The building is quiet, and Steve sits alone.

There's the broken remains of a bar, and surprisingly, a brand new record player sits amongst the rubble. He's found a soft jazz tune that haunts the empty, destroyed bar. When describing it people would often say, "Chaos hit", as if they were afraid to say bomb and accept the grim reality of the situation.

His fingers tap along to the tune, dancing across his whiskey glass. At first, the burn of the alcohol was the thing to keep him distracted -- then, not surprisingly, the numbness washed over him in more ways than one.

"Now what am I s'posed to do?" he murmurs to anyone listening, since the man he still loved was nowhere to be found.

He tips the rest of the contents of the chipped glass down his throat and winces, then looks around. Still nothing -- still just jazz, silence, the wind brushing past the remains and the buzzing in his head.

He's not sure how long he sits there -- minutes, or hours, staring at nothing -- until Bucky Barnes arrives, walking soundlessly across the broken floor until he's close enough to distinguish that it's the man he loves and not a Nazi, because one was welcome and the other was a Nazi.

"You look awful."

"Cheers," Steve says sarcastically. Bucky clicks his tongue as he walks over, surveying the mess as he steps closer.

"Sarcasm isn't a good colour on you, pal." He sits beside him and looks around the place. "So what gives? What's special about this place?"

"It's quiet," he mentions, shrugging a shoulder as if he doesn't have a care in the world. Bucky raises an eyebrow at this, but poses no further questions.

"Guess that's why I knew it was here I'd find you," he muses. "Also, I'd figure you'd be more surprised, seeing me."

"Nothing fazes me anymore," he dismisses as he turns to stare straight ahead. It wouldn't surprise him if he was simply imagining the whole meet-up -- sometimes his eyes, his mind played tricks on him, making up stories and people that didn't exist anymore.

"Figured I'd always have that charm where I'd disappear and come back, you'd be surprised but delighted," he teasingly laments as he leans on the bar, arms folded, studying him.

"Yeah, well... " He gestures to the bar with a movement of his arm. "Guess times change."

"Yeah," Bucky sighs, a pout to his lips. Steve watches him and fully takes him in. His uniform is clean, almost too perfect; barely a speck of dust anywhere. His hair is styled as usual, a few strands falling against his forehead, and his eyes, normally bright, are the only thing that's out of place -- dulled, haunted by the things he'd seen.

"You look beautiful," Steve murmurs, and Bucky looks down, takes a deep breath. "I just wanted to say it," he continues into his empty glass. It's quiet for a moment as Bucky processes his words.

He didn't feel the need to say anything as he pressed a kiss to Steve's lips -- soft and warm, not really at all what he expected -- and Steve kisses back.

The record keeps playing, this time switching to "It's Been a Long, Long Time", Bucky's favourite song. His hand curls into his hair as Steve rests his hands on Bucky's hips.

"After all this time -- "

"You're incredibly blind, Rogers," he muses as he pulls back, slightly out of breath. "I've loved you every single day."

"Didn't want to read too much into it," Steve replies, his voice softer than before. "After all, it's illegal."

"Who's around to get us in trouble?" He looks around the decimated building as if to prove his point. No one there save for ghosts of the past.

"Funny how it's now we get a little peace, after all this," Steve says with a rueful grin. Bucky manages a small smile back at him.

"You deserve it."

His face falls a little in response, and he frowns down at the surface of the grimy bar. "I... I don't, though. I let you fall."

"Steve... "

"I don't deserve you," he murmurs. "That's why I lost you, isn't it?"

Bucky takes one of his hands and Steve squeezes it, desperate to assure himself that Bucky is truly here with him.

"I'll come back to you, or you to me. That's how this goes, okay? It's you and me, always," Bucky speaks, sounding firm -- determined.

"And you can promise that?" Steve tries to match his tone and hates how his voice falls flat, hates the stinging in his eyes and prays it's only dust, because if he cries now he'll never be able to stop.

"Until the end of the line, pal," he recites, standing from the bar. Steve looks down and swallows, closing his eyes briefly.

"Where're you going?"

"I'll see you home, okay?" He pauses over his next words, studying his shoes. "Happy birthday, Steve," he finally murmurs. "I love you."

The words bounce around Steve's head and he turns to look, but Bucky's gone without a sound. He scans the rest of the bar, looking towards the street, but there's nothing.

"I love you too, Buck."

And the tears start coming. He looks down at his uniform, dirty and worn, and he pictures Bucky again -- the last time he'd ever see him. Before he knows it there's another bottle of whiskey on the table and he's crying, eyes red and puffy, trying to stifle the sound as he stares intently at nothing.

It's quiet, and once again, Steve's left alone. He tries to reassure himself of the fact that he'll see Bucky again.

Happy birthday to me.

////

Here's a little bonus part!

////

"Steve?"

He turns at the voice, heart lifting in a way he thought it never would again. That was Bucky's voice, but that was impossible, that was over seventy years ago.

He turns, and he sees him -- short hair styled as always, sporting a metal arm and modern clothing, and a smile -- his genuine smile Steve hasn't seen for too long.

"Oh, my God," he breathes and runs towards him. He wraps his arms around him, spins him, and listens to him laugh. He sets him down and scans him for any injuries, and finds none. "You're here, how are you -- "

"Easy, easy, don't hurt your brain by thinking too much, it has enough stupid," Bucky says with a teasing grin.

"God, I hate you," Steve responds, and his voice falters into a sob as he pulls him into a needy kiss. Bucky grabs hold of his shirt, clinging to him as he kisses back.

"What'd I tell you, Steve? We're home," he murmurs as they pull away. Steve studies his face and blinks tears away. One streaks down his face and Bucky brushes it away. "No need to cry, doll," he soothes.

"I love you so much," Steve mumbles and Bucky holds him tight, kissing his cheek.

"I love you too. And... Happy birthday, Steve."

He smiles in response, closes his eyes and holds him close.

This time, it truly is a happy birthday.

////

There we go, folks, happy 4th of July, I wrote this just today and I liked the feel of it, but didn't want it to end on a sad note -- so I wrote that little extra bonus thing. Guess that's my thank you for sticking around as I didn't publish as much (writer's block and uni preperation is not a good mix) as always, thank you all for reading and I hope you enjoyed!