Dear Diary,

Well. I guess my wish came true Because we're back to our camping spot again in Upstate New York for the night.

Last time we were here it was for my birthday (best birthday ever, by the way), and we fell asleep in the middle of nowhere star gazing. It was a really cool experience, especially the whole waking-up-with-the-sun situation that people are always raving about.

I woke up with Bucky on my left stretched out across the damp grass facing up, whereas I was curled up in a ball facing the other direction. This time we were smart and brought a tent... mostly because he whole sleeping-in-your-car-that-isn't-really-in-fact-your-car deal wasn't going to work out anyway.

This trip was more spontaneous, at least when compared to the last one which had been planned for nearly a month in advance...

———

"Steve I'm booooored," he whined. He always said that. I don't mind it though... it's actually kinda funny to be completely honest.

"Well it's your turn to pick what we do so.... that's kind of a 'you problem' Buck," I grinned over at him and he shot me daggers.

"Fine. If it's up to me then let's go."

"Go... where?"

"Get up," he grabbed my arm and hoisted me onto my feet. "Pack a bag, Steve, because we're heading out for the night."

We were sitting on the floor in my room (which was quite an ordinary bedroom by the way. Dark blue walls, light wooden dressers and nightstand with a matching bed frame. White curtains and a light blue comforter on the twin bed) so I stood up and grabbed a bag from my closet. "Bucky. Where. Are. We. Going." I demanded to know. I didn't want to just leave out of nothing and not know where we were off to.

"Oh boo you're no fun Stevie."

Wait what. Did he- did he just call me... well, actually, I kinda like it. Stevie. It's... nice, I suppose.

I guess he saw me contemplating this new nickname because then he said: "Steve," as the smile fell from his face. I flashed my teeth at him to show that I liked it and that warm glow quickly returned to his face. "We're going camping again. I noticed how much you liked it last time... and I like spending time with you so we might as well do something fun instead of sit here all days every day..." his voice trailed off.

"Yes I guess you're right," I had already finished packing my bag at this point. "Let's head out then," I added. And so, we did.

Leaving so late (around 1 in the afternoon) we didn't arrive until 6:30 pm.

"Well, here we are," he looked over at me, shifting the car into park.

"Yea and it's," I glanced at my watch, "six thirty nine... I guess we should start setting some stuff up?" I wasn't all that sure what I should do... seeing how Bucky usually did all the important stuff.

"Mmhmm we gotta set up the tent and get a fire going before it gets dark," he opened his door and got out. "You think you can collect some firewood while I pitch the tent?"

Tent. As in, singular... like there's only one of them?

"Sounds good," I said, opening my own door and hopping down to the dirt.

He unloaded the trunk as I headed into the brush. I collected as many sticks as I could, and only the ones that fit Bucky's description. Thin and long, short and long. Get a variety. Some thick but mostly thin ones. If you see any dead bushes get some of those super thin brush like branches... they're good for kindling. Most importantly, make sure the wood is dry. I really was doing my best and my arms were full of said wood.

The sun had lowered and set a long while ago and the red-orange ribbons that had once traced along the horizon had slipped away to greet a sunrise somewhere else. The moon was full tonight, so at least there was some light... but certainly not enough to be able to successfully walk through the woods with no fire or anything. So, evidently, I ended up tripping. But Bucky would have been worried if something like this didn't happen (seeing how it was normal for me to be clumsy). The sticks fell all over and I scraped my arm. A rock cut straight through my dress shirt and sliced my shoulder open, leaving dirt and mud all over the wound (which was indeed quite painful by the way... thanks for the concern).

I gathered up all the twigs I had dropped and headed back over to the campsite that had been set up while I was gone.

"Hey Ste— Steve, you ok? There's dirt and mud all over your shirt and pants..." he looked concerned. Typical Bucky.

"Yea I'm fine," I dropped the sticks on the ground where the fire would be. "I just tripped on a tree root in the woods and-" with that he was by my side.

"Are you ok?" He grabbed my arm. "Aww Stevie... you're bleeding. There's a pretty nice scrape on your shoulder here... You should probably clean that out and get a new shirt on."

"Ok," I walked towards the tent, "I'll go do that now," I replied.

"D'you need help with that?"

With the shirt?

"Hmm?" I asked, confused.

"Cleaning out the cut. I wouldn't want that getting infected, Steve. Your mom would kill you and I both," he chuckled.

"Sure," I walked into the tent and waited for him to enter as well.

• • •

Peeling away the plastic material doorway, Bucky entered after fifteen minutes, holding a small first aid kit in his hand... always one to be prepared for my inevitable (and numerous) injuries.

"So, doc, will I survive?" I asked, with a smile.

He smiled back, "most likely, yes."

The first thing out of the kit was a first aid sanitary alcohol wipe... my eyes widened at the sight of it (mostly because I hadn't the slightest idea what it was).

"What the hell is that for?" I coughed, the smell of rubbing alcohol in the air was so strong.

"To clean it out. Steve, think about it this way. If you don't, bacteria will grow and then there will be a very real possibility that you don't make it. Being your doctor, if you die... I feel like that's on me..." he chuckled looking down at me as I laughed to myself. I surely didn't want to die... so I guess I'll have to deal with that harsh smell for a short while.

I was situated on the floor, legs crossed, just awaiting further instructions. "Well?" He said, "what're you waiting for? Strip."

What.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Your shirt. You gotta let me see what I'm working with here."

"Oh..." I felt my face burning up with that small little... misunderstanding. Great. Now I was a great big blushing mess.

I undid the buttons on my shirt slowly (mostly because I was tired) but something felt... off. I could feel him looking at me. His eyes burning a hole through my skull and heat seeping through my shirt. I looked up only to see his eyes fixated on my hands maneuvering down each individual button... revealing my pale chest skin. His lips parted slightly and his tongue came out to wet them ever so slightly...

Then out of nothing I was all out of buttons to undo and the show was over. He snapped out of his trance and was at my side in no time.

He gently dabbed over the scrapes on my bare arm. It was so cold without my shirt on but with every touch of that cool alcohol wipe I felt hot waves flow beneath my skin. I tried not to look at him and his tongue, which tended to stick out of his mouth when he focused, in fear that I might not be able to look away.

I yelped in pain, he had ran over an open section in the wound and I could feel the tears forming in my eyes.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

Don't cry.

"Uhh Steve— sorry..." he said.

"It's— fine..." I blinked away the water in my eyes as I looked down at my shoulder. I hadn't noticed how deep the cut was (nor did I notice how close Bucky was sitting).

He was able to successfully pull out all the small pieces of rock and dirt and mud from the cut. He slowly rubbed on some Neosporin type ointment before gently placing on a Bandaid.

"Aaaaaand... there," he finished applying the bandage. "All done," he stood and extended his arm. I took it and we stood. "Time to get some shut-eye hmm?"

"I'll say. It's late. I'm tired," I added.

"Alright so I want the left side," he called out.

"Of what?" I was confused.

"Of the tent... I only have one. This is it," he looked around as if he was presenting it to me.

"Oh..." got it. "Alright I'll take the right," I conceded.

We proceeded to undress in the tent and I didn't turn around once in fear of what I might see (or of what he might see if he was turned around too).

After we were broth in our pajamas, we hopped into our individual sleeping bags and Bucky turned the gas lantern off.

"G'night, Buck," I whispered, only hearing the wild crickets and his breathing in the background.

"Goodnight, Stevie."

———

It's trips like these that make me wonder what it is that I'm feeling sometimes. When he's around it's like everything switches. Like everything I've ever known to be true is a lie and all my greatest fantasies are blossoming into reality. There simply isn't any better way to put it.

All that's left for me to say is, after everything I've been through, waking up facing my best friend only a mere two inches from his face in the middle of the woods cramped up inside a one-person tent, is truly a wonderful thing.

~Steven G. Rogers