So I think the only ones that have anything bad would be the crying one and the existentialism one. Just general, kind of light angst.

////

Steve listens to the sound as it echoes around the empty library. It had been abandoned for years, but many still visited. Today, it was only Steve.

Or, so he thought.

A haunting melody was floating through the air, soft and gentle. The singer was at a table ten feet away, pouring over a book.

Steve couldn't help but stare, eyes wide as he took in the sight, the sound.

The singer looks up and makes eye contact, and quickly stops. Steve blinks, coming out a trance, cheeks burning as he realises that staring at another person isn't socially acceptable.

He curses inwardly when the person walks over, and he can see that that beautiful melody came out of an equally beautiful man.

"I'm sorry, your singing was just..." Steve swallows, averting his gaze. The brunet sighs and sits in the seat across from him.

"I'm assuming this seat isn't taken," he speaks. He had somewhat of a dry voice, sarcastic, but Steve loved it. Still blushing, Steve merely purses his lips and nods.

"Go ahead."

The brunet goes back to his book, glances at the blond, and begins to sing again, self-consciously. Steve forces himself to ignore it, wills himself not to look up, but once again, fails.

"I don't mean to stare," he says apologetically, rubbing the back of his neck. The brunet smiles at him then, gentle.

"It's okay," he speaks. "I'm Bucky, by the way."

"Steve," he replies.

"I can teach you, if you want," Bucky speaks up after a moment, quickly looking embarrassed with his suggestion. Steve smiles and nods.

"That would be good."

Books aside, Bucky trains Steve how to sing properly. And soon, it's only the two of them standing in the empty library, singing an old Irish tune they both knew. Bucky begins to harmonise and they make eye contact, briefly. Bucky grins at him and Steve smiles back.

It was new to both of them, that level of intimacy shared with someone. The room felt strange when they stopped, larger than before, their last notes echoing off of the walls and fading.

"Well," Bucky speaks, "I think you're amazing. With a little practice? You're golden." He smiles again, brighter than before. Steve does the same.

"Thank you, Bucky."

"No problem."

Bucky became a music teacher and Steve an artist. They remained together for years more, working side by side, never forgetting the music they shared.

////

Bucky hated seeing or hearing people panic. The sounds of clamoring, screaming for mercy and general chaos sent his heart into overdrive with anxiety. Even movies with intense scenes -- he had to leave the room.

So it took a lot of nerve to investigate the screaming he heard late one night, sudden and pained. It sounded as if someone was being murdered, and for half a terrifying second, Bucky was worried that that was what was happening.

Gathering himself, he slides out of bed and silently pads through his dark apartment, jumping every time a scream pierced the dark. He makes it into the hall and recognises that the screams have turned into faint sobs.

He knocks on the door across the hall, where the sound is coming from. After a couple minutes, someone comes to the door -- a tall blond who was shaking and looked to be on the verge of a panic attack; glassy eyed, unfocused, and breathing with difficulty.

Bucky averts his gaze, instantly concerned. "Uh, hi, I'm your neighbor from apartment five? I, um, I heard screaming," he says softly.

There's no response for a second and Bucky looks up again to see the blond trying to form words, but ultimately failing.

"I just wanted to make sure you were okay," Bucky says uncertainly. The blond finds himself shaking his head no before he can consider his actions. "May I come in?" Bucky asks and the blond shakily nods, opening the door wider.

Steve didn't know what he was doing, letting a stranger into his home at 1:00 in the morning, in the state he was in.

"I'm sorry, I -- I -- " He cuts himself off, aware of his stutter. He doesn't meet his eyes.

"Nightmares?" Bucky guesses, watching him carefully for any signs of an anxiety attack. He knew what to look for.

The blond gives a faint nod, still looking ufocused.

They end up on the couch, with Bucky sitting silently until the blond -- Steve, came a shaky response to a question Bucky had yet to ask -- was well enough to talk.

"I was in the army for almost five years," Steve murmurs, staring at a cup of tea he'd made. Bucky did the same with his own. "Went on a couple tours, did a lot of fighting."

Bucky nods quietly, sipping at his tea. Steve stares off for a second. Bucky watches him worriedly. "Hey," he says quietly, catching his attention, "want to watch a movie or something? Putting your mind elsewhere might be a good thing."

Steve smiles slightly at that, and Bucky returns the gesture. "It's really late." He looks ashamed. "I'm sorry I disturbed you."

"Don't worry about it. I have nightmares too," he assures. Steve nods a little, placing his untouched tea on the coffee table and dropping his hands in his lap.

Bucky takes it upon himself to turn the tv on, for background sound if nothing else. It seems to help some.

When it looks like Steve is going to be okay, Bucky wishes him good night and gets up to leave.

"Thank you, Bucky," Steve says, finally able to give him an honest smile. Bucky smiles back and nods.

"It's fine," he replies. "I'll, uh, see you around, I guess."

"Yeah, see you."

Bucky waves goodbye and leaves.

Months later, it happens again, but this time all Bucky has to do is roll over in bed.

They had started dating, and eventually moved in together. Steve slept a lot better when Bucky was with him.

Bucky wraps his arms around him, stopping him from any thrashing that might've happened. Steve wakes up and rolls the other way in his arms, pressing against his chest.

"You're okay," Bucky says softly, rubbing his back. "I'm right here."

Steve shudders against him, taking a breath. "I love you."

Bucky pauses -- that was the first time they'd said it out loud. He merely smiles and pulls him closer.

"I love you too."

////

"Again?" Steve sighs as the large orange tabby slinks through his window. He drops his wooden spoon and picks up the cat carefully. He loved cats, of course, but this was the third time this week this same cat -- named Khan, after a Star Trek character -- had snuck into his apartment because it could smell whatever he cooked.

Steve carries the cat in his arms, huffing slightly at the weight. He brings him back downstairs to the apartment below him, and knocks on the door. His neighbor -- Bucky, he remembered -- opens the door.

"There he is," he sighs, shoulders slumping.

"Came into my kitchen again," Steve speaks, handing him over. Bucky holds him carefully, scratching behind his ear.

"I'm really sorry, he doesn't get out much. I need to start closing my windows," he sighs, looking at him apologetically.

"He's an indoor cat?"

Bucky nods, letting the cat go inside his apartment.

Steve considers what to do. "Look -- if I bring some fish down, think the cat'll stay?"

Bucky shrugs helplessly. "Maybe?"

So they try that. Steve watches as four more cats pour into the kitchen to eat the fish. He looks at Bucky. "Five cats?"

"They're friendly," he says stubbornly. One Siamese applehead rubs against him and meows pitifully. He sighs and picks her up. "This is Tink, by the way."

"You have... a lot of cats." Steve corrects himself from saying too many.

"Yeah. I could use a hand with them," he mumbles, more so to himself.

Steve sighs. "I can babysit whenever you're out. Feed them and the like."

Bucky looks at him incredulously. "You would do that?"

"Provided you make sure no more cats sneak into my apartment," Steve bargains. Bucky nods firmly.

It works that way for weeks later, until the cats stop coming over completely. That was when he realised that he really missed them, and often came to visit them.

He and Bucky hit it off, and Steve decided that Khan and Tink were his favourite two to be around. They got along well for many months.

////

Steve had never seen his neighbor from apartment five. He'd heard him move in weeks ago, and that was it. He didn't come out to buy groceries -- not at a normal time, anyway. Didn't greet his neighbors, just hid himself away.

His first thought was obviously vampire.

That changed when he saw him for the first time in the hall.

His neighbor was crying, or had been. He'd stepped out to sign for a package and his face was red, eyes puffy, tears still streaking his face. He didn't look like he cared who saw.

The delivery man walks away and his neighbor begins to retreat into his apartment. Steve walks over and catches his attention.

"Hey," he speaks up, rather bold to approach a crying stranger, "are you okay?"

The brunet fixes him with a look, wiping his face. "Perfect," he replies, and unfortunately, his voice cracks.

Steve stands there awkwardly, unsure of what to do. Finally, he offers a hand and his neighbor scoffs a little before shaking it. "I'm Steve, just across the hall," he says stupidly.

"Bucky. Thanks for stopping by," he mutters, pulling back into his apartment.

"Wait -- "

Bucky sighs and looks at him.

"I... I just want to help," Steve says. Bucky studies him a moment and sighs again, rubbing his eyes.

"Yeah? Well the long and the short of it is, I just got back from overseas and am, apparently, very depressed. My mom just died and I am suffering. Thank you, have a good life, and sorry I'm that neighbor that everyone hates." Bucky gives him a pointed look and closes the door.

Steve remains floored, speechless. "Oh."

He really did want to help. Luckily, he comes across Bucky in the park of all places. "Hey," he speaks, puffing as he jogs over. Bucky looks up slowly.

"Hi. Sorry about the, uh, meltdown the other day." He cringes.

"Sorry I asked, I just wanted to see if you were okay," Steve answers and Bucky shrugs, looking around the park.

"Mm, yeah. I'm fine," he says absently. Steve hesitates a second then cautiously sits down next to him.

He doesn't say anything. Bucky slowly finds himself relaxing into the space, taking a deep breath. And then he just starts talking about everything going on. He had no one else to talk to -- he had one friend who he'd fought beside who was still actually alive, but she was busy a lot of the time.

He's careful not to unload too much, and is thankful when Steve doesn't offer any advice. He just listened, and that was enough.

After a minute of silence, Bucky clears his throat. "Sorry. Thank you."

"Don't worry about it," Steve replies.

That moment brings them closer over the weeks. Steve invites him for a cup of coffee one day, then eventually Bucky invites him over. They become close friends, and Steve was the one Bucky turned to when he needed to talk to someone.

Over all, though, Bucky started to heal some. Nightmares were few and far between and he accepted peace with the loss of his mother. He was still depressed -- it wasn't something that just went away, scared off by love or something -- but it got better, eventually.

Steve was glad to see him happier than he'd ever seen him before.

"Thank you," Bucky speaks one day, and Steve looks up. "For not giving up on me and supporting me through all this. I, uh, didn't make the greatest first impression. So, thanks for sticking around."

Steve smiles at that. "Of course, Buck. You're my friend."

Bucky smiles a little wider at that. "Yeah."

And they remained that way for years onward.

////

Someone was on the fire escape, muttering to themselves. Steve frowns at this. It was almost 11:00 pm.

He pokes his head out the window and looks up to see a brunet sitting there, hunched against the cold, looking out onto the city and muttering to himself.

"Hey," he calls, because he didn't feel it wise to leave this to be ignored. The man barely glances at him. "Hey, you okay?"

He turns his head towards him, face blank. Steve frowns at that. He disappears into his apartment again and heats up a bowl of soup, then goes back out. He climbs his way onto the fire escape and waves the man's attention.

"I made you soup. You looked like you could use it," Steve mentions, handing it over. The brunet slowly accepts it, still eyeing him.

"Thanks. I was just thinking." He digs into the soup and Steve hesitates at the window, tempted to go back inside to the warmth.

"You okay?" He rubs his arms and perches on the edge of the window sill. The brunet looks to the city again, half the bowl untouched.

"Nah."

Steve blinks at the nonchalant response. "I'm Bucky, by the way," the brunet introduces, side-eyeing him.

"Steve," he responds with a nod of his head. Bucky stares down into the bowl, eyebrows furrowed. "What's wrong? I mean, why are you sitting on the fire escape this late all by yourself?" he corrects himself.

Bucky sighs, drops his chin in the palm of his hand. "Well for one, in the grand scheme of things, I am nothing. Nobody. So I'm... accepting that."

Steve goes silent, eyebrows raised. "Well."

Bucky merely shrugs. "Know why I like it out here late at night? Typically, nobody else comes along. And it's silent, and I like that. The world, to us, is asleep."

Steve regards him strangely. "Um..."

"Existentialism," Bucky dismisses with a rueful smile. "Happens to the best of us, eventually."

"Sounds awfully cryptic," Steve comments, deciding to come sit beside him - if anything, for support. "What -- what even is...?"

Bucky shrugs again. "Thinking deep questions, I guess. Uh, I'm normally alone, so."

"Sorry, should I -- "

"You're good," Bucky interrupts. "Free ish country, pal. If you don't want to stay I won't force you."

Steve doesn't move and Bucky leans back against the stairs, sighing.

"Y'know, most people think nothing is scariest."

Steve tilts his head, thinking. "Yeah? How so? I always hear how goblins and monsters are nightmare worthy."

Bucky hums and shakes his head. "Those are stories for children. I'm talking about when it's dark, quiet, and you're left alone with your thoughts."

"Huh," Steve muses, staring off. "Then accepting nothingness..."

"Means that you accept that life is the same," Bucky finishes. Steve frowns.

"Chipper."

"Oh, yeah. Welcome to existentialism, my friend."

Steve stares off, thinking. Bucky watches for a second before sitting up and rolling his neck.

"It's cold; we'd better head inside. Hey, wanna grab a bite to eat? I'm still hungry."

Steve blinks and looks at him. "Eat? Now?"

"Existential crisis always puts me in a hungry mood. Plus, I like to drown my worries with food."

"Can't argue with that," Steve replies. So he and a man he's just met go out to town and find a fast food joint still open.

"I like you," Bucky says plainly before eating a fry. "You don't talk much."

"It's easier to be that way."

Bucky smiles at that, raising an eyebrow at him. "I guess. More people should be like that."

Steve hums his agreement, then glances at his watch. Bucky follows his gaze. It was almost 1:30 in the morning.

As if on cue, Bucky yawns into his hand and leaves a couple bills on the table to pay for their food.

"You're a good guy, Steve," he states, looking up at him again and grinning. "We should do this again."

"Sounds like a plan," Steve says, smiling at him.

That was how he and Bucky became close friends - existentialism and burgers.

It worked for them.

////

Welp, that last one was pleasant. Anyway! Another collection done.