They first meet in an alley behind the drug store after Bucky chases off the McCullough crew. Bucky’s a little concerned that the kid’s concussed because the little punk is sitting staring at his blood-spattered shirt and giggling wildly. Steve’s got red, although neither of them realize the significance or even exactly what’s happening – Bucky just thinks the kid’s eyes are weird – until they limp out of the alley and Bucky looks up at the sky and realizes blue.
They don’t know what to do with this information; color transference is an adults-only, whispered conversation; there’s more rumors and misinformation than they can poke a stick at. Still, they make their own way: Steve shyly finds blue things to give Bucky, and Bucky fills his pockets with red things for Steve.
Bucky hoards his money and works his contacts until he can find someone old enough who’s willing to source him three staggeringly-expensive black market colored pencils.
“Holy cow,” Steve whispers, eyes huge. He starts shading immediately; the red, blue, and yellow; then he starts layering them, making colors in front of Bucky’s eyes, and it’s the most obscenely entrancing thing he’s ever seen.
“Which can you see?” Bucky asks. Steve reverently brushes his fingers across the paper.
“All these. You gave me this.” He touches the variations of red, then points further along. “But I don’t think this bit should be gray.”
“It’s dull for me too. Maybe it’s supposed to be like that.” Bucky shrugs. “If you can’t see it either, then I’m not missin’ out on anything, right?”
~*~
Steve can still see red after Bucky falls from the train, and that feels like a cruel joke and a betrayal all at once.
~*~
One of the biggest shocks of the 21st century is the man-made color production. Film is in color, billboards are in color, and Steve spends hours researching, wrapping his head around the culture clashes of the 60s and 70s as the technology was fiercely contested across the country.
The first time Steve goes running in the morning, he notes the guy in the dull shirt running towards him and they greet with a breathless, “Mornin.’” Steve glances back and stumbles into a dead, shocked stop, choking and crying. He wants so desperately to be able to tell Bucky: the color they were missing was purple, and it’s beautiful.
It’s Sam who approaches him the next morning, cautious but open. “I mean, man, it never has to mean a damn thing, and we never have to do anything with it, but I think you gave me blue and thank you for the sky. My god.”
Purple is still laced with too much pain, but Steve can grin and be pleased for Sam.
“Can I buy you breakfast?” Sam asks.
Imagine Bucky is Steve’s soulmate in an AU where you only see color when you meet your soulmate. However, both of them are still missing some colors, so they know they’re still missing their other someone (or someones!).
Published
Kimchi and Justice 