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Steve felt like he was underwater.
He felt like the world around him was suddenly slow enough for him to just stop in the middle of chaos and look.
His mind was numb, feeling nothing at all as the cold, blue eyes with flecks of grey stared back at him. And suddenly, all the memories came flooding in, and his brain was an ocean and all around him was Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.
His heart was beating fast, Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.
He heard the noise around him but nothing mattered, because right now his best friend was in front of him. The best friend whom he thought had died, sacrificed himself for his country and he fell of that damned bridge and-
It couldn't be real, it couldn't be, it couldn't. Because in front of him were the eyes of the boy who grabbed him by the arm on the playground and urged him to run, run far away from the bullies chasing them. And maybe Steve had provoked them by yelling at them, but Bucky hadn't cared, he grabbed Steve's bony arm and pulled with all his might.
They were the eyes of the long nights of summer, mosquitos buzzing around silently and they sat in their makeshift tent on the deck, sat with their bodies hot and sweaty and told each other stories and then that one night where Bucky leaned in and kissed him but no one was to know about that, no one ever.
They were the same damn eyes of the young man who begged Steve to go with him on this double date when they were in high school, but the date went bad and they ended up staying in the diner together, just the two of them, sat leg to leg and hip to hip and they laughed and flicked their straws from their milkshakes at one another.
Those eyes were the same eyes that bore down on Steve's sick body, wiping the sweat off his forehead and feeding him warm chicken broth because his mother was too busy working and didn't know he was sick. And Bucky sat at the bedside, tears silently streaming down his face, praying to whatever higher power would listen.
(and maybe Steve wasn't supposed to see that, but he saw it anyways, and when Bucky finally went to sleep, Steve's chest was heavy and the tears were painful, but he didn't care).
They were the same fucking eyes as the boy who walked beside Steve and listened intently as he raved on and on about this beautiful set of pencils he'd seen in the window shop. And Bucky went to that same shop a few weeks later and dumped the extra cash he made doing unspeakable things, and bought Steve that set of pencils for his birthday. And when Steve's face lit up, all he felt was pure joy and happiness at the sight of his best friend's happiness.
They were the same damn eyes of the man that he had fallen in love with so long ago. And all those feelings were locked away in his brain, Steve never let them out and never let them hurt him. But he saw the eyes, bright blue and flecks of grey and tired, so fucking tired and sad, and suddenly, Steve was in love with the man in front of him all over again. All the memories felt like yesterday, all the feelings were there as if they had never fucking left. And all the pain, the desire, the lust, and the happiness and the love, it was all there in front of him, covered in black and empty eyes.
"Bucky?"
The name felt foreign on his tongue, only two syllables but so much, so damn much, weighed down on them. So many feelings, so much pain and so much love.
But it was fear, it was shock and it was confused, too. Because how was it possible that Bucky Barnes was standing in front of him. The one person in his life who never gave up on Steve, who had held his hand when he had nightmares as a child.
"Who the hell is Bucky?"
And suddenly, Steve truly saw.
Steve saw the man in front of him, and he wasn't a man, rather he was shadow of a past he didn't know. He was an empty shell, ghost feelings and heartlessness. The man standing in front of him had Bucky's eyes, he had the same lips and the same beautiful cheekbones and jaw and the same furrowed brows as the old Bucky. It was the face of the young man, his best friend, the one he had drawn over and and over again, lips and eyes and smile and muscles and everything. He had drawn Bucky until he hands ached and his eyes were sore. But seeing the look on Bucky's face when he saw the picture was so worth it.
It wasn't him, Steve knew it, but god damn it, he would not stop fighting until the man in front of him with the familiar blue eyes and the so-foreign name, remembered him.
Remembered the late nights and the milkshakes and the pencils and the school yard and the dirty streets of Brooklyn and the bloody fists and everything and nothing all at once was all Steve felt.
Steve suddenly breathed out, he was out of the water and back in reality.