Bucky's shifts had only been getting later. It was well past dark by the time he got home most nights now, Steve resigned to catching glimpses of the sunset through the smudged windows of their shared apartment alone. He would've liked to paint it- sketching was too dull to map out the vibrant brilliance that stretched across the sky- but that idea was unrealistic, at least for now. The paints were expensive and it would be a long time before he could afford them.

Steve remembered the first time they had been able to buy the art supplies he had really wanted- Bucky had worked overtime for three weeks without letting on about anything, coming home one evening with a sleek black set of watercolors wrapped gingerly in a paper bag. Steve remembered the proud, toothy grin that had spread across Bucky's features, accompanied by a cocky 'all for you, Stevie.' He had painted Bucky that night. Steve translated each scar, each laugh line and imperfection that he had loved for so long onto the thick paper of his sketchbook, ignoring trembling hands and rattling coughs in favor of making Bucky come alive instead.

Now, though, that was really only something he could dream about. Wages had gone down and prices up, leaving them with barely enough money to stay in their apartment.

Steve found that he didn't care too much, though. As long as he and Bucky were together there wasn't much that could bring him down.

That was why he was sitting on the deeply worn red couch in their apartment, still waiting for Bucky to come home. It was quickly approaching eleven and Steve knew he shouldn't be staying up for too much longer, reminded painfully of that fact by a hard, wet cough that resonated deep in his chest. He took as deep a breath as he could and closed his eyes briefly, head falling back against the couch. The two of them used to promise each other every night that things were going to get better soon. That Steve would eventually be able to afford the medical care he so badly needed, that Bucky wouldn't have to work the long hours that they both knew were wearing him down far too fast. But that time hadn't come yet.

The sound of a key in the lock startled Steve out of his train of thought, gaze flickering up from the floor to see the door open wide against the frigid wind.

It was Bucky, of course- who else would he have been expecting? The brunet smiles, broad and easy, pushing the door closed behind him as he moves to close the gap between them. Steve stands on noticeably more shaky legs, a slight smile coming onto his own face at the soft, natural press of Bucky's lips to his. It was a greeting they'd become all too familiar with over the years.

"Hello to you, too," he hums, mouth quirking up into a smile, hands bracing on the brunet's broad chest.

Bucky grins. "What're you still doin' up, babydoll?" He asks, pulling back just enough to tilt his head. "I thought I told you I'd be late again."

Steve lets his arms wind around Bucky's neck, warm and grounding and secure. "I know," he replies after a beat, "it just… Feels like I don't get to see you anymore, Buck."

The brunet's chest tightens at that. Steve was right- the only times they got to see each other were in the mornings when they were both still half asleep, and on Sundays, when the thick exhaustion of the previous week finally collapsed like a house of cards on top of Bucky. He hesitates. "I know, baby, but I've still got a couple weeks before I can start cuttin' back." His thumb rubs over Steve's cheekbone, smile returning after a moment of silence. "You don't gotta worry about me. Don't want that pretty face of yours lookin' all sad, do we?"

Steve huffs a soft laugh, gaze flickering away briefly and cheeks flushing as Bucky presses a few fingers to his jaw and tilts his chin up.

"Much better."

The blond smiles a little up at him, watching curiously as Bucky's smile widens and his gaze flicks over to the cathedral radio perched on top of the kitchen table.

"How about some music?" He asks, already stepping away, eyebrows raising and grin spreading across his features, as tired as they were.

Steve's gaze softens. "That— that sounds swell, Buck,"

The brunet's smile only broadens. He turns, fingers working over the dials as he searches for something that he knew Steve would like— or that he could get him to dance to. That would be even better.

After a few more minutes Bucky straightens, a new light glittering behind his eyes as he turns back to Steve. He smiles back, tired and slow but still genuine. The soft, practiced tones of the radio host quickly finish and a record is put on, the older man stepping in close to Steve. His hands trail down the blond's thin forearms before he takes one of Steve's hands in his own, warm and calloused from years of constant work but still familiar and strong. Steve loved those hands.

Bucky's other arm wraps around Steve's thin waist far too easily, something he chooses to put aside for the time being as he draws the blond in close to his chest and gives a cocky smile. Steve's cheeks flush darkly.

"You're such a sap," he mutters, gaze flickering away briefly.

Bucky just grins.

The music starts after another moment, soft and dreamy and romantic, an easy rhythm that has Bucky swaying Steve back and forth in time with it.

Stars shining bright above you

Night breezes seem to whisper "I love you"

Birds singing in the sycamore trees

Dream a little dream of me

Steve's eyebrows raise. "Doris Day?" He asks, leaning in a little closer to him.

The brunet laughs. "I used to have the hots for her, ya know," he hums, leaning in to kiss him again. "She's got your baby blues, Stevie."

Steve's heart swells in his chest.

Say nighty-night and kiss me

Just hold me tight and tell me you'll miss me

While I'm alone and blue as can be

Dream a little dream of me

"Buck?" Steve asks after a moment, not bothering lift his head from where it had settled against Bucky's chest. He got no response other than a soft, low hum that he felt more than heard. "Thank you."

He had so much more that that to say. So much more than those simple two words he didn't use often enough, so much more to tell Bucky how much he appreciated him, how every day when he left it felt like he was taking a piece of Steve with him.

Bucky's gaze softens, the enthusiasm in his smile replaced with trusting serenity. He draws his arm a little tighter around Steve's waist, pulling him closer into his broad chest. "I should play Doris Day more often, hm?" He says a little playfully, voice soft and low in Steve's ear.

Stars fading, but I linger on, dear

Still craving your kiss

I'm longing to linger till dawn, dear

Just saying this