12 Days of Christmas || Seb and Chris One Shots

Birdsong || Bucky x Reader

On the ninth prompt of Christmas, we proudly give to thee... Steve convinces Bucky to go to Rockefeller Center and bumps into...

The city is too busy at this time of year, Bucky would rather stay indoors or walk the opposite way to everyone else. Anything to get him away from the crowds.

He tugs at the sleeves of his jacket, keeping his mind busy by giving his fingers something to do. Hidden under worn leather gloves they still feel the cold and it forces a shiver up his arms.

Steve notices, nudging his friend as they walk down the straight that leads towards the tree, smaller pines lining the fountains in the middle. "You okay, Buck?"

"'M fine."

Their eyes are never still, looking at nothing in case there's something. Heads turning at the slightest of sounds which only seem to get louder as they reach the ice rink.

Bucky feels his jaw tighten as it's all a bit much. Doesn't know what to do with himself now he's here. Why he had to come. Wondered why Steve said it would be good for him and how it was important.

He's starting to wonder if his friend knows him at all. If he realises that he's had more time to adapt to the new world they live in, that Bucky isn't quite where he is yet. Not quite caught up with everything.

It's getting harder to breathe and not because of the cold in the night, chest getting tight as he drags in all the air he can manage. The world is nothing but noise and he can't make sense of any of it. And he realises if something happened now, if someone came for them he wouldn't be able to react, everything blurring into chaos of colours and sounds.

He doesn't say anything, can feel his jaw clench and his breaths deepen. Steve must notice, his hand on Bucky's shoulder heavy and grounding. Fingers digging into his back as he looks for Bucky's eyes if he could get them to stay still.

"Buck." Steve says and Bucky hears it. "You good?"

"I just, I need a minute." Bucky manages between staggered breaths, looking around for somewhere quiet. "I'll text you in ten?"

"Okay, you know how to use that thing, right?" Steve laughs a scoff with a quick squeeze to Bucky's shoulder. "I'll go find them, they should be here somewhere. Take all the time you need, Buck."

And then he's gone, not sure who walked away first but Bucky's ears are looking for quiet. Listening as the sounds fade to something a little softer, just for now. Until he can gather his thoughts and control his breathing. His palms are wet but cold even though his hands are clenched into tight fists of leather.

His heart slows a little when he reaches one of the bronze statues flanking the staircase to the lower Plaza. A little quieter up here, or at least not as crowded.

Bucky goes to lean against the figure but ends up sitting on something softer than the ledge he'd expected.

"Oh, sorry. Sorry." He mumbles without looking, focusing on the shadows on the floor.

"That's okay, my fault really."

The voice is sweet, soft compared to everything around him. Reminds him of the first song of birds after a mortar attack, reminding him there is good in the world even if all he's seen is bad. And he can't help but follow its sound.

And he sees you.

Pools of blue studying your face like it was art, memorising each line and looking for freckles. Sees the colour of your eyes and thinks it's the most beautiful palette he's ever seen, like something Steve would mix for one of his paintings. He follows the curve of your lips as you flash him a smile and as much as he'd like to say something, to apologise again for sitting on your hand, you've stolen all the words he imagined speaking.

"You okay?" You ask, nothing but concern in your voice.

"Uh, yeah, sorry. I, uh... it's busy." Bucky says, finally able to pull his eyes away. "I just needed a moment. Sorry again for sitting on you, on your hand." He manages a smile before it's gone. "Oh, god, did I hurt you?"

"No!" You rush with a laugh. "No, you didn't hurt me."

"Okay, sorry."

"I'm Y/N, by the way." You say, offering an open palm for him to shake.

He takes it, wishing he could feel the softness of your skin through his gloves. Wanting to know how you'd fit into his hand without the leather between you.

"James. Or Bucky. Bucky's fine."

"Nice to meet you, James." You give him the softest smile he thinks he's ever seen, cheeks moving with the curve of your lips. And he likes the way you say his name, the one that no one uses anymore.

Takes him back to before the war, to before all the fighting started. To cold mornings in a damp apartment and a quieter city. He feels safe, like there was nothing in the world that could hurt him as long as you kept on saying his name.

"Don't like crowds?" You ask as if you could read him.

"Oh, yeah, no. Just, it's a bit much." Bucky says, heart slowed enough that it doesn't hurt his chest anymore.

"I get that. So loud."

"Yeah."

"You here by yourself?" You ask, looking around as if you're expecting someone, maybe hoping there's no one.

"I'm with a friend but I left him. Just needed to catch my breath. Are you? Here by yourself I mean?"

"For now. I'm waiting for someone. They said it was important." You shrug at the word as if you don't know what it means, rolling your eyes at the person you're talking about even though they can't see you.

"My friend said exactly the same thing." Bucky laughs and it's so real, a chuckle that seems so strange to his throat.

"Weird."

"I wondered if I could -"

"Bucky!" And his words disappear at Steve's voice. The question he was about to ask gone. "There you are. Knew you didn't know how to send a text." Steve's laughs, nudging Bucky with his elbow. "I see you've already met Y/N."

"Steve." You wrap your arms around his neck, shoes bending with your feet as you stand on the tip of your toes. You smile at Bucky, chin resting on Steve's shoulder before you draw back.

"Buck, this is Y/N my, uh, well my girlfriend. Y/N, this is Bucky, my best friend."

The world is noisy again as he forces a smile, can't quite believe his luck. Watches you lean into Steve's touch and wishing that was him, that he got to whisper things into your ear while planting a quick kiss on each cheek. That his hand got to hover at your waist, smile never fading because you were beside him.

But it's not.

And that's okay. Steve deserves it all, deserves the quiet. The calm that follows your voice.

Realises that he might never get that.

Because Bucky remembers that the birds he heard fill the battlefield with song disappeared again once the fighting started.

And he forgets what they sound like.

Again.