"Not tonight, Buck," Steve said, unable to hide the weariness in his voice. He shuffled some papers on his desk, tidying up, and pointedly not looking at his friend.

Bucky sighed, tilting his head as he watched Steve, his mouth pulling down to the side unhappily. "You gotta get out there more, Stevie," he tried coaxing. "You'll never find--"

"I got you, don't I?" Steve's brows drew together in upset, but he still didn't look over at Bucky.

The two had known each other since they were little, and as soon as they'd shaken hands upon first meeting - imitating how they'd seen their parents do so - they'd stared at each other, wide-eyed, just knowing that they'd spend their lives together. They'd never questioned it, even though at the time they hadn't really understood the idea of 'soulmates', besides hearing snippets of adult conversations that mostly went over their heads.

Steve had asked his mother about it, several months later. When she'd described the utter feeling of rightness, of knowing this one, single person would always understand and be there for you, supporting you, but also pushing you to be your best... Steve had nodded, and with all the gravity of a five-year-old, had told his mother that Bucky was that for him.

Unlike how most mothers probably would've reacted to the precocious statement, brushing it off as a child enjoying having a new best friend, his mother had stilled and become quiet, looking at him for long moments. "Is he really, baby?" She'd finally questioned, in her sing-song Irish lilt. Steve hadn't been able to take his eyes off her, even as he nodded, willing her to believe him.

Sarah had bundled him up close, kissed his forehead, and just held him in her lap (he really was too old to be held like that, but he still fit, and he liked it, so he never complained). "I'm glad, Steve. I'm so glad you found your Someone so soon."

Now, Steve finally turned to look at Bucky. "Why're you still even goin' ta those things? They're for people looking for their soulmates." He rubbed his right palm heel with his opposite thumb, almost looking like he was massaging a cramp; it was a nervous, comforting gesture he always did, but especially when discussing anything concerning soulmates. Right over the odd oblong shape at the base of his hand, that matched Bucky's. Their soulmarks. Steve had never seen one so low on anyone else's arm; usually they were higher, denoting how old the person was when they'd first touched their soulmate, and found their Someone.

"Some people just like havin' a good time, Steve," Bucky sighed; it was an old discussion. Most soulmates were romantic partners, but it wasn't unheard of for people like them; soulmates who were just friends, or even relatives. Steve knew it, too - there was a sweet old lady in the next apartment house over who was soulmates with her female cousin. The two had never married, but had raised a couple orphans they'd adopted. "I've met some others who've already found their Someone--"

"They weren't like us though, Bucky," Steve interjected, "they were swingers."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but bit his tongue on the angry words that wanted to come out. Steve was under a lot of stress right now, and he was not going to add to that. "So what're you gonna do tonight?"

Steve's brows furrowed together, glancing down. "I was gonna go visit Ma." He looked up quickly and shook his head, interjecting before Bucky could hardly do more than open his mouth, "An' no, you don't gotta come with me. I'm just gonna sit with her for a while. She'll prob'ly sleep the whole time, anyway." He hoped she did, at least; she was in a lot of pain these days, always coughing.

Sighing, Bucky acquiesced. A few more words to figure out their plans for later, and Bucky left, for one of the dances frequently held on weekends that doubled as "meet-n-greets" for people hoping to find their soulmate. Steve had gone to a few, just to be social, but no one was ever that interested in him, so mostly he propped up the wall while Bucky flitted around like a damn social butterfly.

They were such opposites in so many ways, Steve mused as he walked down the street toward the hospital, and yet they complemented each other so well. He knew that was the whole point of soulmates, but he could never stop thinking how incredibly lucky he was to have met Bucky when they were children, before pre-conceived notions had been crammed into their heads, and the rest of the world's problems and issues had become their own. No way would someone like Bucky now, ever glance twice at short, scrawny, chronically sick Steve Rogers. If Steve would even have made it to young adulthood without the bond between soulmates that helped make you stronger.

People with found soulmates could die, of course, and did - his own Da had been killed in the Great War, and his Ma had survived it. But once you'd found your soulmate, it was a lot harder for you to succumb to illness and disease, and you healed faster than otherwise. He'd read an article once talking about potentially the synergistic bond between the very cells of a soulmate, boosting each other's immune system, or something like that.

There was a florist shop just down the block from the hospital - probably did a lot of business with visiting family, Steve thought, only a little bitterly - and he jiggled his wallet in his trouser pocket in contemplation. Ma might be sleeping now, but even if she was, it'd be a nice surprise for her to wake up to fresh flowers. It'd play hell on his allergies, but he'd only be carrying them for about 10 minutes, so it wouldn't be all that bad. Nodding decisively, he stepped into the shop.

It was bright and cheery inside the store, with warm yellow lighting casting a golden glow over the gleaming hardwood counters; ribbons and strings in a myriad of colors seemed to explode out of display stands, and dozens of pre-made bouquets were on every available surface. Steve's fingers started itching for his pencil and sketchbook - there was so much detail in the little shop; not actually so little, but made cozy with the sheer volume of product vying for space.

He picked a ready-made bouquet of baby's breath and orchids, his mother's favorite (she said it reminded her of the flowers back home), and went up to the cash register to pay for it.