I'm Here | ✓

34 - Serenity

Observe target.

My gaze travels over his lips, the slight stubble on his chin, his sharp jawline. I eye the shape of his hips, only teased barely by the bathrobe draped over his figure. He delicately flips a page in his book with a steady finger and he lets out a puff of air that disturbs a single blond strand of hair hanging in his face. In his other hand, he grips a steaming mug, sipping from it occasionally.

Engage.

"Be careful with that coffee, Steve. It's hot." He glances up at me, confusion flickering in his eyes. I give him a sly smirk. "Of course, not as hot as you."

"I swear to God." He sounds exasperated, but he gives a small smile as he returns to his book. I can see his cheeks turn pink when he blushes, even though he tries to hide it.

Mission successful.

I push off the counter and saunter over to the couch where Steve is relaxed. Gently, I wrap my arms around him, and he tilts his back to look at me. He lifts a hand to brush my long hair back that's dangling in his face, but it's a graceful motion, even something as simple as that. I smile at it. I'm glad I'm able to notice the tiny, beautiful details now. I've found those are sometimes the most important.

"Mind if I join you? It's cold in here."

"You're the one standing, just go turn up the temperature." We stare at each other for a beat before breaking out into gentle laughter. He waves me over. "I'm kidding, come here."

I pace around the couch and plop down next to him, a little closer than normal. I lean into his shoulder. I wasn't lying when I said I was chilly, and I'm used to it to the point that it doesn't bother me, but Steve's warmth under his fuzzy bathrobe is comfortable and familiar.

"Mm." I snuggle in a little deeper.

Steve pulls the bathrobe out from underneath me, and for a second I think he's offended by me suddenly invading his space while he's reading, but he wraps half of it around me, pulling me closer. You sap.

I don't have any hobbies except pining over Steve, apparently, because I'm content to just sit here and relax with him. Is this love?

In the silence, I decide that love isn't necessarily like the movies, and it's not necessarily sweeping your lover into a kiss in the middle of the street, and it's not necessarily bundles of roses or a glittering ring on your left hand. This is all I've got, and I decide that this is the exact kind of love I need.

"Steve?" I push open the front door a little bit more, staring at his hunched form on the front steps. He's got his pencil clutched in thin fingers, but his sketchbook is lying inside. Rainwater drips down his hair, and I can see his shoulders are already soaked.

I tear off my jacket and drape it around him as I sit. He shrugs it off. "I'm fine."

"I know." Regardless, I pick it back up and put it around his shoulders again. This time, he doesn't protest. He's never 'fine,' and he'd never mope out here in the rain if something wasn't seriously wrong.

He stares down at his boots, two sizes too big for him. They were his father's. He resented them, but he needed them all the same.

"How's that cut healing up?" I ask, referencing the notable split on his eyebrow he had gotten from a fight two days ago, coupled with minor scrapes and bruises. I had a few to match, because I was clumsy and hadn't gotten him out in time. I brushed them unconsciously.

"It's better." He hesitates. "Buck, why do you always bail me out of fights?"

My answer is fast. "Because you're my best friend, punk. I don't like seeing you get hurt."

I should have chosen my words more carefully, because I see Steve tense up out of the corner of my eye. I know I just reminded him of my protector-like presence that he despises but needs. He always thinks he can get himself out, but he's ninety pounds of concentrated righteous asthma that doesn't stand a chance against some of the bullies down the street.

There's a pause, so I fill it. "So is that why you're sitting out here in the rain? Because you can mope perfectly well inside without catching a cold, too, ya know."

Steve looks at me. I can see his eyes are puffy and red; he's been crying. "I was thinking about my parents."

I nod. It's been three months since his mom passed, and he's been thinking about them a lot.

He looks back down at his boots. "My dad used to beat my mom senseless. I'd hide under the kitchen table, hands over my ears, trying to pretend I wasn't there to hear them argue. He'd hit me, too. That's when I'd come over to your place. It wasn't always bullies; sometimes, it was the people who are supposed to love you." He pauses, thinking. "You'd never hurt me, would you?"

No humor or sarcastic comment was going to get me out of this one. "Never in a million years, Stevie, what makes you think I would?"

"Because it always ends up being the people closest to me who suffer, and I don't like that."

I wrap my arms around him and pull him tighter. "I'd never lay a hand on you or try to hurt you, okay? Ever."

What I didn't say was exactly how much he meant to me. I was mortified that he thought I might be the one throwing the punches one day instead of the one stepping in to take them. I wanted to pour out my feelings for this young, scrawny, broken boy that I had become undeniably attached to, but maybe on concrete steps in the freezing rain was not the best place to do it.

"C'mon, let's get you dried off before you catch a cold," I say with a grin that covers up my reserved emotions. Steve gives me a small smile and I help him up, careful to avoid grabbing the bruise on his arm. I hold open the doors and he paces inside, my jacket wrapped tightly around his frail body. I look back out at the abandoned street, listening to the rain battering Brooklyn.

"I love you, Stevie," I whisper. My words are swallowed by the sounds of the Earth, but I said them. They're carried off by the wind, swirling through the treetops, and I hope someday after I'm gone, they find their way back to Steve.

"I love you, Stevie," I murmur. It took 70 years for those words to float across the world and for me to finally gather the courage to say them.

He tilts his head against the top of mine. "I love you too, Buck."

I love you too.

I snuggle deeper into his shoulder, letting out a content sigh. I'd follow this broken boy to the ends of the Earth.

—

 @Charge_is_here :  sorry it's been so late, but there's that meme I promised you I'd make.