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Steve didn't know what to do.
He stood, slack jawed, watering can in hand, watching with rapt attention as his across-the-street neighbour waved his arms rapidly, screaming and shaking a fist at the heavens.
“Get away!! Leave me alone you demon spawn!!”
Steve squinted.
The man was wearing a tinfoil hat.
It was definitely time to go inside.
Steve turned and quickly re-entered his apartment, but not before glancing back at the man across the way.
It was a damn shame, he thought. Underneath the aluminum, his crazy new neighbour was kinda cute.
Bucky was going to murder Clint.
Actually, murder wasn't a strong enough word for what he wanted to do to Clint. What do you do to someone who has caused such unspeakable mayhem? He didn't actually know, but made a mental note to Google it later.
He had only been living in his new apartment for three weeks now, and was already having to contemplate moving again, on top of having to make a new best friend. Because what kind of so-called ‘best friend’ starts luring pigeons to your new balcony? Bucky's best friend did. Clint did.
It had started innocently enough.
Moving day had resulted in pizza, which had resulted in Clint and Bucky eating on the balcony, which had resulted in Clint pitching a discarded pizza crust to a pigeon on the street below.
Before the crust had even hit the ground, ten more pigeons had shown up.
Clint couldn't get enough.
Every visit since that day had Clint sneaking out onto Bucky's balcony, scraps, and eventually whole loaves of bread, being offered to the birds like some sort of avian god sacrifice.
And the fucking birds had been smart. Too smart. They were learning. Rising up. Taking over Bucky's balcony, and soon, the world.
They had discovered that a person stepping out onto the balcony meant meal time.
But Bucky wasn't here to please the bird gods. He wasn't here to be the fucking pied piper of pigeons. Bucky was a simple man. He wanted to take advantage of finally having a little green space and had cultivated a small herb garden in a tiny protected greenhouse, urging patches of mint, cilantro and rosemary from the soil, like his ancestors had (probably) done. He wasn't asking for much.
The days he did not bring the official sacrifice of bread, bird shit rained like fire from the sky.
He’d had no idea birds could poop so aggressively.
So Bucky learned too, oh yes he did. Bucky would not be deterred from his gardening by a few flying rats. He donned his tinfoil hat of shit protection and stepped out onto his balcony for some zen gardening time, just like great great grandpa Barnes had (almost certainly) done. He was getting back to earth.
This was gonna be peaceful as fuck.
The flurry of pigeons immediately rolled in, like vomit waves on the hot, sandy beaches of Hell, and Bucky’s attempts at ‘zen’ lasted 3 minutes 23 seconds before he started screaming like a lunatic, successfully scaring the birds away, a manic grin of temporary but well-earned success plastered on his face.
His tinfoil hat had protected him from most of the birdshit, too. Score one for Bucky.
Steve was a good person.
Too good maybe. Good to the point that his boy scout brain refused to drop the image of his weird cute neighbour flailing around on his balcony.
Steve wasn't a mental health professional, but he was compassionate and kind and could empathize, and his eyes had developed this funny habit of drifting to his patio door whenever he passed by it, maybe kinda slightly keeping an eye out for this dark haired erratic stranger.
He didn't even know his name, but Steve felt a weird sense of responsibility for him as his across-the-street neighbour.
Steve knew what it was to be lonely, to not really have someone, and was self aware enough to know he wasn't looking for a pet project. He wasn't arrogant or naïve enough to think the guy needed “fixing,” (you do you, tinfoil man) but maybe he could make more of an effort to brighten a day for him here and there. He'd been quick to brush him off that day, escaping back inside before being noticed, and lingering traces of guilt were still flowing through him, gnawing at his edges. That was the problem, he thought. Too many people were dismissive, afraid. Steve wouldn't do that. Steve would reach out.
He looked out the door again. The man was currently outside, aggressively sweeping his balcony, lips moving quickly although there was no one in sight, hands gesticulating wildly with the broom whenever he seemed to hit on a particularly important part of his monologue. His tinfoil hat was securely in place.
Steve picked up the phone and called Sam. He would maybe need some tips from a professional first.
Bucky had successfully scared the birds away for a moment of blessed peace and had begun sweeping the remaining bread crumbs off his balcony while he waited for the call to connect.
Clint was going to get a fucking earful today.
The call went through and Bucky put it to speakerphone, slipping his phone into his pocket before ripping Clint a new asshole as he continued to sweep. The fucker had left another loaf of bread on his balcony last night. This was going too far.
Clint, damn him, didn't even have the decency to apologize, laughing through Bucky's tirade before hanging up on him. He really needed a new friend.
Steve was going to approach him today.
He knew his neighbour was currently home because he could see him on the balcony, the ever-present tinfoil hat atop his head. He was sitting on a chair fiddling with a pile of electronics, antennas and other devices scattered haphazardly around him, an intense look of concentration on his face.
Steve had spoken to Sam earlier in the week and had gained some insight into how to approach the situation, but that didn’t stop his knees from practically knocking together as he made his way across the street, apple pie in hand.
Be cool Steve , he coached himself as he moved up the stairs of the building . He was just meeting a new neighbour. Nothing to be nervous about.
The building was a mirror image of his own so Steve had no trouble finding the apartment, the main door to the building having been left propped open with a brick by some other resident. Not totally secure, but definitely convenient for Steve's needs. He approached the door and took a breath. Now or never.
Bucky was a genius. He was probably going to be up for a Nobel prize this year or something, that was how good his idea was. Prize-worthy.
Sonic bird repellers. He almost wanted to do an evil laugh. But not out loud. That would be crazy. Internally though, he couldn't help it. Muhahaha .
One late night on Amazon and $204.95 plus expedited shipping later, he was knee deep in enough Pigeon repelling electronics to choke a goat. But he wasn't here to choke goats, oh no. He was here to stop birds.
He had assembled about half of his gear on the balcony before he heard a knock on his apartment door though the screen of his own sliding door.
Rising to answer, he was not at all prepared for the sight that greeted him on the other side.
A blonde muscled Adonis stood there holding an honest to goodness pie.
“Hi!” The man chirped gleefully. His perfect smile took up like 80% of his perfect face. Holy christ.
“Hi…” Bucky continued to look at him suspiciously from under his brows. What was this beautiful man selling? Besides pie?
“I'm Steve!” The human drop of sunshine continued happily. How did anyone ever possess so many ‘Upbeat!’ vibes in one body? It was a medical marvel. He took in Steve's shoulder to waist ratio. Definitely a medical marvel, this one.
Steve was talking again, but Bucky was lost in thought. Shoulder/waist/golden hair/pecs/abs/everything thought. Bucky was not an objectifier, he could see through people's physical appearances to the personality underneath. It was just... Gah. This guy. Steve.
Also, pie.
Steve was looking at him funny. Bucky stuck a hand out and finally introduced himself. He was probably blowing this. Shit.
Steve left a few minutes later, after a ‘welcome to the neighbourhood, if you ever need anything I'm across the street, apartment 305, here's a pie, let's do this again sometime!’ speech that left Bucky's head spinning.
He didn't realize he was still wearing his tinfoil hat until he had the first bite of pie in his mouth.
It could have gone better, but Steve was pretty proud of himself, all things considered.
Bucky (he had a name now) had stared pretty intensely at Steve as he went through his introductions, like Steve was a riddle he was trying to solve. Steve, not one to bow under pressure, had forced as much good cheer onto his face as he could humanly manage, and could only hope he didn't come off like a desperate golden retriever. Ah well. Too late now.
He wasn't sure what to make of Bucky yet, not really, as he didn’t seem to be the talkative type, but Steve had been correct with his initial assessment of the man; he was cute. Too cute. Except not just cute. Bucky Barnes was sexy.
This was going to be a problem.
Bucky had a problem. An almost unsolvable problem. And it wasn't bird related for a change.
It had been a week since Steve, Greek god of apples and sunshine, had appeared randomly outside his apartment, pie in hand, smile on his face.
Bucky's problem had sprung from this act of generosity. There was currently a clean glass pie plate sitting on his counter that belonged to one Steve Rogers, and etiquette and manners drilled in by Winnie Barnes over the years had demanded he return the food vessel with a smile and a gift to reciprocate.
Bucky was maybe-kinda-slightly observing Steve as he watered his plants out on the balcony, attempting to develop some courage for a trip across the street. Bucky himself was safely indoors, away from pigeons, his daily trip to his little balcony greenhouse earlier yielding him a healthy supply of freshly cut herbs as his neighbourly gift and only 3 drops of poop on his tinfoil hat. (He was getting really good at making them by now, with the frequency at which he wore them.)
He knew Steve was home, and just had to get up the nerve to see him again. He peeked around the door one more time and saw Steve looking back, directly at him. Shit. May as well get this over with.
Bucky had been watching him.
Steve wasn't creeped out necessarily, but he'd been catching him peeking out his window all afternoon as Steve weeded and watered his plants, and it was making him feel a little self-conscious about his movements. He was slightly robotic as he bent over to check on his cherry tomato plants, and nearly jumped out of his skin as a rapping knock sounded at his apartment door.
Bucky was standing on the other side, Steve's pie plate and a bundle of wrapped greens in his hands.
There was no tinfoil hat today. Bucky had come to see him without his hat. Steve was slightly touched.
Then Bucky smiled, and Steve went from touched to blown away. Fuck, he was so gorgeous, it was almost unfair.
“Hey Steve.” Bucky's smile had reached his eyes and they went slightly crinkly at the corners, blue-grey depths only enhanced by the movement.
“Hey Buck, good to to see you again,” Steve managed to reply. He temporarily ignored the butterflies that took flight in his own stomach as he saw Bucky's cheeks blush with a hint of pink. This conversation was gonna ruin him. He knew it already.
“Thanks for the pie. It was delicious. I also brought you some herbs, nothing special, but maybe you'll find a use for them?” Bucky placed the bundle in Steve's hand, carefully avoiding their fingers brushing.
Steve couldn't help but smile anyways. This was progress. “I'm glad you liked it,” he replied, waving Bucky into the apartment behind him as he made his way into the kitchen. Bucky followed after a beat, closing the door behind him. “My Ma always made it better than I could, but I think the recipe is pretty close.” Steve had put the pie plate away and was now taking a closer look at the herbs. “These look great! Did you grow them yourself?” He needed to stop talking soon. He was talking too much.
Bucky graced him with a small grin and a breath of a laugh before nodding. “I did. It's nothing special though, as I said. Just a hobby.”
“No, I think it's great! I've been trying to grow a few things myself. Be a little more self-sustainable.”
“Gaining skills for when the Apocalypse hits, huh? Good plan, I get it.” Bucky knew it wasn’t the funniest reply ever, but thought the joke had some merit, so was surprised when Steve's happy-puppy smile dimmed slightly. Maybe he should have accompanied it with a cheeky wink or something. He didn't want to be so transparent so soon though.
Steve cleared his throat and abruptly changed the subject. “Are you hungry? Dinner will be ready soon and there's enough for two.”
Bucky hesitated. He didn't want to overstep.
“I also made another pie,” Steve added temptingly, eyebrows raising slightly. His entire face begged to be indulged.
Also, pie.
Bucky couldn't resist.
Dinner went swimmingly, beautifully, never ever had there been a meal that had gone as well as this, Bucky was sure of it. Steve was brains and wit and rainbow-coloured enthusiasm, and once Bucky settled into the feeling of having him near, he started to be able to add to the conversation as well as he received.
Steve was pink in the face from laughing by the time their evening came to a close, and Bucky could have kicked himself for ruining it right at the end. As Steve was packing up a section of pie for Bucky to take home in the same glass dish as before, Bucky casually commented on the usefulness of aluminum pie plates, and the sunshine smile on Steve's face suddenly dropped like lead weights from the metaphorical sky.
Well, fuck.
Despite the awkward ending of their initial two person dinner party, they developed a routine after that.
On Sundays, Bucky would attempt to return the pie plate and bring a handful of whatever looked the best from his garden, and Steve would invite him in for whatever delicious creation he always happened to be in the middle of.
Bucky was beginning to suspect that Steve was starting to anticipate him, because the third Sunday in a row had Bucky entering Steve's kitchen to find a surprisingly unseasoned chicken waiting for something to accompany it on its journey into the oven, and a ‘ oh is that rosemary Buck, how convenient, what excellent timing for a random visit on this, a beautiful Sunday, because I was just about to season this whole full-sized chicken I just happen to be making although I am just one individual man…’ Sure Steve. Sure.
Bucky had been worried about his own transparency, but Steve was like fucking cling-wrap.
So Bucky kept coming back. And Steve kept filling his glass pie plate with leftovers and then the cycle would begin all over again. He was trapped in a Steve Rogers food induced water wheel.
And soon, Bucky stopped being nervous before going over. He developed a new feeling, like the Grinch at Christmas or something, where maybe his shoes were too tight. Something was changing. Because sometimes, on maybe a Friday, or a Tuesday, or maybe even a Monday, Bucky would find himself looking forward to the upcoming Sunday at Steve's. He would read an article online and wonder what Steve would think of it. He'd see a old motorcycle on the street and wonder if Steve would like it (the answer was always very likely yes). He'd see an ingredient that demanded to be put into a pie, and he'd get it, and take it to Steve's, and lo and behold, next weekend, in a miraculous turn of events, there would be a pie with that ingredient in it, and just golly gee shucks, la dee daw, what are the chances.
Bucky didn't know what to make of any of this. He just knew he didn't want it to stop.
Things had gotten out of hand.
Steve hadn't really anticipated this. He'd just wanted to be nice. And now, now, he was shoving candlesticks back into his cupboard because what the fuck are you thinking Steve, this is not a date, this is your casual Sunday dinner with your paranoid neighbour who has really pretty eyes and a warm laugh and a bright smile and a killer personality, and paranoid neighbour dinners don't usually involve candlesticks or your Ma’s nice china.
Get. It. Together.
Steve had maybe developed a touch of what the kids were calling, The Feels .
He had also practically forgotten about the odd events that had led him to Bucky in the first place, until he stepped out onto his balcony to get some fresh air before Bucky arrived.
Bucky was across the way on his own balcony, a bundle of herbs in his hand, and a tinfoil hat on his head. Steve's heart skipped a beat for a moment.
This was so damn hard.
He would accept Bucky no matter what, but this was still not what Steve had hoped for. He had thought maybe this was behind them now. All he wanted was for Bucky to be happy and healthy.
The situation didn't improve when Bucky turned to see Steve staring.
Bucky's eyes went wide and he held up the herbs like they provided a reasonable explanation. They made eye contact across the street and Steve could have sworn he saw Bucky mouth ‘ the birds’ before he disappeared back inside his apartment. Steve suppressed the slight urge to cry and reentered his own apartment.
It was almost dinner time.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Bucky was hustling his way across the street to Steve's place, because he had to give an explanation for this, like, yesterday, if he had any hope of Steve not thinking he was a paranoid weirdo.
He darted up the stairs and knocked on Steve's door, leaning against the frame for a moment to catch his breath as he waited for it to open.
Steve soon appeared on the other side, a fake-happy trying-too-hard smile on his face. Double fuck.
“Steve, we really need to talk about what you saw just now,” Bucky began as Steve led him into the living room. They sat down together on the sofa, knees not quite touching.
“I agree, Buck. I mean, I know it's not my place. And I'm not trying to judge you. But I like to think we're at least friends. And friends help their friends. I want to make sure you're doing ok.”
Bucky looked at him blankly. He wasn't sure what to expect here, but this certainly wasn't it.
Steve smiled tightly before continuing.
“I know some really great counsellors and would be happy to make some recommendations if you'd ever want to speak to someone about this. If things aren't, you know. Ok. With you.” Steve paused for a breath. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of Bucky. It doesn’t change anything between us.”
“Steve, I. I don't know what to say. But really, things are fine, I just-”
“I know about the tinfoil hats Buck. And about you yelling at the sky, and talking to yourself, and fiddling with all the electronic equipment. Are you doomsday prepping? Do you think someone is listening to you or your thoughts? I swear, you can tell me, and I won't think you're crazy, I just want to know what I can do to help.”
Steve's eyes were huge and glistening and Bucky was going to die of embarrassment any minute now.
“You saw all that?”
“Yes Bucky, and I don't care about any of it, because what I really care about is you. As more than a friend or neighbour.”
“You do?” Bucky didn't really have words right now.
Steve nodded sincerely. “I do.”
Bucky grabbed his hand and stood up.
“Come with me.”
They crossed the street and entered Bucky's apartment. He folded two tinfoil hats and handed one to Steve.
Steve gave Bucky a long look before seeming to decide something for himself. He put the hat on his head and nodded slightly at Bucky.
This wasn't exactly an ‘I love you’ moment, but the level of trust radiating from Steve in this small pocket of time had Bucky’s heart beating at an unusual pace. Steve thought he was a paranoid crazy person. And he still liked him anyways.
Bucky took Steve's hand and led him to the patio door. They stood at the precipice to the balcony together, looking out for a quiet moment.
“I really like you too Steve.” Bucky broke the silence before turning to finally, finally, touch his lips to Steve's. Steve's mouth was warm and pliant and when his hands came up to cradle Bucky's jaw, Bucky's whole stream of consciousness was reduced to ohwowsogoodpleasenevereverstop.
When they finally broke the kiss, Bucky rested his forehead against Steve's for a moment and murmured, “Fair warning, this is gonna be really shitty,” before abruptly turning and opening the door, pulling Steve out onto the balcony behind him.
The world exploded into pigeon filled chaos.
“Pigeons,” Bucky pointed out helpfully, ignoring the look of absolute shock and horror on Steve’s face as they were instantly surrounded by flapping birds. “Useless bird repellers” he continued, indicating to the electronics. “Garden in which I wish to spend my time.” He ended his dramatic explanation with a flick of his finger to Steve's own tinfoil hat. “Shit protector.”
When they moved in together six months later and Clint offered to help, they respectfully declined.