow of the fire tickles their faces and the next thing Bucky knows, Steve is lunging forward. Lips slamming into his and Steve is kissing him. Kissing long and hard and passionate and full of decades worth waiting. Comets fly across the night sky of Bucky’s closed eyes, lightning strikes down his spine, and kissing Steve is everything he dreamed it’d be.
Breathless, Steve pulls away to say, “Bucky, I’m sorry. I should have…”
“Steve! Shut up! Don’t stop kissin’ me, you punk.”
He grins. “Okay.”
Steve moves in to kiss again, only Bucky shakes his head.
“No wait. Say it again, Stevie? Please?”
Steve nods. “I love you. I love you so much, Bucky.”
“Steve.” Bucky breathes, eyes closed. Dreaming. Only not dreaming. He’s finally awake for this. “I love you. I love you.”
They’re kissing again. Tongues seeking to be just as good friends as they are. Shedding clothes. Ugly Christmas sweaters ending up somewhere far away, being tossed in their haste. Steve runs his hands all over Bucky’s bare torso. Gently at first, getting firmer as he goes on. Pulls whimpers from his throat. Whimpers that grow to moans.
Steve gently lowers them both to the carpet. It’s soft and comfortable and Steve is trailing kiss along his collarbone, making Bucky’s skin quiver underneath his soft lips. He moves up, looks down at him. Looks at Bucky like he’s seeing him for the first time.
“Fuck, look at you,” He murmurs. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
Bucky heats up with a blush. He’s never heard Steve talk like this. Heard him swear before, yeah. People think that good ol’ Captain America is sweet as apple pie. S’not the case. Only Bucky and Sam, Nat, too, really know that. But this is something new. And it’s gorgeous.
Steve starts sucking on Bucky’s neck. Pulling little red marks on his skin; marks that will start turning purple and blue if he sucks harder.
“I’m gonna treat you so right, baby,” He whispers in his ear. “Gonna make you feel so fucking good. I’m gonna spoil you fucking rotten.”
Something clicks for Bucky then. Steve’s proclamation, how he’d been acting. He wasn’t babying Bucky. He was trying to spoil him. That he’ll take. Bucky chuckles.
“God, I don’t deserve you.” He mumbles almost to nothing. “Don’t deserve nothing this good.”
Steve jerks away. Jerks away like Bucky’s physically wounded him. He glares down at him, annoyed, disappointed. Both.
“What?” Bucky asks. “What’s…”
Steve interrupts the rest of his question with another kiss. Hard, pressing his mouth into Bucky’s as if trying to make one out of two. He ends it as abruptly as starting. Leaves Bucky feeling almost dazed. He’s never been kissed like that. Or maybe it’s just because it’s Steve. Either way, he’s dazed.
“Don’t wanna hear that from you, Bucky.” Steve says gently, petting his hand over Bucky’s hair. “You deserve the best. Only the best.”
Bucky swallows hard. Tries to get the rocks that have formed in his throat to pass through. It’s hard with Steve staring at him like that. He can’t really answer. Not so sure if Steve’s right or not. But Steve’s waiting, and Steve very much means it. So Bucky nods. Steve sighs a little, doesn’t go any further on the topic than that and grinds his crotch against Bucky’s.
A moan grows in Bucky’s throat. Grows, crawls out and when Steve does it again, he whimpers.
“Stevie…”
“Fuck, Bucky, I wanna taste you. Wanna get my tongue all over you. Inside of you. Everywhere.”
Shit. Holy shit, Bucky can’t even believe his fucking ears. Not only has he dreamed of this, fantasized this, jacked off to these thoughts, but this is coming from Steve Rogers, the guy who was all shy and bashful just moments ago trying to tell him he loved him. Fuck, they wasted way too much time being afraid to tell each other.
Bucky digs his fingers into Steve’s skin. Needs to feel more of him. All of him. When Steve lets out his own moan, his hands find their way to the brim of Bucky’s pants. One hard tug is all he needs and he rips them right in half and if that’s not the biggest fucking turning on...
Steve’s pressing kisses on Bucky’s chest, slowing making his way down his stomach and lowers his boxers for him. Bucky’s panting, licking his lips, whimpering, and doesn’t even realize he’s murmuring Steve’s name over and over again until Steve’s eyes flick up to him.
“Shh, baby, it’s okay. I told you. I’m gonna make you feel good. Just relax, okay?”
Bucky nods, let’s his head dip back into the soft carpet as Steve’s tongue starts lightly exploring the skin around his crotch. He holds in more whimpers. More whimpers escape.
“Bucky?”
He lifts his head. Peers at Steve who’s suddenly looking very worried. Like maybe he’s done something wrong.
“Yeah?”
“You… um. You’re okay with this, right? I mean… I’m not…” Steve rattles his head. “I’m sorry. Maybe we should wait…”
“Stevie…” Bucky breathes, reaching down and cupping Steve’s chin. “I love you. I trust you. I don’t wanna stop.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah.”
“Say it again, Buck.”
“I love you.”
Steve smiles and then licks the very tip of his dick. Bucky gasps and drops his head back down. Beautiful white stars light up behind his eyes when Steve’s mouth wraps around him. Bucky threads fingers through that golden hair of his, soft and smooth, just to feel more of him.
“Oh God… Steve… uuunnn… Stevie… fuck…” He pants over and over, “Feels so… feels so good, baby doll. Oh shit…”
Steve makes noises of his own. Groans, hums a little, and every vibration sends another jolt of pleasure through Bucky’s entire body. He works him up so close, so very fucking close and then backs off. Steve does it again, so many times that Bucky’s so swollen and aching he’s ready to scream when Steve lets his dick fall from his mouth.
“I wanna feel you,” Steve whispers. “Feel myself inside of you. Is that okay? Can I?”
“Yes. Fuck yes. Please, Steve.”
Grinning, sly and almost arrogant, a smile just for Bucky, Steve leans in to kiss him again. He can taste the precome on his lips, taste himself and Steve’s sweat.
“I’ll be right back.” Steve murmurs.
“Wait! Where’re you going?”
Steve looks bewildered at Bucky’s sudden panic. “To get… stuff. To…”
“No. We don’t… we don’t need anything.”
It’s true. They don’t. The serum’s made it safe. Neither of them can contract anything from each other.
“Bucky, we need some sort of lubrication though.”
“I don’t want you to go.”
He feels kinda pathetic. But he really, really doesn’t want Steve to go anywhere. Feels as though if he steps away this will all end. He’ll wake up in storage again. Wake up with Hydra. No more Steve. No more Avengers. The Winter Soldier. No more Bucky. No more Steve.
“I’ll be right back, baby.” Steve assures him, planting first a kiss on his lips, then another to both cheeks. “I promise.”
“I’ll be okay, really. You don’t need…”
“No.” Steve states quite firmly. Then, softer, says, “I’m not going to hurt you, Bucky. Not taking that chance. What’s wrong? Do you want to stop?
“No! No, I don’t. I just… just hurry up, okay?”
“You sure? It’s okay if…”
Bucky shoves him away. A little harder than he intended and Steve lands on his backside.
“Hurry up, punk!” He exclaims. “You said you were gonna make me feel good, right?”
Steve rolls his eyes. Smirks though and swirls to his feet to go to wherever he’s got whatever he’s got with him.
The second he’s gone, Bucky sits up. He tries to keep calm. Reminds himself that he’s really here. Here with Steve. Steve who loves him. Really loves him. Brought him here just to tell him that. Bucky scoots a little closer to the fire. Smaller now. No longer roaring, so he tosses another log in to rekindle it. To keep the fire going. Warm the place up again. No need to panic. Steve’ll be right back. He will.
“Not like Tony was gonna make this easy. Threw in, like, four different types of… Bucky?”
Bucky doesn’t realize he actually started crying until Steve’s at his side wiping the tears away.
“Shit, shit, I’m sorry. Let’s not do this, okay? We’ll wait. We…”
“Fuck you, Steve. No way.”
“But…”
“No.” He kisses him. It’s a wet kiss. Wet from tears and wet from spit and just wet. “No way. I’ve waited, we’ve waited more than 70 years for this moment. I’ll be damned if we have to wait a second more. Is that a fucking condom?”
Steve clearly doesn’t understand the question at first. Then he takes a glimpse at the things in his hand. Holds up the packet. Bucky takes it from him and flings it away.
“I want to feel you. There’s no danger.” He says. “You know that. We’ll be safe.”
Steve nods. “Okay. And you’re sure you’re okay? Still want to do this?”
“Yes.”
“‘Kay.” He kisses him. Pops open the bottle of lube. “Lay back, okay?”
Bucky does as requested. Steve bends his knees up, begins to slowly work lubed fingers inside of him. Breaths move from steady to jagged back to panting as Steve starts to move faster, opening him up, scissoring his fingers and shooting fireworks off in Bucky’s stomach.
“Steve… shit… Stevie… please…”
“God I fucking love you, Bucky.” Steve growls. “Love you so much.”
He takes his hand away, slowly and Bucky whimpers at the emptiness. Doesn’t have to for long. Steve climbs up on top of him. Raises his legs up, ankles up on his shoulders and just works the tip of himself in.
“Okay?” He checks. “This is…”
“Yes, Steve. It’s good. Real good.”
Steve smiles. Warm and loving and pushes in. His eyes go wide with that first thrust. Enough that he doesn’t seem to be able to hold back. He thrusts again.
“Oh shit, Bucky, you feel so good. So… so f-fucking good.”
“Steve, oh my God…”
Every thrust hits that key spot just perfectly. Jolts white hot sparks through Bucky’s body.
Steve moves more. Slow and steady and holds Bucky so close to him he can hear his heart beat. Murmurs how much loves him the whole time. So does Bucky.
“Steve… oh shit… M’gonna… please put your hand on me… please…”
He does. Wraps his strong hand around him and gently strokes while thrusting in deeper, harder, faster.
“Steve!” Bucky shouts as he comes. “Oh, Stevie… Stevie…”
White, sticky come spurts out all over his stomach and Steve pushes again, makes a strained, but adorable whimpered noise in the back of his throat.
“Bucky… oh fuck… where…”
“Inside me… Steve… please…”
Steve’s head is dipped forward, eyes half closed, but Bucky can see his nod before he thrusts two more hard, deep thrusts. Sounds like he chokes a bit on the air and Bucky knows instantly that he’ll never get enough of watching Steve ograsm. The pure bliss on his face, the actual innocence, the pleasure there--Steve really letting go; it’s incredible.
The second he’s emptied out, Steve falls forward, bumping his brow with Bucky’s and resting them together. Two sweaty, messy super soldiers, panting for breath, and stupidly in love. Steve’s trembling. Bucky puts his arms around him.
“Are you okay?” He whispers.
Steve nods, leaving his head right where it is. “Yes. I love you.”
Bucky kisses his nose. “I love you, too.”
“Mmm. I’ll never tire of that. Never.” He kisses Bucky. “Don’t move, okay?”
“Okay.”
Steve gently pulls out, and moves away. Bucky doesn’t panic this time. No need. Steve’ll be back. Just like before. His eyes are closed so Bucky’s a bit surprised when he feels the warm cloth brush up against his stomach. Steve cleans him up. Even his backside. He runs the cloth over him until he’s satisfied that not only is he cleaned up, but that he’s not hurt anywhere.
“Told you I was gonna take care of you.” He says when he catches Bucky watching him.
Bucky snickers. “I believe the word you used was spoil.”
“Well, that too.” He agrees and tosses over a present from under the tree. “Here.”
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
Steve sits down behind him. Wraps them both up in a big blanket. Has already dropped two pillows down and added more wood to the fire. Bucky tears into the wrapping paper. Once it’s all off, Steve flings the paper into the fire and Bucky looks over what it was hiding. It’s a framed drawing. A sketch of Steve’s. It’s of them. Of Steve and Bucky. Several versions of them. When they were kids. Teenagers. Before the war. During war. Captain America and the Winter Soldier. Bucky taking care of sick, skinny Steve. Steve helping Bucky become Bucky again. All of these images circling one of the two of them smiling, happy together. Just like right now.
“I know, it’s… kinda corny. But…”
“I love it, Steve.” Bucky says. “I love it. I love you.”
Steve kisses the back of his neck. “I love you, Bucky. It’s after midnight, y’know.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Stevie.”
“You wanna open more presents or wait till morning?”
“Mmm… wait till morning. I wanna stay right here.”
Bucky pulls Steve’s arms around him. Lays them both down onto the pillows. He wiggles himself back a little, getting closer to the man he’s loved since he really knew what love was. Steve presses kisses into his head. Whispers more words of love. Promises that he’ll never wait so long to tell him something again. Bucky agrees.
Presents can wait. They can wait for days and days and days for all Bucky cares. He’s finally gotten the one thing he’s wanted his whole life. And he’s never gonna let Steve go.
