I don't care - A Stucky Fanfic

I don't care

Everything feels sort of fuzzy. Fuzzy and warm, actually. It might be because of the couple of drinks that I've had. Or more likely, the heavy dancing that has been going in the dance floor for the last hour. But it's definitely not because of the way Steve is looking tonight. It's definitely not because of the way the shirt he's wearing hugs his muscles. Or that imposible waist to shoulder ratio that it's so characteristic of him.

Okay, time to confess, I know that I want him. I also know that I can't have him.

I know he cares about me. But the best way to describe our relation is a "bromance". We say I love you all the time, we hang out every time we can, we are... I guess you could say cuddly? Yes, we are cuddly with each other all the time. Like I said, our relationship is a full on bromance.

Except that the way I feel about him it's not the same way he feels about me. It's tough, loving someone when you know there's no way or even alternate reality where the feelings might be reciprocated. People make jokes about us being a couple even though they know I'm gay and, most importantly he isn't. We even talk about the girls he likes and the boys I like, as if there wasn't a difference. But ultimately there is.

Anyways, the point is that I can't help but feel warm all over. And if i'm being honest with myself, it's all because of him: The way he dances, without a care in the world, it's entrancing. Hips rotating, head bobbing along to the reggaeton music that is playing in the club. He radiates confidence and with that, waves of provocative energy crash over me. Even though i'm sitting at the bar and he's dancing the night away a good ten meters from where I am. Therefore, warm.

This lasts for only a couple of minutes, until a chill runs up my spine, sobering me up and sparking me into attention. There's a girl - a gorgeous, voluptuous brunette - that is closing in on him. The dance floor is packed and she just took advantage of it to get closer and start grinding on him. And Steve's face says it all. He wasn't expecting it but he's happy about it. He looks surprised - he's oblivious of his good looks and the effect they have on others - but he's blushing and his mouth is wearing a little smirk. That's the expression he makes when he's self-consciously happy about something. God, he's cute. Even when he's dancing with someone else. Even when that someone else is a girl, a random girl that is obviously thirsting over him.

He is so cute that I decide to not watch him anymore. It hurts my heart. It's better to just forget about him, and the best way to find forgetfulness is in the bottom of a bottle. A vodka bottle to be precise.

Something like twenty minutes past. Could be more, could be less. I can't tell being this drunk. I'm surprised I still have a straight train of thought. Or do I? Maybe. I don't know. Who cares. No one cares. In the same way that I'm starting to not care about Steve. All I have to do to not care is keep drinking. So I take another swing at the bottle, just to prove to the universe that I don't care. I don't care in such a high level that I could kiss Steve and it would matter.

He could come right in this instant and kiss me and I still wouldn't care. Because I don't care about him, or those beautiful, soft-looking lips that he carries around. You know why? "Because I don't care."

"You don't care about what?" Oh shit. I turn around and there he is. Steve Rogers in his tight clothed, sweaty, fiery glory.

"I don't care that you were dancing with some random girl." Fuck. At what point did I lose my brain-mouth coordination?

"Okay? Thanks, I guess." He says while giving me the look he usually directs to people when their acting weird. Just like I am doing right now. "Her name is Lucy. She goes to my Contemporary Art class but we had never talked before. I think I like her, she's nice and she's a good dancing partner."