Clocks//Stucky✔

Seven

"Whatcha' thinkin' about, Stevie?"

"Nothin' much, Buck. Can't sleep."

"Me neither."

The two whispered back and forth into the late hours of the night exchanging soft and friendly touches to the backs of the other.

The middle of winter were the worst months for Steve. Illness always wracked his body and heat was always a problem in their drafty old apartment. Blankets were threadbare and clothing was thin as of the walls.

But Bucky was always there for him. Bucky made sure Steve was warm and fed and all his medication taken care of.

The nights were cruel alone. But on the nights Bucky wasn't out with some dame were the opposite. The colder nights of the year, Bucky would push their two beds together and pile up all the blankets and pillows they had and bury themselves in the soft warmth of the blankets and each other embrace.

Of course, these actions to both men were just ways to keep warm and fight off colds. On both sides, these actions were platonic of course. They were intended to be platonic, yet intentions stray.

Further, into the years, the cuddling for warmth became something more. It turned into enjoying each other's arms. They missed cuddling and the intimacy of it all.

Neither of them admitted anything to the other, but the feeling was unknowingly mutual.

But it's different now.

Steve detached himself before Bucky woke up. In reality, Steve only spent half an hour curled up next to Bucky.

It wasn't until hours later that Bucky was awake.

The shooting pains had lulled away, although there was a dull ache in his head that throbbed every so often.

Opening his eyes, Bucky half expected to see small Steve to be wrapped up in his arms, but instead, he found himself looking at changed Steve, sitting in a chair, reading a book.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice was hoarse and shakey as he addresses the man across the room from him.

"Hey, Buck. How are you feeling?" Bucky didn't know how to answer the question. So he shrugged and watched as Steve moved to sit on the end of the bed.

Steve seemed to accept his silence. Instead of pressing anything further, Steve sat in silence, looking down at the linoleum floor.

Feeling bad, Bucky sat up. The pain was pretty bad when he moved too much, but he pushed through it.

Once Bucky had righted himself, he reached out his hands, tugging on Steve's arm softly, pulling him closer so Bucky could wrap his arms around Steve.

Bucky didn't know how long the hug was. He didn't frankly care. He buried his face in Steve's shoulder and closed his eyes, breathing softly.

This was blissful. He forgot how much he loved hugging Steve. All the friendly touches shared and looks stolen. Bucky missed it all.

He just missed Steve.