It had been two weeks since Bucky had returned home to District 8, and Steve still had yet to see his best friend. It wasn't for lack of trying on Steve's part; he'd been to the Barnes' new residence every day, despite the fact that it was a thirty minute walk from the tenement he called home. Each time he'd shown up though, Bucky's mother or sister had some new excuse ready for him, each one more flimsy than the last. Steve was rapidly reaching a point of desperation and beginning to entertain ideas like scaling the side of the house to Bucky's window, or else sitting himself down on their front step and refusing to leave until he'd seen Bucky.
He wanted to respect his friend's wishes, but it had been two weeks since Bucky had been back in District 8, and two and a half months since he'd been reaped in the first place. Steve had said goodbye to him way back then, terrified that he'd never see Bucky again. Now, here Bucky was, come out the other side, and it was starting to feel like Steve had lost his best friend anyway.
Steve's shift at the factory had finished just an hour ago, and he'd stopped by the market to spend some of his hard-earned wages on the local baker's ginger cookies. Money was still tight, this being District 8, but after his Ma had passed, Steve had dropped out of school, and working a full twelve-hour shift at the factory generally meant he made enough for himself, as well as a little bit extra to hand over to his neighbors, who had extra mouths to feed.
Someday, he hoped to make his way up to designer, since he'd always had a knack for drawing, but since he was just starting out, he'd gotten stuck doing a lot of loading and unloading of supplies. It wasn't the worst thing in the world - he'd spent the last year growing like a weed, and the physical labor meant he was starting to fill out in ways that matched his newfound height. Still, the work was exhausting, and by the time Steve reached the Victors' Village, he was about ready to drop.
Instead of sitting down for a rest, however, he squared his shoulders, clutched his bag of cookies tighter, and began to make his way toward the Barnes' front door. At the last moment, a metallic glint caught at the corner of his eye, and when he turned he saw Bucky sitting on a bench, fixated on the flex of his prosthetic hand. A thrill ran right through Steve at the sight, his heart surging, sending his blood racing. He didn't even think to call out and alert Bucky to his presence, just changed directions and jogged over to where he sat.
Before he reached him though, Bucky was on his feet, whirling to face him with an ugly, vicious look on his face. It wasn't an expression Steve had ever seen on him in person, though he'd seen it during the course of Bucky's Games more than once, and he came to an abrupt stop, suddenly second-guessing whether or not this was a good idea. The snarl was gone quickly enough, replaced by blankness and maybe confusion, almost like he didn't recognize Steve.
A hollow ache made itself known, deep in Steve's stomach, and the way Bucky eventually said his name, voice hesitant, did nothing to ease it.
"Yeah, Buck," Steve said softly, taking just one step closer, all at once mindful of not invading Bucky's space. "Yeah, it's me. Sorry for sneaking up on you - I didn't mean to do that. Just wanted to see you, was all." It was taking everything in him right now not to launch himself at Bucky with the biggest bear hug he could manage, but what common sense he had prevailed, shouting that instinct down as a truly terrible idea.