Pierdut(lost)

C O L E G I • D E • C A M E R A

•roommate•

/ˈro͞omˌmāt,ˈro͝omˌmāt/

noun

a person occupying the same room as another.

***

"Steve, the 9th room on the right side of the 2nd hallway. Bucky, the 10th on the left." Tony snapped, the last sentence barely masking his dislike. Bucky would say he was uncomfortable, but that would be an understatement. Staying in the same place as the man who tried to exact his revenge on him just a few months ago was pretty high on his list of things he wouldn't want to do, but he'd rather it over sleeping on the streets. At least his Stevie was there, even though he still wasn't sure why that reassured him.

***

Steve threw his bag onto the large king sized bed, which, in his opinion, was still much too large, and began to strip down. From his grimy clothes down to his straps. I can't believe those HYDRA dips really took my shield. I don't want to press Tony for another one but I don't know what I'm gonna do without it. Steve rifled through his bag, searching for a fresh set of clothes, as a laundry basket full of clothes, just his size, popped out of a basket sized elevator in his wall. On top sat a note, saying: "Thought you might need some clothes. I sent some to Manchurian Candidate, too. Good night, Tony". Steve smiled.

In the other room, Bucky sat quietly on his bed. A grumbling feeling bunched up in his chest. It didn't sit well how quickly Stark let him stay in his tower; he didn't trust it. As he started to undress, a basket popped out from the sneaky little dumbwaiter-like elevator that he noticed when he had first tiptoed into the room. There was no note, or any sort of indication of where, or who, it could be from. Bucky glared around him. Two cameras, stationed above his bed and the bathroom door, stared back. Sighing, Bucky continued stripping, stopping at his boxer shorts.

The scars around his arm were healing quite nicely, especially for scratches and knife slices. He remembered that time...

He sat in the holding cell they had built for him, rolling on the grimy floor in agony. Pain erupted in his whole body as the chemicals they pumped into him infiltrated his veins. He began to scratch frantically, hoping to distract himself from the pain. He worked up from his legs, to his chest, to his arm. The wave of pain roiled through him once more and he itched faster. Blood seeped up from under his nails and the scratches began to welt. Tears erupted from his eyes and he whimpered. "Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve..."

He shivered. He didn't reach for a notebook; he didn't want to. He rubbed the scars, put of habit, and continued to the bathroom.

***

Stepping out of the shower, which to his amazement and envy, was connected to a triangular bathtub, both of which were connected to the wall, Steve tightly wrapped a towel around his slim waist and grabbed another one to dry his hair. Something was pushing him to check up on his friend, a feeling of unrest. Like this was the last task he needed to complete to end his tiring day. He quickly dressed in some boxers, tight red, white, and blue basketball shorts and a pair of black socks.

Tap. Tap. Tap. The rap of knuckles echoed against the hard wooden door just as Bucky was softly closing the bathroom door. Inside the bathroom, it took him about ten minutes to figure out how to work the elaborate bathtub fixtures and at least an hour to fully de-grime himself. The washing alone was an easy task, but as he completed that job, his mind ran wild. Various memories assaulted him from all sides, mostly from the 40's. Steve and him winning prizes at the carnival, him saving Steve from fights, him and Steve sleeping together during cold months, him and Steve dancing the night away. They were pushed to the front of his cranium so he could remember and write it down, but all of this was chucked out of the 88th floor when he heard the knock. He scrambled for the door and gripped at the loosening towel right below his belly button.

" I just wanted to come check up on you, make sure you were doing well. I know Tony makes you uncomfortable, but-" "He hates me, Steve. It makes me feel more than uncomfortable." Bucky grumbled. Steve blinked before starting his sentence. "Bucky, he may not particularly like you right now, but Tony is always like that, especially now. He is under alot of pressure after the Accords and no one is really helping right now. Not even me. He's just going to take a while to get used to you being here. We might not even be staying here for long but it is the safest place to be at the moment. " As if on cue, a small rumble shook the floor. "What is that? Do we need to go?" Bucky stood quickly on his feet, worrying at the cloth around his waist. Steve chuckled and placed a hand on Bucky's muscular shoulder. "That's just, well, that's just Tony."

****

That night, Bucky stayed mostly awake. Flashes of memories zoomed behind his eyelids every time he closed them, so he opted out of sleep. While he waited through the night, he grabbed one of his notebooks and began to write.

I've figured it out now. There is something special about Steve. Something that placed him high above anyone else. There was a big empty space in my heart that only he could fill. It's something that makes my heart beat fast and my cheeks flush. Something peculiar. I know what it is, but I don't think I'm quite ready to say it, not out loud. But I will write it.

I loved him.

****

A loud screeching jerked Steve awake from his dreamless sleep, which in his opinion, was the best kind of sleep. He shot up like a catapult; his eyes bucked. His heart rate skyrocketed as he searched in the dark for the threat. As he realized that the "threat" was his alarm, he fell back into the bed, slamming his hand on the sturdy noise maker. It was four in the morning.

He slid out of bed and began to dress back into his clothes. Shorts, t-shirt, slippers. His legs wobbled sleepily to the bathroom subconsciously and knocked his forehead softly against the door. He had stayed up much later than he had wanted to and woke up much too early, and that had not agreed well with his body. It took everything in him not to lay back down and sleep until the sun went back down. But he had a schedule, and by God he would follow it!

Steve slowly shuffled to the room across the hall and began to reach for the door knob. Just as he was going to touch it, the door swung open. Bucky, clad in a pair of joggers and a long sleeve shirt, stood in the threshold. He blushed. "Steve? What is it?" He discreetly looked Steve up and down and pulled him into the bedroom, closing the door. "I just...wanted to come check on you, I guess. I'm not bothering you, am I?" Steve caught his eyes. Bucky's Adam's apple bobbed. "Not at all. I just got done showering." He breathed, gesturing at the damp mop on his head with his right hand. His left lay limp by his side, occasionally twitching. Steve's eyes nervously flicked to it.