worthallthis | The Last Voyages: IC Inbox

If B is remembering it, then it almost certainly happened at home. As far as he knows, Steve was more than willing to live with the previous Bucky even before they took their relationship further.

"He's been through a lot here. I know he's rethought a lot of things he believed at home. I think one of those was how willing he is to let people be close to him." Namely that he has an odd mix of pushing people away and allowing them to be close enough to trust him. "If he turned you down before, I really don't believe he would here. Or if he did, it would only be because he's being self-destructive. But all that said...I can see how frustrating, confusing even, it must be to have that memory just out of reach."

"I should just ask him," B grumbles. But asking is hard, especially when it's personal. And he has a feeling asking might make Steve sad.

The ball bounces back down, and he flips it back up again, with all the accompanying dings and clangs. "He hasn't moved out yet. Does he know about Alec?"

A sigh, one of those very telling hands through his hair. "Yeah, and so there's no way he'll listen to me now. Stubborn ass."

"He hasn't noticed that Alec hasn't set foot in your cabin?" B grumps, not at Lark, but at the situation. Mostly at Steve, to be honest. "It's not like he's not in there often enough, himself."

Lark sighs faintly. "I don't think you understand, it's not really about Alec. Alec could be anywhere on the ship and Steve would use it as an excuse to pull away."

Ugh. He's right. "Why is he such an idiot about some things?" he growls. It's almost enough to push him to say fuck it, he'll move in regardless, and just... deal with the Vesta issue. Somehow.

Almost, anyway. So he asks, "Any news on the cat thing?"

"Actually, yeah. For the first while we'll keep them in different rooms, let them get used to each other's smell. Feed them separately at first. Trade off things that smell like each other, trade off who is in what room. Once they know what the other one smells like and that they aren't going to be in a fight, they relax."

B looks away from the pinball game again, briefly, at Lark. "You looked all that up." He actually did, and got good intel, and... he's going to have to do this, isn't he. For Steve. His eyes go back to the game, flipping the ball back up into the pins. "I'll talk to him. Supposed to talk to him about some other stuff, too, can just do it all at once maybe."

"Even if he doesn't do it, you're always welcome. The bathtub has your name on it."

B is silent a moment, frowning at the game table, but not thinking about the score. Lark is really into this. Even if Steve does move out, anyway, he says. Lark got him the bath stuff for his birthday. Lark got him a damn electronic piano so he could play even when the art room is closed, when Steve was in his coma. Lark sleeps as a wolf sometimes with his head on B's surely-not-very-comfortable steel-toed boots.

On occasion, B can think of something outside his own head. And he's not stupid.

"Lark," he realizes. "You don't want me there for Steve." Or, well, not just just for Steve. "If he moves out. You won't have anybody in there with you, either."

"I could move Alec in," he shrugs. "But I want you to move in because I like having you there."

That gets an even more baffled face. He can understand Lark needing company, maybe even Lark needing more company than just Steve, but just wanting him around... seems kind of dumb. "I cried on you. And I'm grouchy. And have a lot of nightmares. I mean. A lot of them."

He tilts his head. "The nightmares aren't your fault, it'd be pretty stupid of me to hold them against you. And you aren't listing the good times we've had--they outnumber the rest. You also let me sleep on your foot, which is a delight even if I can't explain to you why."

"On my boots, you dumbass," B counters. "Which can't be comfortable." But it's a hollow protest. Because Lark just wants him there for him. He's so distracted he misses his ball, and it falls through the middle, ending the game.

B makes a small frustrated noise, but just enters his initials (WS) into the high scores and turns back to Lark fully, this time. "Can't imagine anyone wanting me around that much. But it's. It's nice that you do."

"Your boots smell good," Lark retorts, which is true. "It's worth it."

When B looks at him, he holds his gaze but without the intensity he gives off to most people. He's instead relaxed, warm. "I'm glad you're considering it. I mean it when I say it won't change me being your friend if you say 'no'. You can say 'no' to whatever you want, it won't change things. I can find somewhere else to sleep on your boot--here, if I have to."

Even then, the eye contact lasts a couple seconds before B's slide away again. "Nobody could sleep in here when I'm playing, it's too loud." Then, after a beat of looking out across the bowling alley, he admits, "I'm not really all that great at saying no." He has no problem if he's annoyed or if it's in the moment, he's found, but when given time to think about something, and it's for good reasons-- how does he say no to that?

He nods. That isn't unexpected. "If it isn't a solid 'yes' I'll take it to mean either a 'no' or that it's something we need to talk out."

B chews on that, and the inside of his cheek, for a minute. Then nods. "I'll talk to him. He might still say no." And then he'll have to reconsider the thought of doing it without Steve. No use thinking too hard about it until then, though.

"All right. Let me know. Until then, I restocked the bath with some new bath bombs. They're yours."

"Haven't even finished the first batch," B says. "But. Thanks."

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