🪀 @soviet-ghost-story continued from here .
Steve wakes up a little earlier than the sun, as usual, despite experiencing a much deeper sleep than he was accustomed to. Restful enough to face the day, and being well rested were two different things, and the latter has escaped Steve for an indistinguishable amount of time. He takes his time coming to, in no rush to jump into his usual routine. In fact, there was very little that could make him leave this bed — and Bucky, before he was ready to.
He lies awake for almost an hour watching the sun slowly shed its light into Bucky’s room. The room that Steve had stayed in that night. Light falls over the lump of sheets that was Bucky’s sleep form next to Steve, highlighting the deep browns of the messy hair that was the only thing of Bucky that Steve could actually see. He can hear his breathing though, soft snores, and the sound of his heartbeat if he strains his ears, which he does, before the sounds of the birds outside join the soothing rhythms.
It’s a little while after that that Steve’s resolve finally dies and he gives into the temptation of reaching across to Bucky. He moves closer, the covers shifting around them. They get pulled down from Bucky’s shoulders, and Steve worries the sudden cold would wake him, so he places his still warm ( ever warm, really ) hand on Bucky’s skin, and traces up into his hairline. Flashes from the night before return to him, triggered by the sight of his hand in Bucky’s hair, and something warm grows large in his chest. Love. So much love. And gratitude. That him waking up to Bucky sleeping beside him was not a dream. Not anymore.
Finally, Bucky was awake, and Steve moves a little closer, prompted by the touch on his hip, until most of his body was curled behind Bucky. ‘ Does it ? ’ He moves the hand under him out of the way, folding it behind his head so he’s more free to play with Bucky’s hair. He noses against his nape, indulgently breathing him in. ‘ You next to me when I wake up . . . that feels good. ’
