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[wipedclean]

[The soldier is usually pretty stern, intimidating, all that jazz, but right now he's downright grumpy. And... snarly. Clearly he's not in a good mood.]

Why. The fuck. Are these fucking fireflies everywhere?

[Speaking of, here's one fluttering against his shoulder right now. His hand slams down on top of it, squashing it. He growls.]

They are getting in the way and they are making Steve forget he has to eat. Is there a way to stop them other than crushing them one by one?

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[He stares at the jar, and then at Steve, with a bit of a Look.]

They're bugs, Steve.

[prespangled]

And I'm just a kid from Brooklyn with asthma and a crooked spine. Some people would say I'm not much more than a bug.

[Have said it, in fact. Not here - people are nicer to him here. But he still senses it sometimes, that quiet doubt that he's of much use. It's a feeling that he fights against every hour of every day. It's no wonder happiness moved into him like a hermit crab finding a roomy new shell.

Steve takes another drink of water before lying down again, head resting on Bucky's knee as he watches the fireflies that are still flying overhead.]

Little guys have value. That's why I like them. I can recognize them, see things that most people probably overlook.

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[His face softens and he sighs. Of course Steve would relate to bugs. Of course he would.

It's... strangely endearing.]

Steve...

[He's not sure what he wants to say, but he feels... warm. Happy. Like he wants to... reach out and hold Steve close and protect him from those who would try to hurt him forever.]

[prespangled]

[His gaze shifts, focuses on Bucky's face instead of the glowing bugs. He is protecting him. Steve will tell him as much after this is over. He's taking care of him the way he always did, even when Steve didn't make it easy for him. Especially when Steve didn't make it easy for him.]

Yeah?

[wipedclean]

[He doesn't know what to say. He's not really sure what he wanted to say to begin with. There's too much he doesn't really understand. But he does know... he does know there's no one else he'd rather be with.

After a moment, he reaches out with his right hand and brushes Steve's hair out of his eyes, hoping maybe that will say enough for him.]

[prespangled]

[It does. And hopefully the smile that Steve gives him in return will let Bucky know that the feeling's mutual.]

Thanks. It was starting to get in my eyes.

[He'll probably need a trim at some point. he's kinda meticulous about his hair. Steve reaches a hand up, letting the tips of his fingers brush against the tips of Bucky's hair.]

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[He ducks his head a little to let Steve touch, taking a breath even though the feeling is so slight. No one... no one touches him. Not gently. Not softly. He holds his breath, waiting, for... for what, he's not sure.]

[prespangled]

[There's a trust there. Others might not understand it, might even call it dangerous. There's things that the two of them don't even understand. Steve lets his touch linger to show him that there's no pain here, there's no betrayal. There's only a gentleness and an easy affection that Bucky showed him first.

Steve eventually lets his hand fall back down to his stomach, eyes close as he nods off for a little bit of much needed sleep.]

[wipedclean]

[He watches Steve sleep for a long moment, then looks at the jar in his hand. He sighs, then opens the jar and encourages a few of the fireflies out and back into the wild until there aren't quite so many. Maybe that will lessen the effect a bit.

Then he makes sure the bugs have something to eat before he screws the lid back on and sets the jar down, turning his attention back to Steve.

It's too cold out here for Steve to sleep out here. He sighs, then wraps Steve's hands around the jar until they're grasping it, then picks Steve up in his arms, his head against his shoulder, and gently carries him back to the apartment. He goes slowly, carefully, quietly, so as not to wake him.

Once back at the apartment, he lays Steve down in bed and puts the jar of fireflies on the bedside table and starts to tuck Steve in, covering him up and making him comfortable and then moving to leave.]

[prespangled]

[Steve doesn't wake the whole way back, doesn't even come close. He's not aware of how the warmth in him actually intensifies either, even after Bucky's let some of the fireflies go.

He sinks into his oddly shaped bed, which is still nicer than his old one with its mattress worn so thin that sleeping on a sheet of paper would probably have been just as comfortable. Steve rolls onto his side, one hand reaching out to hook two fingers in Bucky's sleeve when he turns to go, mutual anchors.]

[wipedclean]

[He could have tugged away easily. Steve's hold is light, instinctive. But it stops the soldier in his tracks more effectively than any order. He stares down at the sleeping man, stares at their point of connection, and sits down on the bed next to him.

Staring for a little while longer, and perhaps driven by the warmth emanating from both the fireflies and Steve's sleeping form, the soldier takes Steve's hand in his, lacing their fingers together. He feels calm. At peace in a way he's not sure he's ever felt before. Slowly, he lies down on the bed next to Steve and watches him a while before falling asleep himself, their fingers still laced together between them.]