Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bucky’s always been told that he could have whatever he wanted. Growing up, it was repeated to him time and time again to the point that it was actually ingrained into his skull before he could even walk. The statement was a possibility, the promise of a future that wasn’t clear yet, but it seemed so big to a little ‘ol him at the time.

Even from a young age, he knew that his family was better off than most. His dad’s real estate development company (which had been his grandpa’s company before that) was building an upscale neighborhood at the edge of town. Tall brick walls sat on either side of the paved lane that led into the area, protecting the massive cookie-cutter homes behind them. It practically screamed exclusivity, which now that he’s older, it seems kinda laughable and completely unnecessary in a town like Hampton, Virginia.

The project had been huge and time-consuming, and Bucky vividly recalls his dad not being around much then. It had been right after his fifth birthday that his parents had drove him through those gates in their shiny, top of the line Escalade. His dad had steered them through  the streets that were in varying stages of construction until they turned one last time.

The street had been perfect. There were only four houses-- huge, multiple floor homes with stone columns and winding driveways with groomed to perfection lawns on display in the front.  Back then, they looked like the castles he’d seen in the books his mom had read to him at night, filled with princesses and princes who battled fire-breathing dragons. And while the house they had lived in at the time wasn’t small by any means, it had been nothing compared to that one.

His young eyes had zoomed in on a white house, the biggest of them all. It was different, with brick details and a stunning, wide porch that went from one end of the house to the garage. It had looked so special to him at the time. So special that he had leaned forward against the window of the backseat and pressed his fingers against the window (which his parents had strict rules against doing) with the biggest smile on his face. He had sat up tall in his booster chair and squealed, “Daddy, can we have that one?”

Even so young Bucky had known he would get it. Because he never asked for anything and not gotten it. He didn’t know at the time that asking for a house was beyond ridiculous but it wasn’t like his parents had ever taught him otherwise.

“Son,” his dad had said, turning in his seat with a wide, proud smile. “You can have whatever you want.”

Bucky had found out later that his parents had picked out that house beforehand, but in his young mind, he was the one that chose it.

His life was simple. He got what he wanted. He got a lot of things. It wasn’t until he turned seven that Becca was born so in those long years beforehand, he was doted on like there was no tomorrow and essentially in the end, being the only son, he was their future.

But now, Bucky knows that after seventeen years of this, there’s a fine print to the statement he was told at such a young age. There are terms and conditions to the life he has been given. There are rules and expectations. And it hasn’t just been his parents putting them on him, or his friends. He can admit now that somewhere along the way, he’s put them on himself too.

He’s followed them so closely all of his life without questioning. The worst part is that he did so gladly, because he hadn’t known there was any other way. For the longest time, he didn’t know that there was more that he wanted.

Now he does.

It’s been festering for a while, this feeling. He’s not exactly sure when it started, can’t pinpoint an exact date or moment when he thought, “ this is it ?” All he knows is that throughout the summer it’s gotten louder and louder. The voice, the truth , has been screaming at him. So badly now that it’s hard to hear anything else.

It’s like looking at one of his photos, thinking he’s captured something perfect at first, and then when he looks closer, he can see that it’s slightly out of focus or some people have their eyes closed or their mouths set in awkward angles.

Bucky does some of his deepest thinking, some of his best decision-making in the shower, but today the water pouring down on his head hasn’t brought him to any immediate conclusions. Instead, their is unease that churns through his gut, mixing around his insides like sludge.

He isn’t asking for his life to be perfect. He knows firsthand how impossible that is. It’s an illusion. He’s been given everything but knows now that it all came at a price, and he’s done paying for it. Now, all he wants is for his life to be his.

It’s been everyone else’s for far too long.

Bucky steps out of the shower and pulls a fluffy white towel from the rack to loosely wrap around his hips. As soon as his feet hit the granite floor of his bathroom, he glides across it towards the mirror. Steam clings to the glass, a thick film of condensation that he wipes away with the palm of his hand. His mom has told him time and time again not to do it, that he’ll leave fingerprints, but he likes leaving his mark. It’s the only place he does it mostly; either in here or his bedroom, where there are no eyes and people to pass on their judgements. Besides, fingerprints aside, it’s the fastest way to get the steam off and tonight, he needs to see himself.

Maybe even find himself.

He doesn’t know exactly who he is anymore, not really. He has the roles he plays: the straight-A student. The popular guy. The rich guy. Sharon Carter and Matt Murdock’s best friend. Brock Rumlow’s boyfriend. According to some, the stuck up asshole.

None of them take the time to find out that he’s actually really reserved, sometimes even too shy to fucking function properly when it comes to people he doesn’t know.

In their eyes, he’s the boy who gets everything and wants for nothing. The boy who strives to be everything his parents want him to be.

These days, he’s the boy who succeeds at making everyone happy.

Everyone but himself, that is.

His parents have always stressed the importance of close friends, good grades, and proper behavior. He stayed within the close-knit confines of their community, which worked for him because those were the people he knew. It was comfortable, a life that he had fallen into easily. He pushed himself to excel academically. Grade school had been easy in every respect. Even then him and his friends knew they were the leaders of the pack. They were the ones who had the name brand clothes, wore perfectly clean shoes every day, were the ones who had kids lining up to try and be their best friends (and then be the ones who turned those kids away with a laugh at such a ridiculous idea). Middle school was the same except instead of best friends, it turned into boyfriends and girlfriends-- basically who was worthy enough to date or brave enough to approach their lunch table. It’s no shocker that high school turned out the same too; all of them together, all the kids within the neighborhood who eventually turned into teenagers. Even still Bucky gets exceptional grades, has stayed at the top of his class, worn all the right clothes, and dated the right boy. They all skate through life, him and his friends.

They always have.

Bucky’s parents have always said that they want him to have so much more than they did. But they have so much that Bucky doubts that it’s even possible.

Which brings him back to that voice in his head that asks: Is this it? Or is there more to life? More outside these walls that he’s subconsciously built up around himself all of these years?

God he hopes so.

Sometimes he gets a taste of how good it is to do something simply because he wants to do it. Not because his parents require it or Sharon and Matt drag him to it or Brock wants it. There are things that have nothing to do with the expectations everyone has, the rules he’s enforced upon himself.

Like his pictures.

Bucky discovered photography in middle school, right in the summer entering his seventh grade year. His dad owned an old Nikon which had been hidden away in a box with some random stuff from his days at Vanderbilt ( summa cum laude ; he loves to remind Bucky). Bucky had been bored and pulled out the yellowed manual and spent the rest of the rainy afternoon reading about the device. The more he read, the more engrossed he became. He wanted to make sure he did everything right, so he absorbed every word. He didn’t touch the camera until he knew exactly what he needed to do.

The very next day his mom had taken him to get film. He had started taking pictures immediately and fell in love just as fast. The next month he was enrolled in an arts summer camp program that had an entire itinerary revolved around photography. When school started that year, he had begged his parents to let him take a photography class that was offered at the school but they were adamant that his schedule was already ‘full’ that year. The same went for the year after that. And the year after that. He knew, deep down, that it was just their way of keeping him focused on academics but it still burned. They tried to soothe it by buying him a top-of-the-line digital camera during his freshman year, then again his junior year by surprising him with a Mercedes-Benz.

He’s kept photography up on the side since then, finding time to sneak it in when and where he can because it’s what gives him the most joy.

Because when Bucky has his camera up to his eye or when he’s doing volunteer work at the local Lions Club (he can call Bingo numbers like no one’s business), he’s real. When he’s not doing that, he feels like he’s just there, playing his role but not understanding his part specifically. Bucky doesn’t know why he’s even doing it anymore.

Bucky takes a deep breath and focuses his attention back on the mirror in front of him. Already the stream is slowly beginning to creep back, filling in where he’s able to see himself  clearly, this reflection of his seventeen year old self. But… but there’s a weariness that makes his eyes look heavy, in feeling if not in appearance. He wonders if anyone else can see it.

He wonders if anyone cares enough to bring it up.

No one else sees this boy but him. They’re all too busy looking at the outer shell.

Bucky hastily leans forward and wipes his hand through the drops of condensation again, desperate to find himself in there.

Him. More than a last name, who his parents are, who his friends are, the car he drives. Him .

The steam hovers around him like a cloud, spreading out and up towards the fancy ceiling. As quickly as Bucky sees him , his reflection is fogged up again.

Bucky reaches for the wall, flipping on the fan. He can hear his mom, mentally warning him about how steam ruins paint. She had had an interior designer come in from New York a few years ago to completely redo the house, fancy pain included because yes, there is such a thing. It just about cost an arm and a leg, making her even more anal about keeping everything in the house perfect.

He watches in silent contemplation as the mirror defogs, until slowly but surely, there he is again, clear and focused. His dark hair drips around his shoulders and down his back. His face is fresh and rosy, practically glistening from the facial mast he used a few days ago. Even still, he leans forward and does his daily inspection, making sure his pores are un-clogged and that there aren’t any blemishes that will need him to go into code red mode and pull out his emergency facial medications. There are none, thankfully, so he tries to smile instead, practicing for the millionth time. It almost hurts to see his attempt through the mirror, seeing how it’s so obviously fake and how the skin stretches tight in his effort but no matter how hard he tries, it still never reaches his eyes. He still doesn’t understand what that phrase exactly means but he’s read it more than enough times to know that it’s an actual thing and that there are people (obviously none that he knows or hangs out with) who can spot the difference.

Bucky lets his smile drop and moves his arm to reach up and runs a finger down his nose where it’s gone pink from the day at the beach. School started this week and by Wednesday, Sharon had already started complaining about how much work she had.

“We don’t get to skate by just because we’re seniors, Sharon,” he had reminded her as they had strolled down the hallway, swollen with students that were much too loud and active for Bucky’s liking. Unlike Bucky, she wasn’t the one taking as many AP classes as humanly possible.

She didn’t listen to him, of course, only rolled her eyes as she was apt to doing when she thought he was being too serious (which was more often than not) and gave him a sideways look. “Really?” she dragged the word out and Bucky internally cringed at how basic his best friend could be sometimes. “You couldn’t even wait a week before you turned into Nerd-ucky? Your dedication to homework this early in the year is evidence that you need to blow off some steam.”

At the time he wasn’t entirely sure how blowing off steam equaled time at the beach, but he had stashed his camera in his tote bag next to a beach towel after school that day anyway. They had spent the entire afternoon there; him, Sharon, Matt, along with Phil, Elektra, Brock, Jack, and Tony (who they’ve all known forever and somehow, some of them have started dating along the way). Bucky had watched from the sidelines, absentmindedly drawing in the sand as Sharon and Elektra ran around at the water’s edge, their jeans rolled up to their knees. Phil and Matt kept picking them up, swinging them by their waists and pretending to throw them in. Thankfully Brock had been out in the water (he thinks he can surf) so it left Bucky surrounded by the sound of the crashing waves and the seagulls.

In that moment, away from it all, he had felt more like himself than he had in awhile.

The sparse families that had been around had left by dusk and left behind a large patch of flattened sand and a few sandwich crusts. The seagulls had swooped, not even waiting until they were gone before they started scavenging for food. Usually, the birds scared him, dive-bombing with no general regard for personal space. Earlier today, though, Bucky realized they were just doing their thing. He could respect that. The waning light reflected off their feathers, turning them silver in the fading light and Bucky had reached to his side, carefully pulling his camera free and bringing it up to his face.

Bucky had played with the settings before laying down on the blanket so he could see the birds on their own level. There had been a few circling overhead and Bucky had angled his body up, snapping a few pictures of them before going back to the ones scampering on the sand. Just when he’d found the shot he wanted, a foot had disrupted the scene. The birds had jumped, slightly jostled, but not deterred in the end.

“Fucking rats with wings,” Brock had said. He had yanked the cord on his full bodysuit, shooing them away with his feet. He had kicked up the sand and very nearly kicked them in the process. If birds could glare, Bucky was pretty sure they did so towards Brock before they had grabbed the last crumbs and scattered.

“Are you kidding me right now?” Bucky had hissed, more than a little mad that Brock had messed up his picture and even more pissed that he’d nearly kicked an animal. Like, who even does that?

Brock had only rolled his eyes as he flopped down beside Bucky on the blanket, kicking sand up again and almost getting it on the lens. Thankfully Bucky had the reflexes and enough common sense to move the camera to the side just in time, so the sand had hit his shoulder instead.

“Why the hell would you want a picture of them anyway?” Brock had said instead. “It’s just a waste of film.”

It’s a fucking digital, asshole, Bucky had thought at the time.

Of course he couldn’t say that aloud. Brock was his boyfriend, after all. But Bucky had a sneaking suspicion that Brock knew his feelings had been changing and fading over the past few months even if Bucky hadn’t actually verbalized anything. The worst he could do is be indifferent, but Brock seemed content to ignore all of that.

Basically, they were both really, really good at pretending.

Eventually, Brock’s hand had found his hair, caressing it in a way that Bucky was sure Brock thought gave the illusion of endearment, but it didn’t feel that way. It felt possessive, like everything else Brock did. Bucky had wanted nothing more than to bat that damn hand away, to get away from him altogether. Instead, Bucky had sat up and put his camera in its case, grateful for a reason to shift to the far side of the blanket.

He had also looked towards the water, scanning the shoreline for their friends to get them to act as a distraction, but they were all gone. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they’d all scattered too-- under the boardwalk, to their cars, just to be alone. Jack and Tony were used to it by now and had coincidentally taken to the waves to pretend all of their friends weren’t in various processes of hooking up.

So with them all gone, Bucky had a strange welling of panic in his chest when he realized that Brock and him were alone. It wasn’t like they had never been alone before, because there had been countless moments, hours, and nights. There had also been countless moments, hours, and nights over the past three years where Bucky hadn’t wanted to be alone with him but didn’t really have a choice.

But he had never wanted to run. And right then, sitting on that blanket with Brock looking at him in that cool, appraising way, as though Bucky belonged to him-- it made Bucky want to get as far from him as possible. Bucky didn’t want to be alone with him. He didn’t want Brock at all . He didn’t want to feel like that anymore, like he needed to escape. Brock was the biggest symptom of his discomfort, the biggest lie he’s been living and he didn’t want that anymore.

Thinking that had lifted the burden a bit, made it a little easier to breathe right there on that beach. He must have been smiling, or at least looking less standoffish than usual because Brock had squinted at him, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun and had given Bucky that look.

“You wanna…”

No. No, he didn't wanna.

Bucky sighs as he towel dries his hair, remembering the of indifference on Brock’s face when he told him he just wasn’t in the mood (too much sand, Brock, you know I hate when it gets in my hair). Sure Brock was a little agitated but boo fucking who, there were more important matters at hand like, oh, their failing relationship.

But had their relationship ever worked?

For whatever reason, today was the last straw for Bucky. He was done. He knew that he was going to have to be the one to take the bull by the horns and end it.

And he’s going to end it tonight.  

After Bucky spritz on the conditioning spray his mom insists will give him stronger hair follicles, which is imperative for whatever reason, he combs out his hair slowly and silently counts the strokes.

Mrs. Carter, who is one of the regular ladies at Bingo and insists to be called Peggy (and coincidentally is Sharon’s great aunt), told him once that thirty brush strokes is the magic number for shiny hair. He’s pretty sure her information is outdated, but that’s all he can think about every time he brushes his hair out now. And then inevitably Bucky thinks of the look on her face when he gave her a picture he’d taken a few months back. It was of her and one of her granddaughters (because Sharon wouldn’t get caught dead at something so bleh), snapped after Bingo one day when the community room had pretty much emptied out. Bucky had stayed behind to help put away the equipment and had noticed them sitting there, heads bent close, inspecting her bingo cards and laughing. It was one of those moments that Bucky loved capturing. It was something that seemed insignificant at the time, but when captured it somehow became important, something special. Bucky knew when he showed it to Peggy that she really appreciated it. The warmth of her smile went straight to his chest at the time.

Bucky heaves another sigh when he realizes his thoughts have gone off track. Again. He thinks that even subconsciously, his mind and body are trying to prolong the inevitable, almost as if he himself is against himself in some weird form of self preservation. He just needs to get the fuck over it because it’s happening. Right now.

He gives himself a quick nod of determination through the mirror and turns to cross the threshold into his bedroom, stopping at his dresser. He pulls on some of his softest lounge pants and an equally as soft t-shirt, then orders his Google Home to start quietly playing music. It seems like it’s going to be that kind of night and music is enough to drown out all the nonsense. 

His phone sits in the middle of his phone and without pause, Bucky jumps down onto his bed, staring down at the black screen.

He’ll call Brock in ten minutes. He’ll  tell him they need to talk, that he needs to come over. Bucky is sure he's still with Jack, Phil, and Tony, probably fucking around on the later’s brand new Xbox, and for a second, Bucky feels bad that he’ll be pulling Brock away from them.

But it's short-lived. He has to do this. He wants to do this.

Even though the thought of telling Brock that it's over makes his stomach roll nervously, it also makes Bucky feel powerful. Everything in his life has been just so for so long. He’s done everything that's expected of him, not least of all dating Brock. Brock’s parents are friends with his, and have been for as long as Bucky can remember. Bucky guesses he could have had his pick of any guy, but Brock made the most sense when they got together. They’d been in the same circle since they were in fucking diapers, having hung out with all the same people. They had the same upbringing and lived such similar lives. Brock was good-looking and charming in a cold sort of way, but Bucky could identify with that. Brock thought he was misunderstood, just like Bucky. They had all of those things in common and when Bucky was younger, he thought that was really all that mattered. God, he existed in such a small world.

Now Bucky knows how wrong he was.

Bucky flops back onto his bed and stares at the ceiling, thinking about what he’s about to do. This is going to affect so much more than his relationship with Brock. It will bleed out into their friendships, making things awkward. He’s given no indication that he’s been feeling this way, so he knows it'll shock Sharon and Matt.

He doesn’t even know how Brock will react. It almost makes Bucky sick thinking about it, but the thought of not breaking up with him is worse.

Bucky flips onto his stomach and picks up his phone. It doesn’t take him long to scroll through his contact lists and as he does, he scans every name, thinking about who he could call and talk this through before he does it. Usually all life decisions, major and minor, involve the input of Sharon and Matt, but lately he’s felt this inexplicable distance from them. They both seem so happy and content in their relationships, in their skins. They truly seem to enjoy everything they’re all doing, the way they are all living, and if they aren’t, they’ve given no indication otherwise. They are always so much more involved than Bucky is, planning the parties, the outings, reveling in their popularity and clothing and cars. They all seem to thrive on it all and at this point, Bucky is just along for the ride. Barely .

He’s not sure they'll understand his need for change. What's worse is that Bucky thinks they would try to talk him out of it, because they’re supposed to be with the people they’re with now. It's how it's always been, the six of them together; Matt with Elektra, Sharon with Phil, Bucky with Brock. Even when they weren’t dating Brock, Elektra and Phil, they always sat together at lunch, flirted at camp, went to the movies together. It worked out so well, each of us a matching pair with Jack and Tony as their tagalongs. Well, it did for the two of them. Bucky has always been the shy one, the quiet one. So naturally, when Brock asked him out freshman year, he had shyly said yes (at the excessive coaxing of Sharon and Matt).

Bucky puts his phone back down on the bed, the call for support unmade. This is what he can do to make things better for himself . They'll understand that.

He’ll tell them tomorrow, after it's done and there's no going back.

Something has to change. It's his senior year, an important one in establishing who he is and what he wants to become. He’s not even sure he knows what that is. He just knows that he doesn’t want to be fake anymore.

He wants to be real.

Bucky picks up his phone yet again, determined this time. He knows that Brock is not going to want to hear what Bucky is going to say. But Bucky will say it and he’ll be strong and not back down.

So, he texts Brock, a simple: Come over.

Five minutes go by. Ten. Fifteen. While he waits, he thinks about changing his clothes, maybe make him more presentable but that’s kinda pointless considering him and Brock have seen each other absolutely shit-faced and besides, he’s comfortable like this, so he stays put, lying on his bed and staring at the ceiling. What would he change into, anyway? A break-up outfit? Come to think of it, he’s sure one of the etiquette books sitting on the bookshelf in the study would be able to help him with that. If he cared, that is.

Finally, twenty three minutes later, Bucky hears back from Brock: I'm at Tony’s. Can it wait until later?

Can it wait? Can Bucky wait?

No.

Brock responds with a short and clipped, Fine .

Bucky can almost hear Brock cursing. Tony lives a few blocks away and even though Jack, Phil, and Brock have equally huge houses, they're usually always chilling at his. So Bucky knows that it'll only take Brock a few minutes to get over here, whether he's walking or driving.

Bucky paces in front of his bedroom window for almost fifteen minutes, waiting for Brock to show up. His heart races the whole time, a mixture of nerves, anticipation and irritation to the point where he can feel his pulse in his fucking throat. Brock is obviously taking his sweet ass time on purpose. Until finally, a car turns the corner, its headlights cutting through the dark night and Bucky gets dizzy for a second. The reality of what he’s about to do hits him and he takes a deep, steadying breath before rushing down the stairs to intercept Brock outside. The last thing Bucky wants is Brock coming in and his parents getting wind of what's happening.

Bucky makes it halfway across the foyer before his dad's voice drifts in from the living room. “Bucky? Where are you going?” He’s watching the news like he actually gives a damn about anything but stock market prices. His mom is beside him and in her lap is the demon dog shitzu, FeFe. The dog lifts his head up too, giving Bucky a judgemental glare that Bucky is in too much of a hurry to return. The dog downright hates him and frankly, the feeling is pretty fucking mutual.

Bucky stops short, one ear trained on the engine idling outside. “Brock stopped by really quick. I just… uh, need to give him something.” 

“It’s a school night, honey, and you were out all afternoon,” his mom oh-so-kindly reminds him, flipping through her fashion magazine. As if he wasn't aware of his whereabouts.

Bucky looks up at the ceiling, heaving a deep sigh that he hopes neither of his parents hear. They're not big on sighs. Or eye rolling. Or really anything that shows sarcasm in response to them. "It'll just take a minute, Mom. I'll be right back."

He’s out the front door, shutting it behind himself before she or his dad can argue.

Bucky’s bare feet slap against the sidewalk as he makes his way quickly down the driveway.

Brock is waiting for him.

He's standing in front of his Corvette, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his soccer team hoodie. Even in the darkness, Bucky can see his carefully blank expression. Bucky has seen that face a lot, usually when Brock’s dad is laying into him.

It makes Bucky wonder if Brock knows. He also wonders if that indifference will melt away when he tells Brock what he's been called over here for.

"What's up?" he asks, leaning back against the hood of his car.

Bucky shivers, both out of nervousness and because in his haste to get out here, he forgot to put on a sweatshirt.

"We need to talk,” Bucky answers as strongly as he can. There’s a slight tremor in his voice but it’s soft enough that he doubts Brock of all people would hear it.

"About?"

"About..." Brock’s staring at him, not even blinking, and Bucky hesitates, feeling his confidence waver. God, he hopes that he knows what the hell he’s doing here.

Brock pushes himself off his car and takes a step towards him, irritation coloring his face. Bucky know that expression well. Brock gets like that when Bucky’s not doing what he wants. "Listen, Tony’s got our game on pause, so -"

" I'm breaking up with you ,” Bucky rushes out. The words tumble out his mouth, one on top of the other, because if he didn’t say it right then and there, he might not say it at all. And he knows as soon as he does say it that it's right, even though his heart is racing and his palms are sweating and he has that dizzy, surreal feeling again. His head is too heavy and way too light at the same time.

Brock doesn't say anything for a long time. Or maybe it's just a few seconds. It feels like an eternity regardless, and Bucky just stand there, freezing, waiting.

"I'm sorry," Bucky says in a low voice, even though he’s not. Not at all.

"You're sorry ?" Brock repeats. One side of his mouth quirks up at Bucky, but he doesn't move, like he expects Bucky to say something different. When he doesn’t, Brock blinks and then he's not smiling at all. "What the fuck, Bucky?"

Brock’s voice is quiet, like it always is. He rarely raises it. He's so careful not to be like his father Alexander, who has this voice that rattles your bones. It doesn't matter if he's yelling - which is often, at least in Brock’s case - or simply talking. He demands attention. Brock’s dad's an insufferable dick, and as much as Brock doesn't want to be like him, as hard as he tries to do the exact opposite, he's never as far away from his dad as he wants to be.

"I..." Bucky trails off. He doesn’t know what to say after he’s told Brock that he doesn’t want to be with him anymore. How do you explain that? Does he even want to hear why?

Brock gives him a look that is so cold that it sends shivers down Bucky’s spine that has nothing to do with the frigid air. "You what ?"

"I can't do this anymore," Bucky says quietly.

Brock scoffs, rolls his eyes like he can’t believe he’s actually there right now-- like he’d rather be anywhere with anyone than right here with Bucky. "We had a plan,” Brock says, breaking the thick silence that washed down on them. Brock stares at him, waiting for Bucky to say something. When he doesn’t, Brock shakes his head and looks past him, muttering, "Goddamn it."

Bucky licks his lips and can slowly feel the courage building back up. "What was the plan, Brock?” he asks, his voice just above a whisper. “You didn't bother to fill me in on that, although that's nothing new. You do what you want, regardless of anyone or anything."

Brock blinks slowly, like Bucky’s stupid for not simply knowing. Like he's annoyed that he has to tell him.

"This is our last year of high school. This is when we're supposed to be rounding everything out, finishing this shit at the top and then going to college together."

Bucky’s mouth falls open, both in shock and because he wants to correct him. They haven't even talked about colleges, much less going together . The idea of being tied to him like that makes Bucky itchy and he resists digging his fingernails into the flesh of his forearms. Brock keeps going, oblivious to Bucky’s reaction, gaining traction. "I mean, shit, Bucky. You were acting different and sort of distant this summer, but come on. I was figuring you'd get over it. You're doing this now?"

Bucky snaps. It's the expectant tone that sets him off. "I'm sorry, did you want me to wait, Brock? Is this an inconvenient time for you? If not now, when? I mean, what's the point of -"

The rough purr of a car's engine turning onto the street stops him. Bucky snaps his mouth shut and looks past Brock, searching for more to say but grateful for the distraction. This is too much, too heavy and emotional for something he thought would be none of those things. He thought this would be easier.

Say what you need to say and get it done, Bucky.

Brock looks over his shoulder just as the car passes by. Natasha Romanov is in the passenger seat. Steve Rogers is behind the wheel. The car slows down almost infinitesimally and Bucky’s heart stops for a second when he meets Steve’s eyes. Bucky looks away immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. His gaze hops to Natasha and he tries to smile - nothing to see here, move along please please please - but he’s sure it's more of a pained grimace. It's obvious what's happening, the guy standing barefoot in his driveway with his very soon-to-be ex-boyfriend scowling in front of his car, arms crossed.

It's too dark to gauge their reactions and besides, they're nearly past them now. Part of Bucky is relieved, the other part, curious. He doesn’t have time to think about it, or them, though. They continue on down the street, the Jeep turning toward the Romanov’s house. The red tail lights are all that's visible before they disappear completely.

Brock snorts and turns back to him. Bucky’s heart is still hammering in his chest and he lays his hand over it, wrapping the other around his waist.

"You're making a mistake, y’know,” Brock sneers. “You don't even know what you're ruining right now."

Bucky sighs heavily and drops his arms to his sides, exasperated. "What am I ruining? What do we even have to ruin?"

Nothing . Bucky wants to say it so badly, but he bites his lip instead.

"Oh, I don't know, how about three fucking years? How about I'm the only one who can give you what you want? What you're used to?" He flings his arm toward the house behind Bucky, at the Corvette he's standing in front of, the fancy cars in the driveway, including Bucky’s own g-wagon.

Bucky frowns because Brock is thinking of things. The house he would get Bucky with the money he's going to be making thanks to the prestigious education he's sure to get because it's what's expected of him. The nice cars and the beautiful clothes. That's what matters to Brock, though. What he thinks matters to Bucky. What he thinks should matter to them both.

Bucky doesn’t want those things. Because getting those things would mean giving more important things up. Like his own fucking happiness. He’s tired of bargaining with it.

"Really?” Bucky looks at Brock incredulously, dragging the word out. “Is that what you see for us? Because I have to be honest, maybe if you told me that when we were younger I would have bought into it. But I need more than that now. We're not happy anymore. We're not even in this relationship for us, Brock. We're in it because we're supposed to be." Brock rolls his eyes, juggling his keys from one hand to the other, his movements jerky and agitated. Bucky steps closer and Brock stands up straight. "Come on,” Bucky insists. “I can't be the only one feeling this."

Brock turns away, clearly done with the conversation."Whatever." He tosses the word over his shoulder as he starts toward the driver's side of his car.

He obviously wasn't expecting this. Maybe he just thought Bucky wouldn't ever say anything. But Bucky refuses to think that the idea of them not being good for each other hadn’t crossed Brock’s mind too. While the final decision of breaking up only just came to Bucky today, it's been a long time coming. They’ve been distant for months, and they’ve never been the way Matt and Elektra are, or even Phil and Sharon. There's never been a lot of affection, no late-night phone calls or sharing of feelings. No depth, just show. Perfect for the camera but hollow for all the wrong reasons.

Brock’s face is composed - practiced indifference - and again Bucky is reminded of his father. That exact expression is what he’s seen from Brock more often than not, and one of the many reasons Bucky’s pulling away. This isn't love. He’s not even sure it's like at this point.

"I'm going back to Tony’s,” Brock eventually says. He’s turned away from Bucky, already opening his car door, but as he turns, Bucky can see the anger that’s there.

Bucky doesn’t say anything in return, can’t think of something to make this less awkward. Brock does the same and in less than a second, he’s back in his car and peeling out the driveway.

And that’s that.

Bucky exhales shakily and pivots on his heels, making his way back into the house and closing the door behind him quietly so he can slip up the steps without having to talk to his parents. 

Once he gets up to his room, he throws himself face first into his bed again. He hugs his pillow close, tight, waiting for his feelings to catch up to him because he just broke up with his three year boyfriend so he has to feel something. Sadness, relief, happiness-- anything .

But he doesn’t.

He’s not sure how long he stays laying there, waiting. Eventually his phone buzzes. Bucky picks his phone up to look at the notification, thinking that maybe it’s Matt or Sharon checking in. Maybe Phil told Sharon what happened because obviously Brock would have something to say to them when he returned to their oh-so-precious paused game.

It’s a text from Brock instead: Told the guys that I’m thinking about breaking up with you.

Bucky actually laughs when he reads the message. So that’s the way Brock is going to play it? Bucky should’ve known. Any way for Brock to save face, trying to be the breaker instead of the breakee. Fucking typical.

Not that it matters, really. No matter who did it, they were already broken up. 

Bucky rolls onto his back and focuses on his ceiling, breathing deeply as he searches for the ‘inner peace’ that his mom so earnestly stresses ever since she learned it from some yoga guru at a spa in the Caribbean in July of last year. Inner peace is bullshit because instead of feeling better, there’s nothing. 

You can have whatever you want. The words echo through Bucky’s mind. It's on a constant loop, taunting him.

He wants something different. He just doesn’t know how to get it.

Chapter Text

Bucky doesn’t notice Sharon’s note until it hits him in the cheek.

He jumps, his desk screeching against the linoleum, an ear-shattering shriek that makes the back of his neck prickle. Bucky’s gaze darts up to the front of the classroom where Mr. Fury is droning on mindlessly. The older man loves the sound of his own voice so much that he's either ignoring the disruption or didn't hear it in the first place. There are giggles, one of which Bucky  recognize as Matt’s, but he’s otherwise ignored.

Bucky turns to Sharon and holds up the note, giving her a pointed look. "Subtle," he mouths.

"Oops?" Sharon mouths back, but her slender shoulders shake with quiet laughter.

The note is shaped like a crane, a leftover and mostly useless talent from their summers at Camp Hero, where the only thing Sharon ever learned was how to make origami animals and later, tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue.

The latter is a party trick she busts out on the regular, and yet she acts all indignant every time Phil tells her he has his own stem she can suck on.

Bucky knows for a fact that Sharon revels in his attention, though. She and Phil have always antagonized each other like that. He makes some sexual comment and she calls him an idiot and then the next thing you know, they're making out. They make it seem shallow, but Bucky has seen the way she looks at Phil. Hell, Bucky has seen the way he looks at her. Phil’s mouth may say one thing, but his eyes tell another story entirely.

If a guy looked at Bucky like that...

Someone has .

The thought is there before Bucky can stop it. He’s always stopped it before, because that someone isn't Brock.

Bucky mentally scrambles, slamming the theoretical door in his mind where those kind of thoughts are kept safe and locked away. But the thought echoes through his skull and he still visualizes a pair of brilliant blue eyes, and when he turns his head slightly, just barely, Bucky sees them - him .

Steve is looking right at him, one side of his mouth pulled up in a devastatingly handsome grin. The other side lifts as their eyes meet, and Bucky whirls back around, his heart pounding hard against his ribs. The sensation jars him, as it always does when Bucky sees him. He’s never had that rush with Brock, not even at the beginning. He’s never had it with anyone and it shakes him that he has it with someone he doesn’t even talk to.

Bucky can feel the weight of Steve’s gaze on him and he has to physically shake his head to try to get rid of the sensation, to try to forget how clear and bright Steve’s eyes are. It doesn't work. He’s not sure he wants it to.

Brock’s eyes are dark, dark brown. Bucky could never make out the pupil from the iris, which always bothered him for some reason, especially at the end. In those last few months, when things really started getting bad, Bucky tried to search for some kind of positive emotion in them. He would keep his eyes open just before their lips met, trying to make out the borders. Usually Brock would clamp them shut when his face tilted toward Bucky’s. So he didn't have a chance to find anything there, and when they weren't kissing, they weren't close enough for Bucky to see anything but the blackness, the emptiness .

The paper rustles noisily as Bucky unfolds the note. He’s gazing down at it until someone shifts in his peripheral, drawing his attention away. Natasha, sitting right in front of Clint Barton, who's next to Steve. Clint’s fingers are curled over the back of Nat’s desk, playing with a strand of red her hair. When Bucky makes eye contact, she shoots him a small smile and a two-finger salute, before she shoots him a questioning look.

Bucky shakes his head minutely, and turns his attention back to Sharon’s note.

Party at Phil’s tonight. You, me, Matty. Do it up? You have to say yes, Bucky-Bear.

He resist the urge to groan. They’ve been partying all summer, hanging out at Phil’s or Brocks' or Tony's or Jack’s. Mostly at Phil’s, because the Coulson’s have an impressive stash of alcohol and last spring they built a grotto and a water slide to complement their heated pool. The stupid thing shocks Bucky’s ass every time he slides down it, but everyone in their group is downright obsessed with it. Most importantly-- at least to everyone else-- is the fact that Mr. and Mrs. Coulson travel all the time. They're busy expanding Coulson’s Olympic Outfitters up through Pennsylvania and Maryland.

Bucky would like nothing more than to say no to the invite tonight. Beyond being partied the fuck out, the whole Brock thing looms over his head like a black cloud. Bucky still hasn’t even told Sharon or Matt that they broke up and Bucky hasn’t seen Brock at school today. Bucky doesn't know what story he told Phil, Tony, or Jack yet, so for now, Bucky’s keeping quiet. He’ll hear soon enough, that's for sure. And if he goes to this party, Bucky will have to see him, maybe even talk to him. After last night, that's the last thing he wants. Just the thought of pretending wears Bucky out.

He reads the note again. You have to say yes, Bucky-Bear.

Bucky’s gaze automatically shifts to the back of the room, where he’d be sitting if he had the choice. Sharon picked these seats for them earlier this week, which is silly since she's so intent on passing notes rather than actually paying attention. Natasha catches his eye again and blows him a silent kiss. Bucky playfully rolls his eyes in return but really, he wonders why he didn’t man up the courage and sit next to her when he first entered the class and saw she was in here too. But her proximity to Steve Rogers is daunting, and Bucky is careful not to look too far over and get caught again. Bucky imagines that if he actually sat there, he would probably die from shyness and nerves rather than actually get anything done. He sure as hell wouldn't be learning, but then again, it's not like he’s paying attention now.

Not very becoming for the president of the National Honor Society. Bucky lets out a soft snort, smoothing a wrinkle in the paper, and sits up straighter in his seat. It's all about appearances, after all, isn't it? If he’s learned nothing else in his seventeen years, he at least knows that.

This time a pencil hits his arm and Sharon reclaims his attention. "Well?" she mouths.

Why does she even bother asking?

Bucky knows she's not going to let up. If he says no, she'll demand to know why, and he doesn't want to get into it, not now. God, not ever, but Bucky knows that's not an option. And as unappealing as it is to think that he’ll have to keep up the act he’s so tired of, agreeing to the party tonight will be easier than explaining what he’s done or how he feels.

Bucky shrugs, then nods once. Of course he’ll be there.

He always is.

When the last bell rings, Bucky makes his way down the crowded hallway to his locker, already dreading what he will have to do tonight. Loud voices ring out around him. Someone yells out his name, but he just waves his hand and keeps going.

Instead, his eyes go automatically to locker 137 as he passes by. It’s Steve’s locker.

Bucky has always kept his attraction to the blond buried deep, but still, it’s never stopped him from looking for Steve at his locker or in the hallway. Just to look. No one's there, though, and even if he was - Bucky wouldn't stop.

Coincidentally, and maybe a bit of a cruelty on fate’s behalf, Steve’s locker is only a few steps away from Bucky’s own locker so it’s always within his peripherals and earshot. Like now, as he leans his forehead against the cool metal, staring down at the lock that keeps his belongings stashed away. It's been his since freshman year, and even still he sometimes forgets the combination.

Not today though. So with quick, swift moves of his fingers, Bucky spins the dial until the numbers return to him and the tumbler pops open, letting him in.

"You bitch!" A hand meets Bucky’s left ass cheek.

"What the fu -" he startles, realizing half a second before he let loose that it’s Sharon’s voice and that it’s her who's just left what will probably be a permanent mark on his backside.

She leans against the locker next to his, arms crossed. Her tone is teasing, but she's pissed. Her icy blue eyes are fixed, determined, and Matt strolls up behind her with an eyebrow cocked in curiosity.

Bucky can tell they're going to give him shit about something, and he has a sinking feeling about what that something might be. He ignores the sudden pounding in his chest and keeps his voice neutral. Bucky can play being unaffected with his eyes closed, that’s how good he is at pretending. "Your little pet names warm my heart, Carter,” Bucky rolls his eyes.

"Don't deflect," Sharon snaps.

A deep, familiar laugh rings out above the din of noise, drowning out Sharon as she continues to yammer on. Bucky’s gaze slips over her shoulder. Steve is just a few feet away, and it's like Sharon and Matt disappear altogether. Bucky keeps one eye on Steve while pretending to listen to Sharon (since she’s still going off). With them serving as unknowing shields, Bucky is able to blatantly stare without being completely, totally obvious.

Steve is leaning against 137, talking to Daisy Johnson, whose locker is directly next to his. Lucky bitch. Steve is smiling down at her, dimples on full display, doing that friendly flirty thing that that Bucky has seen fluster even old Mrs. Martinelli. Steve laughs again, loud, rumbling, and the noise tickles against Bucky’s inner ears. His breath catches in his throat.

Shit, he hopes that wasn't audible.

Steve and him have known each other since middle school, although they didn’t really know each other. They’ve barely ever interacted. Because, Jesus, Bucky can barely look him in the eye without his heart doing all kinds of ridiculous things. Bucky’s pretty sure he comes off as some, uptight, horrible asshole, with his lack of words and his complete inability to return the smiles Steve sometimes directs his way. But even from afar, Bucky has always feel Steve’s warmth. Everything about him seems so genuine and confident – his laugh, his smile, the way he holds himself. That's an aspect of what's always pulled Bucky to him, that he's so unabashedly real .

Bucky doesn't know what that feels like and a part of him is envious of Steve’s ability to do that. There are no pretenses. Steve is who he is, who he wants to be.

But as middle and high school hierarchy usually dictates, Steve has always stayed with his group and Bucky has always stayed with his. Bucky grew up with the kids in his neighborhood, including Natasha. After elementary school, their neighborhood had been rezoned into Shield school limits, but by the time Bucky and the others had blended in with the rest of the town's teenage population in seventh grade, they had already forged their own bond. In a lot of ways, Bucky thinks the privilege they grew up with separated them from everyone else, so they stayed together, apart from everyone else. They were bound by their privilege. Sharon loved it, of course, and Bucky thinks that everyone else did too. It made them different, but not in the negative way that sometimes ostracizes kids. It elevated them.

Of course, as soon as Natasha saw Clint Barton the first week of school, none of that mattered. Bucky doesn't think it ever did to her because Nat didn't care that Clint Barton wasn't part of the group they had grown up with or that the sandy blond was so different than their usual friends. Natasha saw people as people, saw through the acts and didn’t care which labels they wore, and to her, Clint matched in ways that mattered.  

Nat and Steve got close after that. Steve was a part of Clint’s group of friends, which also included Sam Wilson and Carol Danvers, and soon enough, Clint’s friends became Nat’s. At first Nat jumped between them and Clint’s group, and she still does to some extent because that's just how she is, an unapologetic floater, but her place in Bucky’s group has gotten much smaller over the years.

Bucky doesn't know much about Steve, just the obvious surface things – that he plays football and lives in a small house on the other side of town. That he's got an infectious laugh and wears his heart on his sleeve, always stepping in between tussles in the halls. That Steve smiles more during English class than Bucky thinks Brock has in his entire life. That Bucky wishes he knew so much more.

There's a dividing line between Bucky and him and he’s never tried to cross it. Bucky’s place has always been here, with Sharon and Matt. With Brock.

Of course, Bucky’s place with Brock was effectively terminated last night and Bucky can only wonder, looking over at Steve now, if he and Nat figured out what was going on last night when they drove by.

Bucky wonders if Steve cares.

There's a part of him that thinks Steve might. It's a quieter part, the more secret part that's taken in every smile Steve's thrown his way, every lingering look over the years. It's the same part that saw the way his smiled dimmed, just a little, when Bucky had walked past him on with his hand in Brock’s that first day of freshman year. High school politics aside, it's one of the reasons Bucky has always been careful to stay away from him, seeing the flicker of interest in his eyes that mirrors what Bucky feels on the inside.

And now it's one of the reasons Bucky wishes he wasn't quite so far from him.

Steve’s eyes bounce from Daisy to Bucky, and for a second Bucky is frozen. He can't look away. Steve’s eyes are so clear; even from this distance Bucky can see the navy flecks in them. There is probably a kaleidoscope of shades nestled in there, but Bucky would have to be closer to see. Very close.

Bucky wishes he was very close. He wonders if he could be someday.

It's only when Steve’s mouth pulls into a slow smile that makes Bucky sluggish and light-headed, like the world is tilting on its axis, that he rips his gaze away. Although not before Bucky sees Daisy’s hand settle on Steve’s bicep.

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek, his brows furrowing as he settles his attention back on Sharon and Matt. He tries his damn well hardest to ignore the sharp burn in his stomach. He has the overwhelming urge to cross the hall and slap Daisy’s hand off of Steve, like he has any right to.  

Which, how much more ridiculous and utterly embarrassing can he be?

Sam Wilson slides up behind Steve and grabs him by the back of the neck. Bucky watches out of the corner of his eye as Steve’s shoulders go up and he turns, faking a punch into Sam Wilson’s side. Daisey, of course, laughs and flips her hair over her shoulder, then turns back to her own locker. Bucky feels a smug little jolt of victory that their conversation has been cut short thanks to Sam Wilson, man of the people. Just behind Wilson, is the great Natasha herself, eyeing both of the guys joke around with an amused look on her face.

It's always been a bit of a mystery to him how easily Nat is able to shift from group to group. Well, Bucky guesses there will always be those people who just get along with everybody, and Natasha does it with grace, if not a weird form of poised elegance and downright mood of not giving a flying fuck. Nat’s the girl that knows everyone in the school and treats everyone the same.

Bucky only wishes that everyone could be like that.

Of course, then high school wouldn't be high school, would it?

"Um, hello?" Sharon snaps her fingers in front of his face. Bucky huffs with annoyance, smacks her hand away, and grabs for his AP Calc book instead. Homework already. Joy .

"Um, what?" Bucky shoots back mockingly.

Matt rolls his eyes and pushes past Sharon. It seems like he’s tired of bullshiting around and has no problems stepping up, giving Bucky that narrowed eyed look that is used to cutting the ramblings of them both and getting down to the matters at hand."When the fuck were you planning on telling us you and Brock broke up?"

Matt says it so fucking loudly that it's probably heard all the way in Quantico. Bucky can feel a certain pair of blue eyes on him, but he doesn't dare look in fear of what he might see. Bucky wills the blush to stay off of his cheeks knowing that the whole hallway is no doubt staring at the three of them right now, getting the jaw-dropping gossip of the perfect kids that apparently are too good to have issues. Well fuck them all.

Bucky clenches his jaw and shoves his locker door shut, doing it with more force than necessary but he’s beyond pissed that Matt and Sharon are bringing this up now of all places and so fucking loudly too. Jesus, haven’t they heard of privacy ?

"Thanks for alerting the entire school to my relationship status, Matt.," Bucky drawls out, his voice dripping with sarcasm and just the tiniest hint of barely concealed anger. The last place he wants to lose his cool is in front of the whole school population. Besides, they need to think he’s unfazed by it all, that he couldn’t give a damn if he’s single or not. 

"Seriously, why didn't you say something this morning, or you know, call us? Text?" Sharon speaks up, tapping his elbow impatiently.

He shrugs. Bucky doesn’t want to tell her that he didn't want to deal with it because that makes him look like a bitch. And maybe he is but he’s not upset about the demise of the relationship because it wasn't really a relationship anymore anyway. He knows he’s supposed to be but, yeah, he’s not. Like Brock pointed out, three years is practically a lifetime in high school terms. So what does that say about Bucky?

Or maybe the better question is, what did it say about their relationship?

"I'm sorry that I didn't give you up-to-the-minute updates on my life. Should I be calling you in the morning so we can coordinate our outfits, too?" Bucky demands.

They both roll their eyes, but say nothing to counteract his snide remark. Sharon nudges him instead. "So, who did the breaking up?"

Bucky frowns and steps away from them both. "It doesn't matter."

Sharon makes a sound in the back of her throat like it’s the most insane thing Bucky has ever said and she stares at him, her mouth open, gobsmacked. "Bucky, it always matters."

"Maybe when it stops mattering, that's when you know it's over, huh? Or maybe it never really mattered in the first place,” Bucky retorts. He can feel Steve watching him, can almost feel the blond listening to what the three of them are saying.

Bucky shrugs with what he hope looks like finality, so they'll get the hint and drop it. Bucky doesn't want to talk about this now, not with an audience.

"Right. Okay then," Sharon huffs. She and Matt are looking at him like he’s lost his mind. Maybe he has, but he’s okay with that for now. They've been carrying the conversation. Bucky’s contributions have been snark and perfunctory nods. "We're headed to the mall. You coming with your besties?" She drags the last word out like she’s trying to remind him just who he’s talking to, that that title holds her and Matt above everyone else-- even Brock now. Her trick may have worked last week, but today Bucky is a new person.

Bucky shakes his head. "I have to stay after and talk to Mr. Fury about the Honor Society,” he lies through his teeth. Matt wrinkles his nose and Sharon lets out a disappointed huff and for some odd reason, Bucky actually feels bad for lying to them when it’s so obvious they tried to make a trip to the mall to take his mind off of the breakup once they found out. They probably expected him to be unconsolable, probably already planned on going to his favorite fro-yo place on Main Street to cheer him up. It probably threw them that he was being so composed with the whole thing but still, the offer was there and as a consolation, he tacks on, “I’ll see you both at Phil’s though.”

"Thatta boy,” Matt loops an arm around Bucky’s neck and pulls him close to plant a kiss on the top of his head, like a proud father-son moment. Sharon kisses Bucky’s cheek instead and pulls her arm through Matt’s. The bell had already rang and it’s beyond rare that either of them would be caught dead still in the school ten minutes so it’s no surprise when Sharon links her arm through Matt’s and starts tugging him towards the exit of the school. As they walk backwards down the hall, both of them blow kisses Bucky’s way before they turn and stroll away.

If only he would get away so lucky because suddenly, to his mortification, Sharon turns her head and calls back over her shoulder, “Maybe some of those Coliseum Central Prep boys will be there. Get back on the horse, right?”

Bucky winces when he hears several catcalls aimed in his direction and he barely resists the urge to bury his face in his hands so he can hide away from all the eyes he has no doubt are on him. Bucky can’t even talk to some of the people in their school without breaking out in a cold sweat and Sharon’s already trying to push him off onto one of Phil’s rich buddies he knows through his cousin at Coliseum Central. Typical. Fucking great. 

Bucky moves to start heading towards the exit as well, but he pauses, however, when he realizes that he has to give Sharon and Matt at least a five minute head start so they can get in their cars and leave the school parking lot.

Still, he refuses to stand in this hallway so he cradles his books to his chest and sets towards the library just for the hell of it, just to waste time. The crowd of students has thinned out as they scatter for the buses or the parking lot. Bucky pays attention to none of the end-of-school-day-chaos and keeps his head up high, walking with feigned purpose. He makes it all but ten grand ‘ol seconds until he hones in on the low voices behind him, hearing Steve just a few paces back.

If he were a different person, he would turn around and talk to him and break out a flirty, confident smile followed by conversation that would be comfortable for them both. As it is, Bucky can't even manage a simple, one syllable “hi”, which is fucking ridiculous.

Bucky falls off to the side, pretending he’s busy fiddling around on his phone. If Bucky were to be honest with himself (which he’s trying to do now), the move is complete pass just so he can’t miss Steve walking down the hall with the rest of the spare students hanging around.

Steve meanders past him and Bucky peaks through the strands of his brown hair that have fallen in front of his eyes, watching as Steve walks with a couple of the guys from the football team. Bucky has always been captivated to the simplicity that Steve seems to possess, struck by how he takes his time with everything he does. Bucky, on the other hand, is always rushing. 

He only slows down and absorbs his surroundings when he has his camera in front of his face, but it seems like Steve is always absorbing the moment he's in. It's just one of the things that Bucky admires about him, one of the things that Bucky finds so attractive.

Bucky may not know Steve, but everything the blond has shown him (whether he's meant to or not) pulls Bucky in that much further.

Steve tugs his baseball hat from his back pocket and pulls it over his head, the bill toward the back.

And then?

He looks back over his shoulder, his eyes meeting Bucky’s, and smiles. This time, it's full out and Bucky get the feeling it's just for him, like it means something .

Bucky has absolutely no idea how to react.

He’s sure he looks stupid trying to grin back, his mouth morphed into some sort of weird hybrid smile-grimace. Bucky glances back down, suddenly fascinated again with his phone.

When he looks back up, Steve is nearly out of sight and Bucky can only wonder if it was all just wishful thinking on his part.

"Sweetie?"

Bucky’s hand pauses over the doorknob. He clutches his camera in the other. With his phone already in his back pocket, the camera is all he’ll need to carry tonight.

"Yeah?" he calls back, his eyes automatically going heavenward. Bucky doesn't have the patience for twenty questions.

His mom comes around the corner, her heels tapping softly against the marble floor of the foyer. FeFe is tucked in the crook of one arm, staring at Bucky with those beady little eyes. Canned laughter wafts in from the living room where Becca is giggling to some reality show she watches and Bucky has no doubt that his dad is sprawled on the couch, drink in hand as he reads from his tablet. He catches onto the laughter because usually everything in their house is always soft and hushed, the four of them unable to fill all of the space their house provides. What seemed like a castle when Bucky was little now tends to take on the qualities of a very eery prison. And really, the only reason why Becca is laughing at all is because she’s still enjoying her hour of tv time (because anymore than that kills brain cells, according to their mom) before she goes upstairs to her room and does whatever the hell she does when it’s so close to their supposed ‘bedtime’.

It’s funny how silence can be so loud. Sometimes it drives Bucky so crazy that he has to leave, go to Matt’s house down the street or, if it's really bad, Sharon’s, which is further across the development of hoity-toity mansions.

His mom's eyes - greyish blue like his own - drift from his hand on the knob, up to his body (and outfit), then finally to his face. He knows Matt will be decked out in his designer skinny jeans and equally as expensive button up shirt, only the top three buttons will more than likely be wide open and exposing his chest like he tends to usually do. Sharon will probably be wearing a little summer dresses (emphasis on little in Sharon's case), and even though on any normal occasion Bucky would be spruced up just as fancy and sleek, he doesn’t feel like playing along tonight so he just threw on some skinny jeans and a thin t-shirt. He tried to offset his obvious lack of clothing enthusiasm by throwing on a nice pullover, something name brand and expensive looking to any passerby.  

"Where are you off to?" she asks, smoothing a hand over her linen pants. They're completely unwrinkled. How does she do that?

"I'm going to Phil’s," Bucky replies. "I told you and Dad at dinner, remember."

Ah, that's where the wrinkles went, settled in between her eyebrows. "Anne and Michael are up in Maryland, aren't they?"

"Just until tomorrow morning, and it's just a few of us getting together,” Bucky answers, not missing a beat. It’s semi-true. Bucky doubts there'll be more than thirty kids there.

His mom nods slowly, her dark hair moving gently against her shoulders. "Did you get your homework done?"

Bucky stares at her. "Mom, it's Friday night."

"You've got a very ambitious class schedule this year, Bucky -"

"I know , you and Dad were the ones who picked it," Bucky snaps, letting out a sharp sigh through his nose. That's semi-true too. He picked the schedule he thought they'd approve of, all AP classes except for English, and they did. He didn't even try to sneak in a photography class this time.

She raises an eyebrow at his tone. "We just want you to do your best," she says quietly. It's not an apology. His parents really don't think they're stifling him at all and he know it's out of love. They want him to get into a good college, continue to excel in life, have it all . Bucky doesn't think they understand that it's smothering him now, and he doesn't know how to tell them.

"I'm going," Bucky says, opening the door.

Her face softens and she leans forward to drop a kiss on his cheek. "Love you, sweetheart. Have fun."

Then she lifts up FeFe’s paw so that it’s ‘waving’ at him. In her FeFe voice, she makes the dog talk to him. "Goodbye brother! Have fun with your friends."

Right , he thinks, but he doesn't say anything, just slips out the door and heads off into the quiet night.

He really, really hates that dog. 

Bucky is loud.

He’s standing on the short wall made of expensive stone and he’s really fucking loud, drinking from glass bottles, pretending to be someone he’s not. The last part is nothing new, at least, even though it makes him feel as numb as the smirnoff in his hand.

As soon as he had arrived at Phil’s house, he was attacked like a gazelle amongst a pride of lions.

"Why didn't you tell us he broke up with you?"

"What the hell are you wearing?"

“Hey, heard you’re single now.”

“Wanna go somewhere quiet?”

"Drink up, bitch."

Bucky mumbled answers to the various people that approach him. If Brock wanted to tell everyone that it was him that broke up with Bucky, if it helped Brock sleep better at night, then so be it. Bucky already knew they'd say something about his choice of clothing and he hadn’t really expected being hit on already so soon especially with Brock somewhere around here. And well, that last one wasn't so much a suggestion, more like a passive-aggressive demand. It was the only one that Bucky was happy to oblige to.

Drinking isn't something that Bucky normally turns to, unlike the rest of them. Don't get him wrong, he still drinks occasionally-- and really enjoys the fruity beverages like the ones he’s been chugging-- but he’s always in control. But tonight... tonight Bucky doesn't feel like being in control. He feels like breaking out and doing something crazy because then he won't have to think.

So one bottle became two. Then three. Then there were some jello shots tossed back for good measure. Now it's the Matt, Sharon and Bucky Show. The three of them are up on the wall and Bucky quiets down as they start to dance and sing in earnest, both of them soaking up the attention. Bucky is more than happy to give them his portion of it. His camera is slung around his neck, so he busies himself as their personal paparazzi, snapping off shots of them singing into their cups of beer.

Bucky looks over his shoulder and finds Brock standing there, looking pissed and not at all impressed by their performance. Figuring that Matt and Sharon can hold down the fort, or up the wall, or whatever , Bucky jumps down and tries to blend. Some might think it's him hiding behind his camera. In actuality, it's where he can be the most free.

" Bucky-Bear ! Where are you going?"

Bucky waves Matt and Sharon off, holding up his camera. That's their signal to back off and they do, melting in with the rest of the kids as the bass somehow gets obnoxiously louder, throbbing through Bucky’s skull. He used to melt along with them, but he likes the dividing line his camera creates right now.

Drunk picture taking is always interesting. Bucky doesn't worry about settings, the aperture or lighting. He just clicks away. Sharon laughs when he stumbles backwards slightly, his balance all out of whack, but then Phil slings an arm around her neck, pulls her close and starts to devour her face and that’s Bucky’s que to fade away into the background. He lifts his camera again, watching them through the viewfinder. Bucky waits until Phil stops mouth-fucking Sharon and when he smiles down at her, stupid drunk but happy, Bucky presses the little round button that captures moments. Bucky like them best when they're not planned - the small moments in between the staged ones, when it's real and honest, even when it's not perfect. Especially then.

Bucky gets a shot of Matt looking down Elektra’s dress and then another one of him smiling at her while she laughs with Sharon, her hand clutching her elbow.

When Bucky lowers the camera, he’s suddenly tired. All the alcohol hits him like a tidal wave and he drifts over to the picnic table (Phil’s mom would kill Bucky if she heard him call it something so pedestrian), slumps onto the bench and watches everyone and everything happen around him.

His silent observations don’t last long, however, as not a minute later, Matt flops down next to him, his knee knocking against Bucky’s. Matt wraps his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and nestles his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck. He leans in close to Bucky’s ear and whisper-yells, “You are the very definition of wah wah right now, Bucky.” 

Sharon flanks Bucky on his other side, clutching a red Solo cup that Bucky doubts has more beer in it than what Sharon has spilled onto her dress throughout the night. “Where’s your party spirit?” she asks, sweeping her arm around the scene surrounding them. There’s a handful of randoms in the pool, a cluster of guys crowding around the screen as some sport game plays, some people dancing, others taking turns chugging from a keg (one of many, of course).

Bucky must look unimpressed, because Sharon leans her elbows back on the table, fixing him with a pointed stare that's verging on pity. "You're bummed about Brock, aren't you?"

"He's a dick," Matt huffs, looking over to where Brock’s standing with Jack, Tony, and Phil. "Seriously, breaking up with you the first week of our senior year? What about Homecoming? Prom?"

Would they be calling Bucky a dick if they knew he was the one who broke up with Brock? Especially if they knew why he did it?

Bucky’s not even sure he know all of the reasons he did it, not yet. All he knows is that being with Brock never felt completely right and that in the end it felt very wrong.

"Mattie, it's not just that," Sharon replies, leaning forward to roll her eyes at Matt. "They were together for three years. It's about their history as much as their future." She pauses thoughtfully before snatching Matt’s drink from him. She takes a long swig, swallows hard and then gives a delicate burp (it takes every fiber of Bucky not to grimace, because fucking ew ). "And they don't have to be together to get King and King anyway."

The un-traditional prom positions has been an ongoing dream between them all since their freshman year when it was announced Jane Foster and her girlfriend, Darcy Lewis, had made Prom Queen and Queen, so naturally, everyone was more than eager to agree that for their own year, it would be Bucky and Brock that would respectfully make Prom King and King.

Obviously Bucky doesn’t give a shit about that now (although, really, has he ever?) and thinks he’d actually rather die than have to live through something like that, all things considered.

But the more Matt and Sharon talk, it feels like they're discussing someone else's relationship. Bucky is so far away from this already, tired of it all. He lets out a small, impatient sigh. "Can we move on here, you guys? Or talk shit on your own time or whatever."

Matt grabs his drink back and beer sloshes over the side, running down his leg. Matt ignores it and Bucky. Sharon, however, is far from letting their conversation die but she holds her tongue and instead, rolls her eyes as she sees the alcohol spill. "The more Jello shots you have, the more graceful you get, Mattie ."

Matt cocks his head. "The more Jello shots you have, the shorter your dress gets, Sharon. Weird."

Sharon flips him off and then turns to Bucky, slinging a heavy arm around his shoulders now that Matt’s arm isn’t there. "We're here for you, right?" Bucky is pretty sure she means to say ‘all right’, but he grasps the sentiment nonetheless. "Give it a week. Brock'll come crawling back to you."

"Awesome, just what I want," Bucky says dryly. Beneath the table, his knees are bouncing and really, all he wants is to run. And maybe not stop for at least five miles.

Matt and Sharon keep chattering on about how what Bucky really needs is a tall guy since Brock is barely six feet (isn't he?) and that the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. Bucky nods his head and roll his eyes and makes smart-ass remarks where appropriate, but his attention eventually drifts.

Brock is still off to the side with Jack and Phil (Tony left and is now hanging upside down as he drinks from a funnel), but his gaze is on Bucky. Brock is chewing his gum at the front of his teeth, neon green against vivid white, trying to look like he couldn't give a fuck. Bucky thinks, in a detached sort of way, about how good-looking Brock is - lean and tall with dark brown hair and handsome features. It'd be easy to tell Brock’s wealthy even if he tried to hide it, which he doesn't. Brock had told Bucky once, in a rare moment of sharing and caring, that money was the only good thing his father had ever given him.

Brock doesn't see it and he'd probably kill Bucky if he said it, but he's morphing into his dad. All these boys are. They're standing there, smoking cigars and using two fingers to hold crystal tumblers that shine with bourbon. They're molding themselves into what they think they should be, because it's all they've ever known. Even Brock, who hates his father most of the time. Alexander has set the bar high. That's what Brock reaches for - money, power, the right education and the right partner.

Bucky was part of that and he’s been doing it too. He doesn't blame Brock... or himself. It just sneaks up on a person, sinks into their skin until one day they wake up and realize that this isn't who they want to be after all.

"I think I'm going to head out in a few," Bucky stands and subconsciously runs his hands over the front of his pants, until he realizes that he’s doing the same thing his mom had done earlier in the foyer. Bucky’s hands stop and he stuff them in his pockets instead, leaving the wrinkles there. He don't need them to be perfect.

Bucky stumbles a bit before righting himself and heads for the bathroom, leaving his camera with them for safekeeping.

You know when you've had a lot to drink but it doesn't really hit you until you stand up? And then you think to yourself, “Self, you're pretty fucking wasted .” That's what's happening to Bucky right now. He doesn't normally allow himself to drink this much. For Sharon, Matt, Tony, Phil, Jack, and Brock, this is a normal night. But this isn't a normal night for Bucky, in more ways than one. He’s guessing it's not for Brock either, even though he's putting on the same show Bucky is. Everything's fine . Nothing to see here.

Bucky goes to the bathroom and washes his hands, avoiding the mirror this time. He doesn't want to look at himself. Maybe he just doesn't want to see himself right now, who he’s pretending to be.

When he gets back outside, Bucky makes his way back towards the table where Matt and Sharon are waiting for him to say his goodbyes.

Right when he gets them in his line of sight, however, Brock steps in front of him, intercepting his mission to quietly exit.

"Baby..." Brock puts a hand up to Bucky’s cheek and tries to cradle Bucky’s face. Bucky can feel the slightest pressure of Brock’s fingers as if he’s trying to pull him forward into his chest. But there are warning bells blaring inside Bucky’s mind and he knows how wrong this is. More importantly, Bucky had thought he had been pretty fucking clear that he established last night that he is no longer Brock’s ‘baby’.

"Don't call me that, Brock,” Bucky says, pulling himself away and taking a step back.

"Fine, Bucky-Bear ." Brock has never liked the nicknames that Matt and Sharon made up for him. Or maybe Brock was just jealous that he wasn’t the one who thought of it, but that’s fairly long-shot thinking on Bucky’s behalf. "Is that better? Fuck, Bucky. We need to talk."

Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek, staring at Brock almost as if seeing him in a new light for the first time. There’s an emotion in Brock’s eyes (actual fucking emotion, hallelujah!) that makes Bucky pause, because it’s something that looks almost soft and vulnerable and it has Bucky stopping, thinking to himself that maybe what he’s done is wrong. But then, Bucky’s gaze flickers over Brock’s shoulder’s and he sees Phil leaning down towards Sharon, and they’re whispering words back and forth, matching smiles on their faces that have so much feeling radiating through. The sight reminds Bucky that he’s never had something so intimate like that before and then it all comes crashing back onto Bucky that he has done the right thing-- he ended it with Brock so that Bucky could find his own happiness, his own intimacy with someone that would look at him like that.

Bucky swallows heavily and crosses his arms over his chest, speaking low. "I got the memo that you told everyone that you broke up with me. So if that's why you think we need to talk, don't worry. I get it loud and pretty fucking clear."

Brock’s voice goes low too and he tries to lean forward, into Bucky so that they won’t draw attention to themselves, but the lean is more like a wobble. Bucky not-so-gracefully (okay, drunkenly ) scoot further away just as Brock reaches out and brushes his palms over Bucky’s forearms.

And of course, everyone is watching. They always are.

"Yeah,” Brock nods. “I told them I broke up with you. You know, so you don't look like an asshole."

Yet another one of those sharing and caring moments that only Brock has skillfully mastered, ever the gentleman. Bucky made the mistake once of telling Brock that it bothers him when people mistake his introverted nature as being a judgemental asshole. It figures that Brock would use that information against him now.

"Thanks for taking the fall, Brock. You're a real pal." Bucky is being sarcastic, of course, but it falls on drunk ears. Instead, he tries to sock Brock lightly on the shoulder but it might have been a tad hard, because Brock winces. Oops .

"Come on, Bucky," he says, his speech slurring a little on Bucky’s name. "I just want to talk to you for a minute."

Bucky shakes his head before Brock even finishes his sentence. "You're drunk and everyone's staring."

"Fine, let’s go upstairs.” Brock takes a step closer, so Bucky moves back. Bucky shakes his head again and lifts up his arm to keep Brock at bay.

At least Brock gets the message, even in his drunken haze. Brock doesn’t advance anymore, only sighs heavily. "Tomorrow morning, then. We'll get coffee at The Patio."

Bucky is more than hyper aware of the eyes trained on them. He can feel everyone’s attention and he isn’t sure if it’s his brain playing tricks on him, but he would be willing to swear that the music has drastically been lowered to a low hum just so the crowd can get snippets of their conversation.

Bucky wants to get the hell out of this house. He wants to get away from these people and fast.

"Fine, whatever," Bucky throws out, and keeps moving backwards. He agrees because it’s the only way that Brock will let him go without making a spectacle. Bucky has known Brock his entire fucking life and has been present more than once when Brock finally loses his cool and rages on everyone and everything in his close vicinity. So Bucky will very much pass on having to deal with a shitstorm tonight.

Bucky waves to Matt and Sharon and points towards his camera. Matt signals with a thumbs up that he’ll take care of it and it’s a breath of relief knowing that Sharon won’t be handling it. Bucky doesn’t want to spend any more time there than necessary, knowing Brock will follow his every move, so he makes his escape, slipping through the gate.

There is an alignment of expensive cars lined up next to the curb. Some clubs have a secret password; but theirs has fancy cars instead. Bucky used to think it was so cool, getting to see each model, knowing how much they cost, and how rare it was to see such a vehicle outside of their neighborhood where instead, people drove trucks and minivans and cars with bumper stickers and stick figures families on the back windows.

Now, however, the expensive cars are nothing but a safeguard, and Bucky presses his hands all over them as he tries to stay upright. Maybe subconsciously he’s hoping that he’ll mark up Brock’s as he passes. A more vindictive guy might key his car, but Bucky’s not an asshole ( shocker ) so handprints will have to do. He’ll leave his mark that way. 

Besides... he doesn't have any keys with him. Doesn't need them, thanks to the keyless entry on his house and the fact that he didn’t drive his car.

Bucky walks as fast as his legs will carry him, light and free and so relieved to be away from Phil’s house. He stumbles along, weaving into the perfectly landscaped grass that lines the sidewalk, singing a mumbled tune under his breath. It's just two lines, over and over: I wish I was special. You're so fucking special. Leave it to him to be thinking of goddamn Radiohead at a moment like this, like the loser he is.

Only, the idea of himself calling himself a loser at that very moment makes him topple over in uncontrollable laughter. He’s somehow made it a few houses down and as he doubles over, he realizes that he’s in the Romanov’s yard, one that he knows well since he’s spent so many holidays there. Nat’s family is small, with her as the only child and her parents being migrants from Russia, so sometimes they have holidays together, the Romanov and Barnes clan merging as one. Their parents get along like houses on fire and it sometimes disturbs Bucky how much his mom giggles with Nat’s mom, Agatha, even though he secretly loves the sound because she seems so carefree. Like she doesn’t have a care in the world.

This yard holds memories of days long gone, memories of Nat trying to teach him how to turn a cartwheel; of flag football games, Bucky running around with Nat and their dads together; even when they would just sit out in the grass and play with Nat’s Doberman that passed a few years back.

Now that was a good damn dog. 

Maybe he should get a Doberman.

Fuck Shih Tzus (or shitzu’s), as Bucky has nicknamed simply because of that demon spawn back at home).

Somehow, in his reminiscing, Bucky ends up sprawled on his back, starting up at the sky and feeling the chill of the grass leak through his clothing. His mother would kill him if she saw him laying out like this and he silently prays that there won’t be any grass stains when he gets back up on his feet. He tries to remember where he got this pullover from just in case he needs to order a replacement. It might be Prada or Valentino, or actually, he’s pretty sure it’s Armani. Then again--

Bucky’s thoughts slow to a halt as he catches the low hum of Natasha and her friends in the backyard.

It’s always a weird sensation to know that people have lives that go on at the same time that his goes on. It’s not like everyone pauses because he’s not there, not revolving their every move and action around Bucky’s existence. Still, it’s weird knowing that while he’s been getting totally shitfaced a few houses down, Nat’s been partying it up over here. Although partying isn’t exactly what he would call whatever is happening in the backyard… more like a social gathering… maybe even a birthday party, hell if he should know. He only knows the people she hangs out with by their names, nothing more. He’s never cared for them and he doubts any of them have ever cared for him.

But… but there is someone that he cares for. Besides Nat, of course. Even if that care is something that Bucky has only had from afar, something he doesn’t really know how to approach but has acknowledged that it exists nonetheless.

With the noises in the background, Bucky can only wonder if Stevie is there. Wait, what? Bucky blinks in confusion. Stevie ? Can Bucky refer to the blond in his mind by a nickname if he’s never even swapped sentences with him?

Whatever , Bucky thinks to himself, the other guy won’t know. Stevie it is.

Bucky giggles at the thought of Steve being surprised with Bucky calling him Stevie. Stevie Stevie Stevie, Bucky repeats the name like a mantra within his head, not even bothering to try and smother the giggles that keep spilling from his throat. At least he has enough sense left in him to bring up his hand and use his fingers to gently cover his lips, pressing the pads of his fingers into the plump flesh.

The moment doesn’t get to last.

Bucky hears the grass rustle near him, footsteps falling on the perfect lawn, and he closes his eyes, wondering who’s found him in his delirious state.

He swears to fucking christ that if it’s Brock, there’s no doubt he’ll start swinging-- better him take the first punch than letting Brock get to him. Bucky takes a deep breath, readying himself to hear Brock’s voice.

“Bucky?”

Bucky opens his eyes and sees him.

Him .

His internal laughter screeches to a halt, Bucky’s mouth suddenly parched because Steve Rogers is there, looking down at him and all Bucky can do is stare up ahead, taking in Steve’s face at such a close distance, seeing it as if for the first time. He’s perfect. So devastatingly handsome and beautiful and everything in between, with the stars behind him and the moon as a backlight. Bucky knows he should say something. He should really, really say something.

His mouth moves before his brain decides on what that something is. 

"You're just like an angel,” he breathes out.

Well, shit. That? Of all the things to say in this world, that’s what he comes up with? Fucking Radiohead. Fucking brain. Fucking alcohol.

Bucky’s mental scolding ends the very second he watches as a smile slowly stretches onto Steve’s lips, the skin around his eyes crinkling. Bucky wants to reach out and touch him. Like really, really badly.

"An angel?” Steve says, his voice deep and soothing as it brushes against Bucky’s very soul. “No one's ever called me that before."

Bucky is motionless as Steve extends his hand down towards him, silently offering to help him up. Bucky stares at it for what feels like forever but in reality is probably only a handful of seconds. His heart thuds so loudly in his chest that he can hear it in his ears, reverberating throughout the rest of his body.

Then, slowly, Bucky picks his own arm up and slides his hand into Steve’s. The contact makes Bucky want to cry.

Thankfully, he doesn’t say nor do that.

Because then that would be a total shitshow and he's much cooler than that. Obviously. 

Chapter Text

Steve’s fingers are long, his palm warm and kinda rough against Bucky’s. They’re masculine hands. They’re the result of hard work and years of playing sports, nothing like the smooth skin of Bucky’s own, and the feeling of Steve’s palm against Bucky’s skin is foreign yet intoxicating at the same time and makes Bucky’s flesh tingle with the new sensations.

Bucky doesn’t want Steve to let go but naturally, the contact they share lasts only a few seconds until Steve releases him. And when he does, it’s almost jarring how Bucky’s body reacts.

The night air is especially cool tonight and the back of his clothes are slightly damp from the dew of the grass so it makes the chill slightly uncomfortable, sending goosebumps across his skin as he reacts to the sudden lack of Steve’s warmth. Bucky presses his hands into his thighs, suppressing the urge to reach for Steve again because he knows he can’t. That would just be weird.

Then again, this is weird. Bucky feels weird. He knows it’s not just the alcohol he drank or dealing with Brock or the way things have changed in the past twenty-four hours.

It's that he’s standing there in Natasha’s front yard with Steve goddamn Rogers and he's looking down at Bucky; his eyebrows saying he's concerned yet his smiling mouth saying he's laughing at Bucky a little bit. Which… given any other circumstance, Bucky might be concerned that he’s making an utter fool of himself but the alcohol is still making his brain a little fuzzy so he’s actually strangely okay with Steve looking at him like that. More than okay, really.

Like, not minding at all.

But then, all thoughts surrounding this weirdness vanish when Bucky realizes, a beat too slowly, that Steve is reaching forward.

Bucky watches in slow motion, staring as if in a trance as the navy fabric of Steve’s shirt stretches across his chest. And then, Bucky suddenly loses the ability to fucking breathe. Well, more like the breath jams right inside his throat when Steve closes in and oh god , he smells like fresh laundry and spice, like unending warmth .

Steve’s fingers move through Bucky’s hair and like a switch had been flipped, all of his thought processing abilities leaves his head instantly. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit , Bucky repeats to himself (more like internally screaming). Steve Rogers is touching him. Again .

Bucky’s fingers curl into the hem of his pullover. He doesn't want to move. So he stands there, stock still as he focuses on Steve’s fingers carding through his locks. He pleads to whatever higher power that there is, hoping damn well his hair is as soft as it had been before he left his house-- that Peggy’s brush tricks have truly worked their magic on the night of all nights that he really, really wants his efforts to be noticed.

"You've got grass in your hair, Buck," Steve says.

He makes Bucky’s name sound amazing. Bucky thinks he closes his eyes to savor the noise.

And shit, he did. When he snaps them back open, Steve is still staring but now he's really laughing and holding this slim blade of grass between his fingers, twirling it lazily.

It's Bucky’s turn to say something. However, the art of conversation eludes him with Steve standing so close. "I..."

"You...?" Steve tries to assist him (of course he’s trying to help; Steve’s always ready to rescue the damsel in distress and Bucky, tonight, is clearly said damsel), clearly amused with the softest, most playful grin on his face. A face that deserves to be stared at.

A face that Bucky can’t stop staring at. Steve is noticing too, if the slight blush high on his cheeks is anything to go off of. And like the absolute loser that he is, Bucky continues to stand there looking until his mind finally catches up with him and frantically demands that he say something . "I'm drunk."

" No ,” the blond gasps. Steve’s eyes widen and even though it's dark, Bucky is positive every color that exists is in them. Bucky leans toward him instinctively, and Steve’s hand is on Bucky’s body again, this time on his shoulder, holding him steady. Steve’s warmth is practically searing through the pullover covering Bucky’s torso. "Why are you out here making grass angels on Nat’s lawn?"

"I was walking home from Phil’s party," Bucky replies, leaning further into Steve’s touch. God he’s so warm.

Steve’s eyes flash and so close up, Bucky can see the baby blue burning in them. "Wait, what? You were walking home alone?"

Bucky nod-shrug-sways. Has he been this dizzy since he left the party? It’s a fucking miracle that he made it this far, landing in grass nonetheless.

Steve glances down at his watch, presses a button so that it lights up. For some reason, Bucky finds it adorable and he has to press his fingers against his numb mouth so Steve doesn't see his smile. "It's after midnight. Who the hell would just let you leave like that?"

Huh ?

Steve’s words echo through Bucky’s skull and he frowns as he recognizes the concern shining through. It throws Bucky, wondering why Steve would sound like that, why there’s suddenly an emotion that flashes across Steve’s handsome face that Bucky doesn’t recognize.

He tries to think back to what he just said that made Steve react like that, but his thoughts are jumbled and he-- no, he said he was walking home after Phil’s party. That’s what made Steve react. Which… puzzles Bucky even further. What was the big deal exactly? Brock had never made a big deal of walking him home after a party. Neither had Matt or Sharon… just telling him to text when he got home although never scolding him for the times that he didn’t (which was more often than not).

But the look on Steve’s face is as if Bucky has been wronged. Steve reacting to his words is as if Bucky has been missing out on something his entire life and it makes Bucky feel… strange. And kinda disappointed that maybe he has been missing out on something.

Instead of manning up the courage to admit to himself that he probably has, Bucky turns indignant, hips and arms akimbo. “Let me?” he repeats. “Did I need permission?” Somewhere in the back of his mind, Bucky realizes that he’s not stumbling over his words, mainly just his feet.

More importantly, however, Bucky realizes that they’re having an actual conversation. It feels...easy. Awkward still, because Bucky is pretty sure he’s staring at Steve’s lips and he’s also pretty sure that Steve notices it. But Bucky is forming words and Steve is, too.

Bucky thinks that this is how it's supposed to go. He wouldn’t really know, considering he’s never talked to someone new since that first day of Kindergarten so long ago. 

"You think it's a good idea to be wandering around in the middle of the night when you're like this?"

Bucky nod-shrug-sways again and looks at the ground, eyeing his really really really white sneakers that now have little green stains littering their sides. He tries to dip his chin so that Steve can’t see the frown on his face deepen because he’s reminded once again that Steve is concerned when Brock and Matt and Sharon never have been. So maybe it wasn’t smart to go walking home by himself all these times, and maybe it wasn’t smart to get fucked up in the first place but it was routine by now and Bucky had never thought otherwise against it.

But now… Now it stings knowing that the few times Brock ever walked home with him was because the house had been empty and Brock only wanted to fuck.

Bucky would rather die than admit any of that to Steve, but going by how Steve’s looking at him with so much emotion, it’s as if Steve already knows all of it anyways. 

"Okay, so here's the deal."

Bucky looks up quickly and stumbles a bit to the left, before he blinks up at Steve. The alcohol seems to have numbed Bucky’s shyness with him, and he blurts out, "The deal? We have a deal?"

Steve smiles, little crinkles embedding themselves in the skin around his eyes. There's something about the way Steve's looking at him that Bucky think it would make him feel drunk even if he wasn't. Bucky knows what it is, but has forced himself to ignore it because he was with Brock.

That look scares Bucky more now that he’s single than it did when he was taken. Before, it was a look that represented what Bucky didn't have. Now, it represents something that he could, if he had any idea what to do with it. Or Steve, for that matter.

Steve bends his knees, stooping a little so that they’re eye-to-eye. God, he's tall. "Why don't you chill out back with us for a bit and sober up? When you're ready, I'll walk you home."

Bucky’s pulse jumps in his wrists, behind his knees, in his neck. It thumps out a beat: stay, stay, stay. "You don't need to walk me home."

"I want to make sure you're safe." Steve’s hand drifts down Bucky’s shoulder, past his bicep, the blond’s thumb grazing the inside of Bucky’s elbow and down, down, down until his fingers wrap around Bucky’s wrist. His thumb stops right above Bucky’s pulse.

"Why?” Bucky forces the word out. “You don't even really know me."

"I want to," he says, low and serious for a second, but then he's smiling again, slyly, and Bucky can only wonder if he just dreamed those three words up. "My mom raised me right. I'm not going to let a handsome guy walk home alone in the middle of the night, okay?"

Bucky stares up at him, fully aware that Steve is still gripping his wrist. Steve can probably feel how affected Bucky is by what he just said. "Did you just call me handsome?"

He considers Bucky’s question. "Are you going to remember any of this in the morning?"

"I don't know." It sounds more like Idunknow. But really, Bucky sends a silent prayer up to the skies above to please, please, please let him remember this in the morning.

Steve laughs again, this beautiful, deep sound that echoes off the trees and mingles with the soft laughter coming from the backyard. Noticing the noise from the yard for the first time, it occurs to Bucky that he’s not sure what he’s walking into. "Then yeah, I did." One of Steve’s eyebrows lifts as he steps back, still holding onto Bucky, checking him out. "Can you walk?"

Bucky snorts (only to have his eyes widen at the very un-handsome-like noise that was, so he dips his head again, horrified and hiding behind the strands that cover his gaze). "I think I can handle it."

He still lets Steve wrap his arm around his shoulder while they make their way towards the backyard. Bucky is drunk , not stupid. He’ll take any excuse for Steve to touch him.

As they walk, Bucky stares down at the blades of grass, their feet trampling them. He wonders if Nat’s parents will be upset because he knows damn well his own parents would be if this were their yard. It almost makes the grass stains on his designer sneaks worth it.

The silence is kinda heavy and the more steps they take, the more Bucky works his teeth into his bottom lip. He wants to tell Steve that he doesn’t normally get drunk like this. He wants to ask Steve if he knows how long Bucky has wanted to talk to him. He wants to ask Steve if he's heard that he’s not Brock’s boyfriend anymore; wants Steve to know him, not just see Bucky for the way that he’s presented. Instead Bucky stays quiet, walking and reveling in Steve’s touch and how their sides are pressed together.

They round the side of the house with Steve gently guiding Bucky toward the far back corner of the deck. Natasha’s parents had a stone fire pit built a few years ago and Bucky had spent more than one evening roasting marshmallows on the thing, as him and Nat stuffed their faces with more than one s’more (more like six each, but who’s counting?). Agatha and Dimitri are pretty much always home and Natasha is more of a homebody than a going out type. This house, this yard, are both always welcoming so why would she want to go out when she’s got such a good thing going here?

"Where'd you park, dude? East Bumblefu..." Clint Barton’s voice trails off at the sight of Bucky nestled into Steve’s side. He tries to play it off, but his mouth snaps shut and he raises his eyebrows, his hand coming up and making a small wave of his fingers. Bucky does that weird thing with his mouth where he tries to grin back but it comes out more like a grimace than anything else. Thankfully, Nat steps in just on time, a pleased grin on her face but Bucky can see the surprise there too.

“Hello, Yasha.”

Bucky raises a hand and murmurs an uncomfortable hello, although he’s slightly comforted by Nat’s use of the Russian version of his name. She’s called him that from the very beginning and refused to call him by anything else, and now, it reminds Bucky that even though he has walked into a new situation, at least Natasha’s familiar.

Everyone is loud in their greeting; it's very boisterous, considering there's only four of them: Natasha, Clint Barton, Sam Wilson, and Carol Danvers. Bucky doesn't really know the others, but then again, he doesn't really know know the guy currently propping him up. "Sorry for crashing your party. I just…"

"Bucky’s going to hang out with us until he sobers up a bit and then I'm going to walk him home," Steve says firmly. Bucky bites his lip to stop a smile. So Steve really wasn't kidding about the whole mom raising him right thing, not that Bucky’s complaining. Of course that means he wasn't kidding when he called Bucky handsome either. Bucky wonders if Steve would still think so if he learned that Bucky’s sort of empty on the inside.

"What a good Samaritan you are, Steve." Sam tilts his head with a wide, innocent smile. He’s built a lot like Steve, but not nearly as large. Like Steve, Sam is on the football team so maybe that’s the connection there. Bucky thinks that he himself would look downright ridiculous if he matched either of them, then again, he’s the type of guy who would choose a frappuccino over a protein shake and Bucky has a hunch that the two of them would choose the later in a heartbeat.

"Got my Boy Scout badge last week," Steve quips easily in return, darting a glance at Bucky. Sam looks at Bucky too, and his grin is almost blinding. Bucky doesn't know if it's his imagination or if the fire is reflecting off Wilson’s teeth or if he’s just really, really drunk.

"Grab a seat, Bucky. We don't bite," Barton says as he leans back in his chair, threading his hands behind his head. Whenever Bucky sees him at school, he's always wearing a totally random t-shirt, and Bucky has even seen him wear a plaid flannel with fucking camo jeans. Barton is one of those kinda guys, who just doesn’t give a fuck and god if Bucky could only have that choice too. What he wouldn’t give to be able to wake up and just roll out of bed to go to school, or really, anywhere. Tonight, however, Barton has on a purple t-shirt with a bird stretched across the chest.

Bucky glances towards Nat and sees the discreet nod that she gives him, as if she knew he needed the extra insistence. He has no doubt that she can read the mixture of emotions he has inside his head, knowing he’s very much out of his comfort zone and one second away from sprinting right back through that gate and across the yard until he gets to the comfort of his own house’s stone pillars and granite floors and crystal chandeliers. Bucky reluctantly moves to sit on the bench across from Barton and as he moves, so does Nat, shadowing behind him because she just knows .

Pulling his legs up, Bucky wraps his arms around them and attempts to smile at his classmates. Wilson, Barton, and Danvers are smiling at him like they’re in on some big secret that Bucky knows nothing about. Natasha is at his side and her eyes are on him, cause not easy to be fooled and Bucky can practically see the questions brewing inside that clever mind of hers.

Bucky makes sure he doesn’t meet her gaze, instead, choosing to keep his head forward.

Covertly - or probably not, since Bucky’s drunk - he watches Steve as the blond retreats to a docking station sitting on a cooler near the sliding glass doors. Steve leans over, allowing Bucky to openly stare at his ass. He has a really nice one that Bucky gets to see at every football game. It's one of the only reasons that Bucky actually goes to them, although obviously no one knows that. Looking at said ass reminds Bucky that the season will be starting again in the next few weeks. He’s sure that Steve will be starting again this year, which will make the games infinitely more bearable.

Steve takes an iPod out of his pocket and looks over his shoulder, seemingly unsurprised that Bucky is looking right at him. Steve waves it in the air. It looks a bit beat up; the porch light reflects off the back, highlighting the tiny scratches all over and looking nothing like the sleek spotless one Bucky has back at home. "I was just getting this from my car when I came across you,” Steve says.

"Oh." Sometimes Bucky really stuns himself with his brilliance.

It's quiet except for the pop of the fire. Bucky’s gaze slip from Steve crouched in front of the docking station to the flames twisting between Bucky and the rest of the group. He can hear Steve mumbling to himself as he fiddles with the music. When Bucky finally lifts his attention away from the fire, the light stinging his eyes and cheeks, he falls caves beneath the weight of Natasha’s stare and meets her head on.

"Hanging out at Phil’s tonight?" she asks. Although Nat has always had the ability to make a question sound more like a downright fact. 

"How'd you know?" Bucky doesn't know why he asked that. Where else would he have been stumbling home drunk from?

Barton points straight up in the air and Natasha glances sideways at him, the softest of smiles on her face. Nat always looks at Barton like that, like he can't believe he’s there. The look has always made Bucky realize just how empty his relationship in the past has been. "We can hear you guys. All the time.”

Bucky strains his ears and sure enough, he can hear the low thump of bass and intermittent laughter. It sounds farther away than it really is, like Bucky is in a different world rather than on a different block. He feels so far removed from Phil’s backyard, from Matt and Sharon and especially Brock. It's so weird being where he’s at instead, with this group instead of his own, but something about it is decidedly not weird. Almost right . It's calmer, intimate and comfortable in a way no Coulson party could ever be.

Then, true to his ever sufferable self, Brock decides to call his phone and the vibration of Bucky’s phone rings out through the air. The noise is almost too loud with how quiet everything here is so Bucky scrambles, pulling his phones out and blinking down at the screen as he shuts it the fuck up. He reads Brock’s name and frowns, barely concealing the urge to groan. Instead, he sets it off to the side of himself, pushing any thought of Brock away just the same.

“Wanna talk about it?” Nat quietly whispers, her voice low to keep the others from hearing.

Bucky is quick to throw out his answer. “No.”

And Nat, as much as Bucky loves her, she’s never taken no for an answer.

“Are you sure because--”

“I said no , Nat,” Bucky bites out with a bit more anger than he should. And when several pairs of eyes land on them, he realizes that perhaps he said it a bit too loudly as well. He wants to feel guilty and part of him does, but he isn’t used to talking about himself, let alone his own fucking emotions, and he’s uncomfortable and he just wants-- he just wants quiet right now.

Nat gives him a look that says their discussion is far from over but she resists for the moment, however short it may be. When he turns his attention back to the fire, the rest of the people there jump back into conversation as if his little outburst wasn’t a big deal. Bucky knows he probably looks like the biggest asshole right now; coming into their territory, ruining their peace and quiet, snapping at their friend. He also knows that if their places were reversed, and perhaps Steve had wandered into Phil’s yard, snapping at any of them, then Steve would have not so kindly been issued right the fuck out with more than one shove out the gate. It amazes Bucky how good these people are. So much so that it actually makes him want to cry.

He bites on the insides of his cheeks because there is no way in hell that he would shed a tear in front of these strangers, let alone Steve Rogers of all people.

Bucky’s gaze darts back to Steve, who's either solving world hunger or is just really really picky about his music. Bucky can only see Steve’s profile; his dark golden hair seeming to glow with the flames of the fire and the softest look of concentration on his face. Steve oddly looks like a boy and a man and Bucky feels that pull of attraction again, this time in his stomach. 

"Hey, any day, Rogers," Danvers calls out, mirroring Bucky’s thoughts. Well... some of them. Bucky doubts she's reciting poetry based on the angle of Steve’s jaw line. He can almost feel it against his fingertips, how rough and soft the skin would probably be, how warm his breath would feel on Bucky’s wrist. How warm Steve’s eyes would be on Bucky’s face, and then his mouth.

Bucky shifts in his seat and pulls his legs closer, mainly trying to get more warmth into his body. He’s letting his thoughts wander into dangerous territory when he realizes that it’s a specific person’s warmth that he’s craving.

Wilson snorts. "Yeah, you just press the arrow button, bud. Works like a charm every time."

"You shutting the up works like a charm every time, Wilson," Steve shoots back, but it's good-natured, as is the smile he throws over his shoulder at his friend. But when Steve’s eyes shift and meet Bucky’s, the corners of his mouth shift into something else.

Then, there’s soft music filling the air and it’s nothing at all like what Phil blasts over at his place. This stuff actually makes Bucky want to sway and enjoy the moment, not have a thumping migraine for hours on end. Bucky doesn’t get to focus on the tune for long because suddenly, Steve picks himself up and begins to walk towards the bench.

Steve moves in slow motion. The fire lights up his face, casting shadows and making his features even more chiseled, even more stronger. Then he sits, planting himself right next to Bucky, and the fire is cold compared to the rush of heat when Steve’s knee brushes against Bucky’s. Even more jolting, Steve doesn't move away.

Bucky stares at the square inch of skin where they're connected, the right corner of his kneecap against the left corner of his. When Bucky peeks at Steve, he’s looking at them, too.

Bucky has to look away because his heart is pounding and he feels dizzy and hot and like every part of his body has turned to slow-moving liquid. Like honey. Bucky focuses his attention on Danvers, staring at the blue stripe in her hair. It does little good though considering Bucky is aware of every shift Steve makes next to him and how he--

A strong vibration echoes again and Bucky flinches as the bench moves. He mumbles a curse beneath his breath and reaches down to grab his phone, seeing Brock’s name on his screen again . Bucky wordlessly huffs and declines the call once more, only this time making sure to put his phone on complete silence before he drops it down. When he darts a glance towards Steve, he sees the blond frowning down at the device, his jaw clenched.

There is something about the look on Steve’s face that makes Bucky’s heart pound because he thinks it’s important, then again, it could just be the alcohol playing mean jokes on him-- something a befuddled mind would do, especially his.

Nat’s arm shifts to wrap over his shoulders but as her palm lays against his back, she presses further into the clothing until she draws back, bringing her face in front of his. “Why are you wet?” she looks at him with bewilderment.

“That’s what she said!” Barton rushes out, a laugh not too far behind as he laughs at his own joke. Right then and there, Bucky realizes that him and Tony would probably get along really, really well.  

“Clint, you idiot, that’s what she literally just said,” Danvers laughs into Wilson’s shoulder, before tipping her head back and downing a gulp of whatever alcohol she has in her hand.

Nat, however, doesn’t pay either of them any mind, just keeps her concerned gaze on Bucky. “You’re going to get sick if your in wet clothes.”

“Like hypothermia,” Barton supplies. “That shit’s brutal.”

“How would you know? You’ve never had it?” Wilson throws out.

“I know a guy.”

“Oh, right ,” Wilson drags the word out, shaking his head and rolling his dark eyes.

Nat stands up and moves in front of him. She reaches down and pulls on his forearms, trying to get Bucky to his feet. Bucky knows damn well not to interfere with Nat’s wishes, so he let’s her pick him up like a rag doll.

“Take it off, Yasha.” Before she gives him a second to actually comply, Nat begins to tug the pullover over his head and as she does, the t-shirt underneath gets hiked up too. It gets tangled beneath his armpits but he can feel the cold breeze dance from the top of his ribs downward so he knows he’s standing there practically naked in front of these strangers.

The pullover is hiked up over his head and when Bucky straightens back up, he tugs his t-shirt back into place. He’s thankful as fuck that he’s never been body conscious but he isn’t exactly the raging hulk type either. Instead, he’s a delicate balance of muscle and skin that is enough to know he actually looks pretty damn good naked. Like, really really good, not that he’s one to brag.

When he glances towards Steve, the blond has his eyes trained on the floor but there’s a strong blush that covers his face and dips down beneath the collar of his shirt.

Bucky feels all of the air leave his lungs, his lips parting in surprise. Because Steve had been looking at him. And Steve had blushed! Bucky knows that it’s going to be one of his top ten moments in life, hands down. Bucky feels a surge of confidence and wants to just plop himself in Steve’s lap, wrap his arms around Steve’s neck and pull him so close--

“These are wet too.”

Bucky blinks and turns towards Nat, his own cheeks burning at his train of thought. Somehow, with his mind distracted, she had patted him down and her hands had settled on the back of his thighs, frowning up at him. If it were anyone else, Bucky would lose his shit. Their position is pretty compromising but they had been close for years and this was always their typical behavior, but to these people? Bucky wasn’t entirely sure if he was comfortable with them seeing him like this.

“Clint has some spare clothes here that you can change into,” she nods towards the back door of her house, already tugging on his arm. But Bucky stays firm, shaking his head as he feels slight panic creep up his spine.

“No, it’s fine. I’m good,” he shrugs out of her hold.

Nat frowns at him, “I don’t think--”

Bucky shakes his head again. This time, he takes a step away, trying to put as much space between them as he can. He can’t go inside and change. “Nat, my parents…”

There’s a look that crosses Nat’s face as her realization shutters into place. Nat knows better than anyone why he can’t exactly show up to his house in a stranger’s clothes. Not that arriving in different clothes would be strange but showing up in clothes that someone like Barton wears, would be a dead giveaway that had gotten them from somewhere that wasn’t at Phil’s party. Bucky knows that clothes are clothes, but his mom on the other hand? Yeah, she’d flip her shit if she saw him in a graphic tee and he is in no mood to deal with her fifty questions or acquisitions.

Nat nods her head. “Right. Of course.”

“I’m good, I promise,” Bucky repeats, reassuring her. He can see that she isn’t too pleased with the situation but she understands and that’s what important. He wonders how long it’s been since she’s been reminded of the social structures of their lives, and that even though she has long said goodbye to them, they still control a majority of Bucky’s life.

When he goes to sit back down on the bench, he’s more than aware that they’re looking at him again. This whole time he’s been so focused on the situation being weird for him, but fuck, they’re probably just as dumbfounded, probably even more so given that he’s never once exchanged words, let alone a look, with any of them. Apart from Nat. And Steve.

They’re probably waiting for him to book it so that they can all go back to their normal routine. He doesn’t blame them.

Wondering if he’s outstayed his welcome, Bucky turns his head to look towards the gate. It would be so easy to just get up and leave. It would be so easy to go home and forget about them and this night.

But.

That would mean leaving Steve. And Bucky doesn’t want to leave him, not yet. He wants to hold onto this one moment for as long as he can.

“I love this cover,” Danvers says from across the fire. She has a pleased smile on her face and she’s gently swaying to the beat. Or maybe it’s Bucky swaying to the alcohol and his vision is just mistaking her movements. Either way, watching her look so happy puts a smile on Bucky’s face and he can’t help but copy her, softly rocking side to side in his seat. He realizes his mistake a second too late, however, when his movement make his shoulder and arm graze Steve’s. It feels like electricity (Bucky would roll his eyes at how cliche that sounds but dear fuck that’s what it feels like and it scares the living hell out of him knowing that his body recognizes his feelings for what they are). 

Instead of pulling away, Bucky freezes against Steve, feeling his eyelids flutter at the warmth the blond gives off. He’s like a furnace and Bucky just wants to cuddle up to him and never ever let go. He almost does too when he shoots a look towards Steve and sees him grinning, a gesture so innocent but somehow still sets Bucky’s insides on fire.

When Bucky returns a impish smile of his, it actually feels right for once. 

The thing with high school gatherings though, is that when there are couples involved, it isn’t a big surprise when those couples suddenly pair up and turn in on themselves, somehow managing to ignore their surroundings and focus on each other. Wilson and Danvers are cozied up on one of the benches, taking turns pointing towards the sky. Nat and Barton are cuddled up as well, but Nat has her head on Barton’s chest and her eyes are closed as Barton gently combs through her hair.

Which now leaves Bucky clutching his knees close to his chest as he realizes that it’s just him and Steve. Strangely enough, he isn’t nervous. He’s more comfortable with Steve knowing the others aren’t watching his every move.

It’s like he can breathe.

“Do you want somethin’ to drink?” Steve asks. It’s probably just being polite on his behalf but really, Bucky can’t get over how good Steve is. How much of a gentleman he is, something that Brock has never once come close to being.

Bucky wants to groan at how his thoughts keep shuffling back to Brock but it’s really hard not to when his phone keeps lighting up every few minutes with an incoming call and that every romantic capability that Bucky has ever had or learned has come directly from Brock. So yeah, stepping into something new kinda makes it hard not to compare the two (although mainly it’s just highlighting how much better Steve is).

With Bucky’s nod, Steve pulls out a water bottle from the cooler that is within arm’s reach away from their bench. When he hands it over after twisting off the cap, their fingers brush and Bucky is almost a hundred percent positive that Steve initiated the contact.

The smile on Steve’s face practically radiates but when he pulls away, his features subdue and he suddenly looks apprehensive. Bucky’s heart all but drops.

“I wanted to ask-- and you can completely tell me to mind my own business if you want-- but… yesterday when Nat and I drove by your house you…” Steve takes a deep breath and brings his head up, locking gazes with Bucky. “Are you still with Rumlow? It’s just… you two didn’t look like you were on the best of terms last night and I just wanted to know if you were okay?”

Bucky can only stare. Here’s Steve Rogers asking him how he feels when Matt and Sharon had been more eager to toss Bucky onto someone else, not once asking if he was actually okay. It hurts that a stranger would be more concerned with his well being than his best friends. Although in this case, Bucky has a nagging feeling that his best friends are actually the strangers now and these strangers are quickly on their way to becoming his best friends.

If everyone were to see him right now, they’d think they’d’ve fallen into an alternate universe because people like Bucky Barnes didn’t hang out with Steve Rogers and Clint Barton and Carol Danvers and the rest of them. People would stare at them right now if they could. People would point and whisper. People would wonder why Bucky was breaking the rules.

And if they were here, Bucky would tell them all to fuck off.

Bucky licks his lips, blinking at Steve’s blue eyes that have so much care and concern reflected in the iris’. “I’m okay,” Bucky whispers. It’s the first time he says it to himself and it’s the first time that he actually agrees with it.

He’s okay. More than okay.

“And no, I’m not with Brock. Like, at all.” But then, as if a sign from the universe, Bucky suddenly remembers that he’s agreed to go see Brock in the morning and he cringes.

Steve notices. “You sure about that?”

Bucky snorts, nodding his head slowly. “Yeah, I’m sure about that. It’s just that I made the mistake of agreeing to meet him in the morning so that I could get away from him at Phil’s.”

"You agreed to see him again... so that you could get away from him?” Steve’s brows furrow in confusion. Bucky thinks he looks downright adorable like that. “That doesn't make sense." 

Bucky shrugs. “Brock and I don’t make sense.”

Steve smiles at that and gives him a sidelong glance. He’s fiddling with his fingers like he’s nervous but there’s no look on Steve’s face that would say he’s feeling like that, as if he wears a mask of courage and doesn’t want people to see the vulnerability that lies beneath. Bucky can relate to that. No one has ever seen him with his walls down, let alone cry. He saves his tears for the pillows, when his door is locked and there’s not a single soul around. Bucky has a feeling that Steve is the same.

“So agreeing to meet him is a mistake, huh?”

“Yeah. I mean, I said everything I needed to when I broke up with him last night.”

The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he can catch them and he looks over at Steve, his eyes widening. Steve is watching him with that shy boy smile of his, making Bucky’s heart feel like butterfly wings against his ribs, light and fast.

"I wondered what was up when Nat and I drove past your house last night. It hadn’t looked all that… friendly… with Rumlow glaring at you like that."

"Yeah," Bucky breathes out, pressing his palm against his forehead. His skin feels hot. "And I just went ahead and confirmed it. You're not supposed to know that."

Steve’s confused again. "Why not?"

Bucky hadn’t realized before, but they’re really close to one another, so close that he can see that Steve’s eyes are dark, his pupils making them inky like the sky above. Bucky can smell a hint of something on Steve’s breath, probably Dimitri’s top of the line imported vodka. It's always been Natasha’s favorite thing to pilfer and Dimitri has enough of a cache that he doesn't notice, or pretends not to. Nat never takes it out of this backyard so it’s not like her father has anything to worry about.

Bucky remembers drinking it once, how the vodka moved down his throat like liquid fire, like something real and substantial. Bucky had loved the way it burned.

His eyes drift back to Steve. He's waiting for an answer, still doing that half smile thing. He must have some magic, because whenever it's directed at Bucky, Bucky feel things in strange ways, things he’s never felt before with anyone. It tingles in the backs of Bucky’s knees, behind his eyelids and at the base of his spine.

"Brock told everyone that he broke up with me so I wouldn't look like an asshole." Bucky rolls his eyes and takes another sip of water, catching a stray drop with his tongue. Bucky looks at Steve and their eyes meet a half second later. Oh god , he thinks Steve was staring at his mouth.

"You're not an asshole," he states, like it's a fact. Like he knows this about Bucky.

Bucky frowns, shaking his head because he knows otherwise. "I'm pretty sure that's not what ninety percent of the school thinks,” he replies. Warm relief rushes through his veins at the confirmation that Steve’s not part of the ninety percent.

"Do you give a shit what ninety percent of the school thinks?" Steve shoots back, eyebrows raised.

Bucky opens his mouth to say hell no but it would be a lie. Or at least it would have been a lie a day ago. Now, he’s not so sure. He doesn’t care about people at school. But his parents? His sister? His friends? They’re the ones that make Bucky’s actions hault. 

Being the coward that he is, Bucky ignores the question, shrugging it off with feigned ease. "Seriously, though, that's not public knowledge. Don't tell anyone that I broke up with him, okay? I don't want to deal with it."

Steve keeps looking at him, an emotion on his face that Bucky can’t name. He partly thinks that Steve’s going to ask the question again but he’s surprised when Steve drops the subject. "Don’t worry, Buck,” he says with a soft whisper. “Your secret's safe.”

“Good. Otherwise I’d have to kill you,” Bucky jokes lightly. Steve laughs, the sound washing over Bucky like a caress and Bucky doesn’t bother to hide the fact that now, he’s downright ogling at Steve. Because Steve, like Bucky so eloquently declared earlier, was an angel . Everything about him was just so pure and right and Bucky wanted every part of him like he’s never wanted anything before.

It was overwhelming almost because now that Bucky had a glimpse of what things could be like between them, he wouldn’t dare pull away from it. He wanted to know Steve, wanted to touch Steve, wanted to have Steve do the same things to him in return. Who cared about people like Brock when there were people like Steve in the world?

“Wait,” Bucky put his hand on Steve’s forearm suddenly. Steve looks down at his hand, then up at him. “You have to tell me one of yours now.”

"One of my what?"

"Your secrets. It’s only fair since you know one of mine.”

Steve looks at him for a long moment. It's quiet. Bucky can hear the rest of the group murmuring to each other but he knows that they’re watching him and Steve. Bucky just doesn’t care right now. He’s in his own little world where it’s only Steve and Bucky.

"I'm glad you broke up with Brock," he says finally, and then glances towards the rest of his friends like he didn't just change things. And because Bucky doesn't know him well enough to push it, he lets it slide instead, like the absolute moron that he is.

Bucky looks forward too, catching eyes with Nat even though his thoughts are so fucking far from this little social gathering they’re having.

"How are you feeling, Yasha?" Nat leans back in her chair, her head still resting against Barton’s chest. "You can crash here if you need to, you know? I know Mama and Papa would be happy to see you."

The thought is nice. Staying there would mean he wouldn’t have to go home to that empty, silent house of his but he isn’t up for a sleepover with her friends just yet. So he shakes his head, "I'm good. I'll probably head out of here in about fifteen." He’s not dizzy anymore. In fact, Buck’s almost positive he can lie on his back without getting the bed spins. Bucky might get them thinking about what's happened there in Nat’s yard, but not from the alcohol.

I'm glad you broke up with Brock.

It replays in Bucky’s mind, a mantra. He plucks up his phone off of the bench, intent on putting the meeting with Brock tomorrow to an end.

"Hey, what are you doing there?" Steve asks as Bucky squints down at the screen. Holy fuck he has over twenty missed calls-- all but two of them from Brock. There’s also a shit ton of messages too, over fifty (fifty! But that’s Matt and Sharon for ya. And Brock as well since he’s resolved on being as insufferable as possible.)

Bucky dismisses all notifications with a swipe of his finger, letting them all go ignored. "I'm going to call Brock and cancel,” he answers. “I don't want to go to The Patio with him. I hate that place."

"Call him? Do you think that's the best idea?"

Eh, maybe Bucky’s not sobering up as much as he thought, or maybe he's not as drunk. Doesn’t matter, since Steve is making much more sense than he is.

"No?" Bucky says, not entirely convinced.

"Hand me the phone, Barnes."

Steve’s sitting there, beckoning for Bucky’s phone with an open palm and quick flicks of his fingers. Bucky gives him the "you're crazy" look, because this is his phone they're talking about and it's an extension of him. Steve may be cute and all and does funny things to Bucky’s insides but seriously, this is his phone .

Steve tries again, this time adding a little puppy-dog face while pointing to the phone. "Come on. Friends don't let friends drunk dial."

Bucky pretends to acquiesce, slowly handing over his phone until it's close to Steve’s hand and then he pulls it back, holding it as far from Steve as he can. The grin Bucky gets from that little maneuver encourages him to repeat it once more before Steve finally reaches across Bucky, pressing his hand on Bucky’s leg while muttering, "Gimme that."

For a moment Steve’s face is close to Bucky and all he can see is light.

Steve snatches the phone away and places it on top of the cooler. But honestly, Bucky doesn’t care. His mind is focused on Steve’s eyes, stuck on Steve’s words. It seems to do that a lot. He’ll probably constantly be thinking about all the things Steve’s said tonight. Bucky can only wonder if they'll talk at school on Monday or if this is a one-time deal.

Bucky really hopes not, but he doesn’t see how they could just slide into some easy breezy buddy-buddy friendship. Even with Nat as a common factor, it would seem sudden and random. It breaks Bucky’s fucking heart to realize that.

"See, that wasn't so hard, was it?" Steve asks.

Wilson snickers in the background, muttering about hard things, and Carol does the shhhh , baby thing.

Even still, Bucky can't help but ask. "So, we're friends?"

Steve’s expression is indiscernible as he appraises Bucky. The other four have gotten quiet, waiting for answer. He pushes forward a grin and Bucky can tell Steve's thinking something different than what he says. "Hell yeah, we're friends. I practically braided your hair when I took the grass out."

Bucky’s question is answered yet still, so many new questions emerge. He holds his tongue though.

The conversation picks up again and continues around Bucky. He’s comfortable, chiming in here and there, but mostly he just listens, which they seem content to let him do. It's such a different atmosphere from Matt and Sharon, who pretty much constantly demand his full attention and participation during conversations. Sometimes being around them is exhausting. Bucky doesn't feel that now at all.

His and Steve’s legs are touching again and Bucky is more than hyper-aware of that fact. He keeps glancing down, wondering what it would be like to have more of them touching. It's definitely not the first time that Bucky has wondered about it. Subtly, Bucky looks at the watch on his arm, trying to make out the numbers without having to ask him. After what might be the fiftieth time, Steve realizes what Bucky’s doing and glances at his watch.

"It's almost one-thirty." Bucky nods as Steve angles his watch towards him and sure enough, it’s that late. "You could have just asked, Bucky. You can ask me anything."

"Oh, it's that easy?" Bucky asks, his brows high on his forehead as he leans back to look Steve up and down.

Steve grins and stands, holding out his hand. Bucky is starting to recognize all of his different smiles. This one, coupled with his outstretched hand, reads like an invitation. Or maybe a promise. "It can be." 

Nothing in Bucky’s life has ever been said as straight forward. Hearing it only makes a slow, steady grin play at his lips when he takes Steve’s hand and lets the blond pull him up. They’re close again, the toes of Bucky’s sneaks touching the toes of Steve’s shoes, blue beat-up Vans that are close to coming apart at the seams in one place. They’re huge. Everything about Steve is-- the sheer height of him, the broad span of his shoulders, that smile and his hand over Bucky’s, the feelings that Steve stirs up inside of him. Steve could engulf Bucky without even trying, completely surrounding and consuming him.

What would that feel like? Whatever the feeling, Bucky doesn't think he'd mind it one bit, not if Steve was the cause.

"I'll remember that," Bucky says, one side of his mouth pulling up. Steve mimics him, the light of the fire dancing in his blue eyes.

God, this is so obvious, isn't it? Him and Steve? Bucky can't look away. He wonders why everyone isn't up their asses, or at least Steve’s. If Bucky were acting this way in front of Matt or Sharon, they'd have him trapped in a bathroom somewhere in less than five seconds, wanting to dissect the angle of Steve’s head tilt or the way Steve didn't let go of his hand for an additional 6.2 seconds.

Actually, they'd probably be wondering what the hell he's doing with Steve Rogers, looking at Steve the way Bucky knows he’s looking at the blond when he’s supposed to still be mourning his break-up with Brock.

"Hey, Nat," Steve calls over his shoulder. His eyes are locked on him.

“Oh, you remembered we’re here?” Nat snorts.

Steve turns fully, his back to Bucky. The nape of his neck is flushed pink. "Want to walk Buck home with me?"

Bucky stares at Steve’s back, at the way his muscles move underneath his t-shirt when he stuffs his hands in his pockets. Does Steve not want to walk alone with him? Is that a good or bad thing? Would Bucky have wanted him to walk me home alone? Uhhhh yes .

It's safer this way, Bucky guesses. God knows what he’d do with the darkness on his side. Bucky already feels braver than he ever has with him. Maybe it's good to have a chaperone.

"Sure thing." Nat stands and stretches, smacking Barton’s hand away playfully when he grabs onto the belt loop of her jeans. Barton pretends to glare both at Nat then towards Steve.

"Why are you stealing my woman, Rogers?"

"'Cause it's that easy, Barton." Steve glances back at him over his shoulder with a smile. "And she’s the only one here who isn't drunk. I don't trust myself to get back here on my own."

"Are you that drunk, Steve?" Danvers speaks up. She's curled up like a cat on Wilson’s lap with her eyes closed.

Steve shrugs and Wilson squints over at him. "It's impossible to tell with him," Wilson says.

Nat snorts, "Yeah, until we're fishing him out of the Maximoff’s koi pond next door."

"Seriously, that happened once," Steve replies and his cheeks are pink now, too. He's grinning back at Bucky, though, and shrugging again.

Apparently staying in Nat’s backyard doesn't stop them from engaging in shenanigans. Bucky wonders if they’ve ever ventured near his house in the process but if that were the case, the spotless grass of the front yard would have told him so. His mom would have had an aneurism if she had seen footprints in their lawn and would have definitely questioned everyone about it, Bucky more than anyone else.

"You ready to go?" Steve asks.

Bucky doesn’t really want to, but it's late and Bucky’s pushing it, so he nods and watches as Steve slides his arms into his hoodie. If Bucky isn’t a ninja sneaking back in his house, his parents are going to kill him. They trust him to obey curfew (one if he’s staying in the neighborhood, midnight anywhere else), so they never wait up for him.

Bucky’s not exactly sure how to say goodbye to the remainder of the group so he raises his hand, much in the same way he said hello just an hour before, although it's much less awkward this time. So much has changed from then to now. It's kind of amazing that such a short amount of time has made such an impact.

Danvers stands and wraps her arms around Bucky in a bear hug. "See you at school on Monday, Bucky," she whispers in his ear, giving him a tight squeeze.

Wilson stays put, raising his hand over his head. "Later, Barnes."

Flanked by Nat and Steve, they make their way back to the front of Nat’s house, heading in the direction of Bucky’s. It's not far but Bucky is dragging his feet, not wanting the night to end, but knowing that it has to. Something has changed there in the backyard of Nat’s house and while Bucky doesn't know exactly what it is or what it will mean, he doesn't want to lose it in the light of the morning.

Bucky shivers, cold now that they aren’t close to the fire, and he wraps his bare arms around his body. It’s just dawned on him that he’s left his pullover on the bench. Bucky should probably turn around and go get it but before he so much as breaks his steps, he sees Nat giving Steve a pointed look behind Bucky’s head.

"Oh!" Steve shrugs out of the hoodie and drapes it across Bucky’s shoulders. "Shit, sorry, here. You're cold."

Bucky thinks about arguing for a moment, just because it will give him something more to say but instead Bucky mutters a "thank you," as he slides his arms through the sleeves. They're long, too long for Bucky, but perfect just the same.

There's a beat of silence and then Nat speaks up. Her hands are burrowed into the front of Barton’s hoodie and she has the hood on, from when he pulled it up. "So Clint’s birthday is coming up next weekend. Steve and Sam have their first game on Friday night so we're going to meet back at the house after the game. Hang out and celebrate. If you aren’t busy, you should drop by." Her hands move in her pockets, like she'd be waving them around if they were in the air. "You know you're more than welcome to join us."

Bucky knows she’s giving him an opportunity to return to the feeling this night have given him; knows that she probably sees right through that grin on his face as he grins and nods. "Yeah. Yes. Definitely. That would be... that would be really nice." Bucky sneaks a glance at Steve. The blond is wearing a matching goofy smile.

"Will you be at the game?" Steve asks, kicking at a small tuft of grass growing up through the sidewalk.

"Yes. Usually I go to Phil’s after the games, so I might have to make an appearance there for a little bit... “ Then Bucky remembers exactly what next week is and he wants to groan, maybe even bang his head on the nearest tree. “Crap. It's Phil’s birthday thingy that night too-"

Nat nods like she remembers too. She’s never gotten along with Phil like she had with him, but she probably has his birthday etched in her memory just because it was something they always celebrated year after year until Barton came into the picture. "Yeah,” she breathes out with a slight huff. “You don’t have to come by if you can’t make it." Steve frowns at her, shaking his head.

Bucky shakes his head. "No Nat, I want to." It feels good to say, because it's true. For the first time in a while, Bucky will be doing what he wants to, and not just what's expected of him. "I'll spend an hour or so there and then I can walk over to the house. Thanks for including for me."

And that's that. He suddenly has something to look forward to for the rest of the week.

Without thinking, Bucky slides his hands into the pockets of Steve’s hoodie, only to find his cell phone. "Oh! I need my phone back. Or... I can just hold yours as collateral." Bucky waves it in the air teasingly.

"That's fine," Steve says with a snort. He pulls Bucky’s phone out of his pocket and tosses it casually from one hand to the other. "There’s nothing exciting in there and I have a strong feeling that yours is pretty much the opposite. I need some new reading material anyway."

"What, Penthouse isn’t going to cut it for you tonight?" The words are out of Bucky’s mouth before he can stop them, the sarcastic, dry type of teasing that he’s used to with the boys that Bucky is used to. It's quiet for a second and then Nat is laughing, a husky sound that drifts up to the tops of the trees surrounding them. Bucky sees her clutch Steve’s arm in his peripheral, holding herself up.

When Buck can finally make eye contact with Steve, the blond is looking between him and his phone with a smirk, his blue eyes twinkling. If there's anything that Bucky has learned about him in the years that he’s barely known Steve, and especially in the past hour, it's that sarcasm only fuels Steve’s fire. Perhaps Steve thinks he's found a willing partner in Bucky.

Steve’s not wrong, even though Bucky’s face is a little hot. Steve has this way of making Bucky feel too comfortable, like Bucky can say or do anything without thinking. It's dangerous and exhilarating, a loss of control that Bucky thinks he likes quite a lot to be honest. He’s not used to that, not being in control all the time. Maybe the alcohol has made him more malleable, more willing to bend the rules that he set out for himself so long ago.

" Is there Penthouse-worthy stuff in here?" Steve asks as he lights up the screen. "What exactly are you, Murdock, and Carter texting at night?"

Steve’s mention of Bucky’s best friends, who are still at Phil’s and probably giggling and wasted, brings Bucky back down to earth a bit. He’s been orbiting in another universe, but Steve’s remark makes Bucky remember his lot in life. At the end of the day (or night in this case), Bucky is still Bucky Barnes, even if he’s different with Nat’s group and especially with Steve.

"Oh, just give it to me," Bucky huffs, snatching the phone back. Steve laughs again, this delighted little giggle, and Bucky rolls his eyes at Nat. She just shakes her head, a soft grin on her face as she looks between him and Steve, her eyes sharp with a calculating gaze that Bucky recognizes all too well.

Suddenly, his fingers are wrapped around Bucky’s hand. Bucky glances down at their fingers, tangled together, watching without breathing as Steve gently pries his phone out of Bucky’s grasp. Bucky’s pinkie finger catches his when he pulls away and Bucky curls it around his knuckle, squeezing lightly before letting go.

Steve looks down at him, sideways with his chin kind of brushing his shoulder, and the way his eyes linger on Bucky even as they keep walking makes all of Bucky’s fingers curl into his palm.

“Sharon Carter isn’t exactly the shy type,” Nat says with a laugh. “And Matt Murdock is too in love with himself to give anyone else a compliment.”

Bucky doesn’t open his mouth to defend his friends. He also doesn’t open his mouth to tell Nat that she’s wrong with her judgements, and that maybe since she left them so long ago, it doesn’t give her the right to pretend she still knows how they all operate with each other. Because Nat doesn’t really know them now; doesn’t know that Sharon is so head over heels with Phil that she hasn’t even looked in another guy’s direction for the past four years, or that Matt is more likely to throw a compliment as long as he actually likes what he sees (because he’s not the fake kind who tells someone one thing then turns around and mocks them behind their backs). Bucky wants to say it though, feels like he should, but he’s suddenly so tired of having to pick sides. He can just be the middleman for tonight and not say a damn thing, just focus on getting home and sleeping this all off. 

His house looms in front of them, every window on all three floors completely dark. Bucky can hear the silence from out there where they walk. He’ll have to remember not to breathe when he goes up the stairs, past his parents' bedroom. Bucky doesn’t think that'll be a problem considering Steve seems to have taken it all anyway.

Nat and Steve stop at the end of the driveway, like they can’t go any further, or simply don't want to. Steve’s gaze slips over Bucky’s shoulder, taking everything in - the vastness of the mansion behind him; Bucky’s G-Wagon sitting in the driveway because his parents' collection of cars takes up all four spots in the garage; the manicured lawn, pristine with every blade cut just so.

Bucky wouldn't want to go any further either.

"Thanks for walking me home," Bucky says, his voice barely above a whisper. There's a cacophony of crickets, probably chilling in his mom's rose bushes that line the driveway, but other than that there's not a sound.

"Well, someone's gotta take care of your drunk ass, Barnes," Steve replies, his hands going back to his pockets.

Nat pulls her phone out of her pocket and quickly holds it to her ear. "Clint’s calling. I'm going to go stand over, uh, there," she says, waving her arm vaguely behind her. As she turns, Bucky can see the blackness of her screen, seeing that there is no phone call to be answered. Clever girl.

Steve watches her walk away quickly, then turns back to Bucky sheepishly. "Clint’s the clingy type."

"Uh huh," he says in return.

Steve coughs, scratches at his neck and then glances sideways at Bucky. "So, you're going to hang with us on Friday, then?" Steve can go from a smirky, sexy man to this aw shucks boy in approximately two seconds flat. For some reason, the boy in him gives Bucky courage.

"Is that okay with you?"

Steve grins, flirty and still kind of shy, and the combination sends tingles all the way up Bucky’s legs, on the insides - ankles, knees, thighs. "What would you say if I said I wasn't?"

Bucky sinks his teeth into his bottom lip as he regards Steve for several seconds, quietly letting his gaze trail Steve from head to toe. "I'd say you're a liar."

The blond laughs loudly, but then quickly smothers it his hand, his blue eyes darting across the windows on the front of the house. Bucky’s parents sleep like the dead; he’s more concerned about FeFe hearing them down there and waking them up with her ear-shattering monster bark.

"Okay, well..." And then Bucky does the stupidest thing he thinks he’s ever done in his life, putting Sun-In in his hair notwithstanding: Bucky holds out his hand. He holds out his hand for Steve to shake. He’d very much appreciate it if the ground could open up and swallow him away, maybe spit him out somewhere in the Atlantic.

Oh god. Well, it’s not like he can take it back, so he wiggles his fingers impatiently. Steve stares down at it, this little weird grin on his face. Bucky’s never seen this particular version. He doesn't know what to call it.

Steve slips his hand into Bucky’s so that they’re palm to palm. Steve’s fingers are so long that they sweep over the inside of Bucky’s wrist - he’s never realized how sensitive that skin was until just now - before wrapping around Bucky’s hand and pulling him a little closer. Steve’s eyes are dark, almost serious, and Bucky swallows.

"See you Monday," Bucky murmurs. He’s never heard his voice like this, low and a quite deep.

One corner of Steve’s mouth goes up and then he releases Bucky, both in hold and gaze. "Yeah, see you." It implies something Bucky can't quite figure out.

Steve heads toward Nat, looking back over his shoulder twice as he does. Bucky waves as he starts to back up the driveway, not turning until they do. Nat punches his bicep and her voice carries in the still night air, although Bucky can't make out what she says. Whatever it is makes Steve laugh and sling his arm around her shoulders.

Bucky makes it up to his bedroom, tiptoeing past his parents' room where his dad's snores rattle the walls. He slips into pajamas, washes his face and brushes his teeth, and then stares at himself in the mirror. He doesn't look different, but something's shifted in him tonight. Bucky only wishes he could see it in addition to feeling it.

He doesn't know what it means or what will happen on Monday. He doesn't know if him and Steve will talk, and if they do, Bucky doesn't know what his friends will say. He knows he’s still everyone’s Bucky Barnes, but he’s starting to feel like someone else, too, more like the guy who loves taking pictures when no one's looking, who could spend hours in the darkroom at school, watching faces and places and moments come to life again, one second caught forever. Tonight with Steve, it didn't feel like he was playing a role.

What Bucky does know is that, when he climbs into bed with Steve’s hoodie on, he can smell him.

It's spicy and earthy, clean - the grass Steve picked from Bucky’s hair, the fire and smoke they sat near tonight - and also things Bucky hasn't discovered yet. Laundry, soap, a hint of cologne. Bucky falls asleep with his nose buried in it, drifting happily off into blackness.

Chapter Text

It's funny; usually Bucky’s complaining that the weekend goes too fast. Hell, everyone does that, right? Everyone works their way through the week, living for the final bell to ring at three in the afternoon. However, this weekend is different. Bucky can't wait for it to be over. He actually wants to go to school. His body buzzes with nervous energy, unsure of what exactly to expect. Even if outwardly it doesn't seem like things are changing, inside Bucky knows that they are.

Bucky gets to school early Monday morning. Usually whenever he drives in with Sharon and Matt, he makes it there seconds before homeroom starts, skirting in as the door's closing. Not today though. Today he’s flying solo because he has a mission. A note is in his hand, palmed where no one can see. It's his little secret, holding two words: thank you . Bucky figure it's enough to get the message across, one that Steve will know is from him. Walking down the same hall is so different than it was Friday afternoon. Bucky is barely aware of anyone moving around him. His sole purpose is to make it to locker 137 and push this note through the metal slats without running into any of his regular crew.

Saturday morning Bucky had called Brock. The king of the text message was a little thrown considering that as long as they’d been together, they were never really a phone type of couple. Not like Bucky’s friends, anyway. But Bucky had called and as gently as he could, explained that he didn't want to meet. Not for breakfast, not for anything . Brock had sounded groggy, probably still hungover, but it didn’t take away from his ability when Brock growled through the phone demanding to know why. Bucky had been quick to hang up then, not wanting to waste his time or energy on explaining their situation once again and he refused to deal with Brock when he was in that particular mind frame.

That Saturday afternoon, Bucky had gone over to the Lion’s Club to volunteer for bingo, making small talk with Peggy and Mrs. McCarthy and the other regulars that he’s gotten to know since he’d started volunteering there. His mom had been an active member for as long as he could remember, serving as the chair of philanthropy and fundraising, and while it had always been expected that Bucky would put in time when he was old enough, he had managed to find his own place there. He doubted his mom imagined that her son would call out bingo numbers of all things, much less enjoy it, but it was something Bucky looked forward to every weekend knowing that they needed him.

Bucky spent most of his time there on Saturday distracted, though. He was thinking about Steve, about Friday night as a whole. He mentally tried to gather all of the information he knew about Steve, but it wasn't enough. Bucky wants to know more. So when he got home, he went immediately to one of the shelves in his bedroom to find his yearbooks. He pulled out every one he had from sixth grade on. Bucky cringed at some of the photographs chosen, not just because of what some of them were wearing (honestly, what were they wearing?), but from a photography aspect, too. Some were fantastic, but most were mediocre at best. Then again, he’s no professional to be offering his judgement.

Wearing Steve's hoodie and surrounded by class pictures, autograph books, and yearbooks, Bucky settled onto the floor of his bedroom.

And he stalked the past.

Bucky skipped the lower grades, the class pictures and the autograph books that they used early on in life, before yearbooks came into play. Prior to the rezoning, Steve and him hadn’t been in the same school anyway. So he started from the oldest, thumbing through the pages until he landed on the one that held Steve’s face. It was then that Bucky realized that Steve had actually signed by his picture, probably when the class passed their yearbooks around during the final days of school. Bucky hadn't asked Steve to since they didn't really talk, but things were different then. Middle school had been more all-inclusive than high school.

It was a short message, ‘ Killer spike’ , and his name, the St and the Rog strong, with the rest of the letters scribbled. Bucky smiles now, thinking about how he nearly took Nat’s head off with the volleyball during gym class when she was probably staring at Barton. Selfishly, Bucky wished there was more to the message, more of an indication of what made seventh grade Steve tick. However, Bucky was a little surprised that Steve had remembered Bucky’s volleyball skills from the beginning of the year enough to write anything at all.

Maybe it was because Bucky had nearly decapitated Steve’s friend? Or maybe…

Maybe .

Bucky wondered if he had signed Steve’s yearbook. What had he written? Did he just sign his name next to his own picture or had he actually taken the time to write a sentence or two?

Bucky knew Steve’s picture wouldn't be in the next yearbook, but he still searched for his face and name among the other eighth graders, his fingers trailing over the other R last names. There was no space between Reed Richards and Brock Rumlow, but Bucky still noticed the gap.

Steve Rogers had disappeared in eighth grade.

Or at least it seemed like he did. They had all came back from summer vacation, tan and bored in only the way that kids without any responsibilities can be. They were still bitching about homework and school, though. It seems laughable now, given how insane Bucky’s schedule got once he hit high school.

But Steve Rogers didn't come back. Bucky remembers the empty seat next to Nat at lunch that first day and the rest of the week. A week turned into a month and then the entire school year passed without Steve Rogers and his beautiful face and welcoming smile. Bucky heard through the middle school grapevine that Steve gone to live with a relative in Brooklyn, New York, but Bucky hadn’t know why. Nat didn't given him a reason the one time he asked when passing Nat’s front yard on my way to Matt’s house. Bucky had said it so casually - "so, where'd Steve go?" - but he remembers even now how all the blood rushed to his head and his heart. Nat had just shrugged, equally casual as she dribbled a soccer ball across the grass. Bucky knew she knew exactly where Steve had gone and why, but apparently it hadn't been her story to tell.

Bucky had respected that and had never asked again. 

When Steve did show up again, it was three weeks into their freshman year at Shield High School and a month into Bucky’s relationship with Brock. He and Brock had spent all summer together, and not just together with their friends, like it always had been. They were together together, just the two of them. Brock was handsome and their parents had always been good friends, so they didn't put up too much of a fuss when the two of them wanted to go to the mall or a movie. Brock had acted so cool at first, like he didn't care, but the tips of his ears always went red when he talked to Bucky or looked in Bucky’s direction. And when Brock held his hand as they walked down the hallways at their new school, it was like it was supposed to be.

But then Bucky had seen Steve walking down the hall with Nat, laughing like he hadn't been gone for the past year, taller and thicker and god , so beautiful and Bucky’s heart pounded like it never had with Brock, not even when he kissed Bucky for the first time. When Steve passed by them, his blue eyes flicked down to Brock’s fingers threaded through his before moving up to Bucky’s face. And then Steve had looked past him. Even at fourteen, still so new to relationships and boys, Bucky felt like he had lost something important.

Bucky’s loss was every other freshman girl's gain, though. Bucky wasn't the only one who noticed how much Steve grown while he was gone. Bucky kept secret tabs on girls he dated over the years, the ones that he took to dances, who wrote his jersey number on their cheeks and wooed for him at football games. Steve had never dated another guy though. But he wore his bisexuality practically on his sleeve and never shied away from letting everyone else know either, which was how Bucky learned. Although really, Bucky had known from the very beginning; he hadn’t needed to hear from others, he just knew.

Bucky shakes his head, pulling out of the memory to focus on the task at hand. He didn't sign his name to the note but he just hopes Steve will know, because somehow, in their all too brief interactions with each other, Steve seemed to get it. He seemed to get Bucky.

Glancing around the corridor, there are a good number of people around. Neither Bucky’s regular crew nor Steve’s are in the immediate area though, so Bucky slides the note into the locker. Bucky hears it land on the books inside, which is all the reassurance he needs before walking the few feet to his own locker.

Back to where he belongs.

Back to where he’s expected to be.

And not a moment too soon.

Bucky hears them before he sees them, their voices carrying around the corner. Bucky busies myself, turning the last digit of the combo to his locker and flinging the door open to make it look like he’d been there for a few minutes.

"Bucky-Bear! Where the hell were you hiding all weekend?" Sharon demands, and they’re right back where they started, except now she's wearing her cheerleading uniform.

Matt leans against the locker next to Bucky’s. Bucky’s camera dangles in his fingers from the strap. "I believe this belongs to you, honey."

"Thanks for keeping it safe, Matt. Sorry I was MIA. Homework and family stuff. You know."

They both accept Bucky’s excuse at face value, not bothering to ask more questions. Their acceptance makes Bucky feel like a grade A asshole. These are his best friends; why doesn’t he just tell them what happened?

Bucky just... doesn't.

Sharon checks out his outfit before threading a blue ribbon through his hair. "I'm surprised you aren't all decked out in your blue and white for the pep rally. Where's your school spirit?"

Truth be told, Bucky had been so wrapped up in back stalking and dreaming of Steve’s words while sleeping in his hoodie (he’s pathetic, he’s fully cognizant of this fact), that he’d forgotten about the pep rally altogether until he walked into the school. Not to mention that when he scrolled through his phone to maybe call Nat on Saturday to possibly hear Steve in the background, Bucky found that Steve had taken the liberty to add his own number to his phone sometime the night before.

Right there, nestled between Sharon’s and Tony’s contacts… Steve .

Bucky had smiled when he saw it and kept going back to it, looking at the ten digits and memorizing the number. That's not to say Bucky called him. He could have. And he wanted to. God , he wanted to. But everything that Bucky thought of sounded stupid - practiced and rehearsed and just plain stupid. So rather than sounding stupid, Bucky wrote him a note. When weighing the options of stupidity, this seemed like the least stupid way to go.

Of course, this is before Bucky feels him, Steve’s eyes boring into his as he walks down the hall, exuding the quiet confidence that Bucky doesn't possess. Steve’s headed towards the very locker and holding the (now stupid) note that Bucky dropped in there. Bucky gives a low groan, wondering if he can fit inside his own locker. Just climb in there and shut the door, hide out for the rest of the day. Now that Bucky sees him, he doesn't know exactly what to do with himself and that simple thank you he wrote sounds...

Fucking dumb.

Sharon is talking to him about something - what to have for lunch or how she heard the teachers are voting for Homecoming court this week (the teachers chose the Homecoming court based on student leaders and who they deem worthy, as opposed to Prom, which is all based on popularity), which means court will be announced next week. For all Bucky knows, she's telling him how to solve the country's economic crisis. It's all white noise. All of his energy is focused on Steve, while acting like none of his energy is focused on Steve. The blond is opening his locker now, pulling the door toward him. It's only a matter of time until he sees that folded-up piece of paper.

Bucky’s cheeks are hot and he ducks his head, pretending to dig around for his Calc book so Sharon and Matt can’t see. If they do, they'll know something's up.

This is Bucky’s secret still. He wants to keep Steve close. Maybe it's also that he doesn't know what else to do, what he wants for the both of them.

"...Your boobs are way too big for strapless, Carter. Did you seriously learn nothing from Prom last year?" Matt is saying. Sharon’s fingernails tap against the locker next to Bucky’s, an unconscious habit. She always does it while she's waiting.

Sharon just rolls her eyes. "Whatever, like nips slips are so rare in this day and age."

Bucky’s attention slides back to Steve. He watches him through gaps between the bodies separating the two of them. Steve’s wearing his football jersey with jeans and white sneakers as scuffed as the linoleum beneath them. Bucky can see the ever-present baseball hat sticking out of the back pocket of his pants, the muscles in his forearm move as he - shit shit shit , he's unfolding Bucky’s note. Bucky wants to run away and get closer at the same time. He can't look away. It takes Steve half a second to read it and Bucky’s heart starts pounding when the corner of Steve’s mouth pulls up.

And then they do that thing where two people are staring at someone, thinking they’re being sly, that the person will never look their way. But suddenly Steve’s eyes dart to him and Bucky is caught in Steve’s gaze for a split second, tethered by that crazy electricity that tethers them together. It moves through Bucky even after he looks away, which is immediately, and he has to bite his lip to keep from making some sort of noise.

What is Steve thinking? That it's dumb? It's dumb, of course it is. It's a note that just says thank you . What does that mean, thank you? Bucky’s not even sure they're the words he wanted to say, although he can't really think of what else he could have said, not now.

Not yet.

"Bucky!" Matt practically bellows into his ear.

"What?" Bucky whirls around, his heart dropping and then rebounding at lightning speed. He’s startled and annoyed at being interrupted in his gawking, so Bucky comes off bitchier than is intended. Matt and Sharon exchange a look, then turn back to him, eyebrows in their hairline. "What is it?" Bucky repeats, calm and placid, clearing his throat primly.

Matt gives him a dry smile. "There's this thing called homeroom we're supposed to go to. Not sure if you're familiar with the practice."

Bucky turns to Sharon. "Aw, Mattie’s trying out sarcasm."

"It's precious," Sharon clucks, reaching out to pinch Matt’s cheek. Matt smacks Sharon’s hand away, rolling his eyes.

"Well, I'm going," Matt says, walking backwards. People make a path for him, which is a good thing considering he isn't watching where he's going at all. "You two slackers have fun. See you in English."

"He calls us slackers yet doesn't have an AP class anywhere on his schedule," Bucky muses as Matt strolls away. Elektra finds him halfway down the hall and snakes an arm around his waist, pulling him around the corner. Bucky can hear Matt’s laughter even over the dozens of voices.

Sharon turns to Bucky, her expression serious as she tucks back the ribbon that's wrapped through his hair. "You okay? You seem a little... I don't know. You seem a bit out of it. Is it because of that douchebag, Brock?"

It seems like cheating to not only rely on the Brock excuse but to also let him take the fall and be referred to as a douchebag, as Sharon so delicately put it. His out-of-it-ness has absolutely nothing to do with Brock. Bucky briefly thinks about confiding in Sharon, pulling her to the side (somewhere that doesn't include Steve standing five feet from them) and telling her exactly what happened. But god, how would that go over? Bucky’s prediction: not so well. Sharon doesn't exactly fall on the understanding side when it comes to high school politics, even if she is a bit gentler than Matt.

"Um, Bucky?" A quiet voice interrupts them. Sharon looks annoyed, but Bucky’s grateful for the intrusion. Bucky turns to see Peter Parking hovering nearby, seeming almost nervous to come closer. Even though they’re in a few classes together, Bucky doesn't know him very well. He’s always been quiet, has kept to himself more times than not.

Then again, so has Bucky with people he doesn't know. People in glass houses...

"Oh, hey Peter." Bucky smiles warmly, trying to make him feel comfortable.

"Do you have a minute? I have a question." Sharon raises her eyebrows at Bucky, obviously wondering what Peter Parker could possibly have to ask him. Really, it's sort of bitchy. "It's about the school paper," Peter clarifies. Bucky knows he's caught Sharon’s look and feels the need to clarify that it's ‘business’ related, although it's not necessarily Bucky’s business. He’s never really had much to do with the school paper other than answer random student polls or give quotes about the honor society.

"I'm gonna go, B.B." Sharon hitches a thumb in the direction of her homeroom. "Have fun," she tacks on with a long drawl of her words, as though he’ll be having anything but.

"Later," Bucky says, quick and dismissive, hoping to convey how annoyed he is with the attitude she's putting out. He turns his attention back to Peter, who's standing there silently. Bucky can still see Steve over Peter’s shoulder, the blond sort of half-frowning as he watches. What does that even mean? "What's up, Peter?"

The skinny kid launches into his spiel and Bucky can tell by the way Peter’s talking that he's rehearsed this more than a hundred times. "Well, I-I was talking t-to Carol on the way in to school today." He pauses and looks concerned for a second. "You know Carol, right? Carol Danvers?"

"I know who Carol is, Peter," Bucky says with a quiet smile, hoping that it puts Peter at ease.

"Right, well, I was t-talking to her and  mentioned that Eddie, who usually t-takes pictures during the pep rallies, is sick today. And normally, I-I would cover for him but I'm supposed to write an article about the rally. So she mentioned that she knew you took pictures because, like, she's seen you with your camera and sometimes in the photo lab." Peter gestures to Bucky’s camera, which is still in his hand. "And I see you that you have your camera with you. So basically, I was wondering..." he trails off hopefully, asking without actually saying the words.

"If I'd take pictures at the pep rally?" Bucky prompts him. Out of the corner of Bucky’s eye, he can see Steve, leaning against his closed locker, listening to the entire conversation. He's nodding absentmindedly at something Wilson is talking about, but his eyes are on Bucky, raising goose bumps on Bucky’s arms.

"Yes! I-I mean, if you're n-not busy with anything else."

Being involved with the paper and yearbook is something Bucky always considered but hasn't ever done due to his required commitments. Now the opportunity is presenting itself without any strings attached. Bucky can help out this once, and if he doesn't like it, he’ll be done.

Bucky nods once, resolving to do something for himself, something he wants to do. "Sure, I'll help out."

"Really?" Peter breathes out, his expression more confused than anything. But then he nods to himself, “Great! That’s great!”. Peter pulls a page from his notebook - it's all the shots they're hoping to get. Bucky glances at it quickly with him, then promise to meet Peter a few minutes before the pep rally to talk about where Bucky can stand to get the best pictures. With that, the second bell rings and Peter scurries off, still muttering his thanks as he walks away.

The sight makes Bucky smile. Peter Parker always has had an interesting quality about himself, young in ways Bucky hasn’t felt in years. 

The halls are clearing, students filing to the rooms they belong in. Bucky places his camera at the top of his bag and starts walking toward his own, taking his time since his homeroom teacher occasionally runs late herself.

Making an attempt at being casual, Bucky runs his fingers through the top of his hair and peaks over his shoulder, trying to get a glimpse of Steve. When he does, Bucky finds Steve only a few paces behind him.

Steve’s got a lazy grin on his face, a book and spiral notebook clutched in one hand, and Bucky slows his pace until they're actually walking together. Steve looks sideways at him, something Bucky notices he does a lot, but doesn't say anything.

"What?" Bucky asks finally, a shy smile on his face as he darts a look towards the blond at his side. The hallway is nearly empty now, save for a few stragglers running for their classrooms.

Steve raises an eyebrow. "What?"

Bucky raises his back and his smile widens. "Are you following me?"

"Do you want me to follow you?"

"Do you always answer questions with questions?"

"No." Steve flashes his dimples, obviously fully aware of his charm. Bucky lets out a delicate snort, trying not to show how it affects him when Steve’s this close, or by the fact that they're walking together. There's really no one around and it's not like they're doing anything crazy like making out in the middle of the hallway. Nonetheless, Bucky’s heart is still pounding.

Actually, now it's pounding harder thinking about making out with Steve.

"Earth to Bucky." Steve waves his hand in front of my face.

Dammit, Steve's been talking and Bucky’s been thinking about what it would feel like to kiss him. Even the thought makes Bucky’s knees weak, which has never happened from a kiss or anything else, much less from the possibility of one.

"Sorry, what?"

Steve smirks like he somehow knows what Bucky was thinking. "I said, you're going to take pictures at the pep rally?"

"Following me and listening in on my conversations?" Bucky shoots back, trying to get back on even playing ground. Steve’s laugh, low and almost intimate, washes over Bucky. Then, Bucky shrugs. "Peter seemed like he was in a bind and I've got my camera here, so...no big deal."

"It's really cool, though, that you're helping him out," Steve replies.

Bucky looks over at him and see the small grin pulling at the corners of Steve’s mouth. Maybe Bucky’s just gotten too used to his friends' attitudes regarding things they deem unworthy of their time, because Steve’s compliment and the earnest tone of his voice catches Bucky off-guard. It also makes Bucky feel as warm as the smile Steve’s wearing.

"I want to do it," Bucky says with an honesty that almost surprises him.

"And here I am thinking you're being selfless," he teases. The creases around Steve’s eyes and mouth deepen as he shoots him a sly look.

Bucky laughs. "I was being maybe eighty percent selfless." Steve's still looking at him with that small, soft grin, and it's so distracting that Bucky almost walks right past his homeroom. "Oh, uh, this is my stop." Bucky hitches his thumb towards the open door, then raises an eyebrow. "I guess I'll see you later?"

Steve nods once, murmuring under his breath, "You can count on it."

It's almost embarrassing to admit how much Bucky does.

Gyms smell awful. They just do. No one's ever walked into a gym and said, " Wow, it smells good in here ." There's that lingering smell of old sweat that never quite goes away. Bucky is more than grateful that he got his P.E credit out of the way his freshman year so that he doesn’t have to spend day after day in such a place. He can feel the odors practically cling to his skin, seeping into the fabric of his clothing and it takes every fiber of his being not to cringe.

Add in the entire student body and all the teachers and it's just a cacophony of stink rather than sound, although the sounds currently coming from the gym could be described as cacophonous as well. The band is warming up and random cheerleaders' voices ring out with shouts of  "Go Eagles!" Sharon’s voice is louder than the rest when she yells, "Go Phil!"

She’s been captain since their junior year. Bossing around the girls on the squad is the perfect leadership role for her, one that she’s taken advantage of the very second she could. Bucky couldn’t begin to count on his hands the number of times she’s made up-coming girls go fetch her coffee during lunch hours, doing anything and everything for Sharon just to make the team. Not surprisingly enough, Elektra was appointed co-captain not long after Sharon took the position.

Matt has his arm linked through Bucky’s, keeping them close in the wave of people that enter at the same time. Bucky’s eyes jump around the room searching for Peter while Matt starts to say something about wanting to wear vintage leather to homecoming, how it’ll complement nicely with the short red Versace dress that Elektra purchased for the occasion. 

Bucky is hardly listening, too consumed with spotting Peter in the crowds. He doesn't see him, so Bucky figures he’ll have a few minutes before he needs to set up. They go stand where Phil and Jack are milling around with a few of the other football players. Thankfully Brock isn’t anywhere to be seen and Bucky figures he’s probably out skipping with Tony.

It feels nice to not have to worry about Brock, then again, Bucky was too consumed with Steve to even think about his ex. His blood is racing, skin tingling, at the thought of seeing Steve again. Steve isn't in the cluster of football players, and Bucky tries to focus on his friends instead of spending the entire time looking around, distracted.

Bucky doesn't know most of the guys on the team that well, so it's weird standing amongst them, not really knowing what to say. Bucky is uncomfortable in his skin, a stranger trying to act familiar. The discomfort comes and goes, but it's in situations like this that Bucky feels it the most. He makes sure he stays glued to Matt’s side, not straying too far from Phil and Jack as they all talk amongst themselves.

There's a jarring blast of music followed by a hiss of feedback, adding to the mess of sounds and scaring Bucky half to death. The techies scramble to fix it quickly. Matt doesn't even notice; he's too busy bouncing on his feet, bopping his head and lip syncing to the rap song now being pumped through the PA system. Bucky doesn't say anything. He just stands there with his camera in one hand and the other on his hip. His eyes search the crowd, secretly seeking out Steve while pretending like he isn't completely awkward. Matt looks over his shoulder at Bucky, grinning with his hand pumping into the air as the crowd starts to get riled up. He's at home in any kind of party atmosphere, even when it's school-sponsored and alcohol isn't involved. Give him a danceable music and a crowd and he's happy.

Bucky is the odd man out of their little clique, he guesses. Sharon and Matt live to socialize and do so effortlessly, no matter where they are or whom they’re with. Bucky’s never been able to do that. Honestly, nothing makes him more irritable than being surrounded by people he doesn't know, particularly in loud, noisy situations. Bucky is decidedly out of his element right now.

It must be written all over his face. His thoughts are a jumble of ‘this music sucks’ and ‘it's getting hot in here’ and ‘where the hell is Steve?’ Frank Castle strolls by him, his jersey pristine because he rarely gets off the bench. Castle smiles as he passes, probably not realizing that it looks more like a leer. The smile Bucky tries for comes out feeling (and probably looking) like an awkward facial tic, but he doesn't have the patience to pretend. He barely knows the guy anyway.

Castle doesn’t take the hint. And to Bucky’s utter horror, Castle advances on him.

“Heard you and Rumlow split,” Castle gets up close and Bucky takes a step back, tightly gripping the strap of his camera and silently cursing that Matt has suddenly disappeared into the crowd.

“Yeah…” Bucky draws out, his gaze flickering from side to side. Where the hell is everyone? There’s a wall of bodies around them, hiding them, and Bucky just wants to turn around and flee. It’s been so long since anyone has actually had the guts to hit so openly on him, knowing Brock’s temper and the fact they were so ‘devoted’ to one another, and having Castle so close makes him want to fidget. He’s not used to being put on the spot like this, never having to deal with strange guys expressing their attraction. He’s used to Brock and now, Bucky almost wishes they were still together just so he wouldn’t have to be in this situation.

“It’s a shame,” Castle’s gaze roams over him, head to toe, and his eyes sharpen when they resettle back on Bucky’s face. “Wouldn’t let a fine piece like you out of my sight.”

Bucky’s mouth gapes open, ready to spew his anger, when suddenly Matt is by his side, draping an arm across Bucky’s shoulder. “Sorry, Bucky’s not looking. Keep a’moving pal.”

Castle’s face hardens and he openly glares at the both of them. “Wouldn’t bother my time with either of you assholes anyway. Stuck up bastards.”

Matt snorts but neither of them say anything in return, just watch as Castles storms off. They’ve both heard the insults enough that the words don’t hurt, especially not from someone who hasn't taken the time to get to know them well enough to learn it's not true. Bucky’s not even sure Castle knows what his face looks like; his black eyes are almost always focused on Bucky’s body anyways.

Bucky turns and buries his face in Matt’s shoulder, the two snickering with each other as Castle disappears into the crowd. “And we’re the assholes?” Matt asks aloud, although to no one in particular. It makes a few people around them turn and look in their direction, but at that point, Bucky doesn’t care about any of them.

Bucky grins in agreement but when he turns his head to look to his left, Steve is suddenly there, standing not five feet away with Wilson. He's got his arms crossed - god , his biceps - staring Castle down. Castle is completely oblivious as he pushes past Steve to exchange some stupid boy handshake with Johnny. Steve’s gaze shifts to Bucky briefly and he shakes his head back and forth, just once. It's quick; anyone else would think he was answering Wilson, but Bucky knows it's for him.

Steve is telling him he knows that Bucky’s not what Castle said. It's a reiteration of what Steve said in Nat’s yard and now, in this context, it means that much more.

Bucky catches sight of Peter, a small notebook in his hand, talking to Nat and Barton, who's wearing his soccer jersey. Matt is turned and talking to Elektra, so Bucky leans over and gives him a peck on the cheek. "Mattie, I'll see you later. Have fun, Natchios."

Elektra is bobbing her head in time with the music too, waving her pom poms in the air. They really make quite a pair. Somehow Bucky barely realizes that Jack has popped up next to them and along with Phil. The later clamps a hand over Bucky’s shoulder and jostles him teasingly, "Later, Bucky. Don't forget, my house after the game. Celebrating our win and my arrival into this world eighteen years ago."

Phil’s parents are in Norfolk for the night, but won't be out of town again for a couple of weeks. Phil takes every opportunity they're away to throw a party, but this one will probably be a rager given the extra reason for celebration. Sometimes Bucky wonder if Phil’s parents know what he does when they're away, but the house is always cleaned up by the time they get back. Besides, they raised his brother and sister before him; at this point Bucky thinks as long as Phil doesn't knock Sharon up or get arrested his parents will be happy. Coulson’s always been on a pretty long leash.

Bucky chooses to ignore the party comment since he’ll be cutting out of there early. No need to tell them that. "I love how you say win like it's a done deal," Bucky says instead, throwing them a teasing smile.

"Well, it is,” Phil shoots back. Bucky shrugs and begins to walk away.

Matt, however, grabs Bucky’s hand before he can take a second step. "Wait, where are you going?"

Bucky blinks, holding up my camera. He told him and Sharon about it in English. They'd exchanged a pretty pointed look, so Bucky knows it sunk in. "Pictures, remember?"

" Right ." He drags out the word. Now it's Bucky’s turn to give him a look. Matt winces and then smiles, more genuine. Sometimes all it takes is the bitch brow to pull his friend back from Matt, the guy who cares about appearances and what's cool, to Mattie , who supports his best friend no matter what. "Hey, all right, B.B. See you later?"

"Yep, later," Bucky says shortly.

The gym is packed with students, so he has to push his way to Parker. He's alone now and is clearly relieved to see him. He launches immediately into where Bucky should stand, reminding him of the shots Peter would like for him to get. Bucky lets him talk; nodding with what he hopes is an encouraging smile on his face. Bucky can't help thinking of the look on Peter’s face when he first walked up. It's obvious Peter was afraid that he’d bail out on their arrangement. Bucky wonders briefly why Peter didn't just seek him out, but then Bucky thinks of Matt and Phil and the group they were surrounded by. Bucky thinks about his own discomfort being in the middle of it. He can't imagine how Peter would feel having to approach them, especially after the not so warm welcome Matt gave him earlier.

Regardless, Bucky is there now and the anticipation that has been growing since Peter asked him to help out is back in full force now that Bucky has distanced himself from his friends, now that he’s on his own.

Pep rallies and overt displays of school spirit aren't really Bucky’s thing, but through his camera lens he sees things differently. Watching the world through the viewfinder gives him a new perspective. Bucky sits cross-legged on the gym floor in front of the first row of bleachers, blocking everything beyond his little square inch of sight (and not once having a thought of concern for his pants that no doubt get contaminated touching the wooden floor of the gym).

Seeking out a test shot, he finds Clint and Nat, just before she pulls her hand from his, their faces close as they lean together. A quiet moment amidst the chaos. And then, it's on. Bucky snap shots of Principal Pierce at the podium in the middle of the floor, of Coaches Dugan and Phillips and the football teams behind them, ready for a brand-new season. Bucky gets Sharon, pom poms resting on her hips, an exhilarated smile on her face, her cheeks tattooed with blue and white Eagles. Bucky gets a cluster of freshman sitting on the bleachers not far away, a little scared and kind of in awe, and he laughs to himself. He so remembers that feeling. Hell, he still gets that feeling sometimes, and he’s at the tippy top of the high school food chain.

Through the lens of his camera, he loses track of space and time. Everything's happening around him, but thanks to his official role as memory-capturer, he doesn't have to take part in them. The cheerleaders lead the student body and teachers in chants while Bucky continuously snaps pictures, relieving him from the required answer to their call. Each varsity player is announced, volleyball first then the football team last.

Bucky sees them line up near the end of the gym. They're ready to burst through giant sheets of paper the cheerleaders and the dance squad made with the player's names and numbers, one for offense and another for defense. Some of the students have those annoying clapper things. Bucky swears the guy sitting behind him is clapping it directly next to his ear. Bucky scoots forward, attempting to not only get away from the person behind him but to get a little closer to the gym floor, where he knows Steve will be soon enough.

Coach Phillips has the microphone and he's doing his very best announcer voice to introduce each player. It's all very let's get ready to rumbleeeeeee."Next up, we have number 74. Steve Rogers, tight end."

"Yeah, he does!" Kitty, Ororo, and Emma shout back. This is their "thing" - they do it always. Every. Single. Time.

Usually, Bucky just rolls his eyes. Now? It pisses him off.

Steve jogs toward center court, raising his hand to the crowd, hamming it up all along the way. Bucky busies himself with his camera, taking shot after shot. Bucky is pretty much staring Steve down, using his camera to save him from having a total creeper status. Bucky can see Steve scanning the crowd and when he finds Bucky, Steve points and winks.

Yeah, that's the money shot. Steve also just about makes his heart leap out of his chest. Bucky hopes it's not too obvious. God, it probably is.

It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to swing his camera back to capture the last introductions instead of keeping it on Steve, but Bucky has a job to finish. He’s sure Peter would be less than impressed if the majority of Bucky’s shots were focused on one player instead of all of them.

After what feels like forever, the rally wraps up. Students head for the doors leading to the parking lot, but Bucky hangs back to chat with Peter for a few minutes. Bucky shows him a few of the pictures on the preview screen, then get his email so Bucky can weed through the shots and send the best along to him. Peter thanks him profusely and Bucky assures him that it wasn't a big deal. Bucky actually liked it.

A lot.

Before heading out to the senior lot, Bucky runs back to his locker to grab the books he’ll need for homework. Of course, his locker is in the complete opposite direction of both the gym and the parking lot, because that's just the way things work in his world. Spinning the dial on his combination, he pops the locker open, only to have a note fall out. He catches it before it hits the ground.

It's folded plainly, in quarters. Matt and Sharon usually decorate the outside with flowers or leaves, but this is just a small slip of paper, no extras. Bucky hastily opens it, eager to read what it holds.

Your welcome.

Really? Really ? Bucky still has the pen in his hand from when he scribbled Peter’s email address on a sheet of paper. Grabbing the same piece of paper, Bucky tears off half and writes: It's you're. Do you need an English tutor? Maybe I could help you with that .

When Bucky walks past 137, he slides it into the slats without hesitation.

The hall near the gym is quiet now; mostly everyone is outside in the parking lot. Someone's bass pumps faintly through the glass doors, but other than that, it's quiet. Just as Bucky’s making his way past the gymnasium doors, keys held loosely in his hand, they swing open and Steve, Wilson and a few of the other guys from the team walk out.

Steve and Wilson exchange a look and the blond hangs back until he's walking next to Bucky.

"God, you're everywhere these days, huh?" Bucky teases him. It feels natural, easy, and Bucky realizes it's getting easier every time they talk. A smile tugs at the corners of Bucky’s mouth unconsciously.

"I've always been here, Buck. Maybe you're just noticing me now."

Bucky’s answer is quiet, but the sentiment is not. "No… I noticed you before, too."

Steve smiles, but doesn't say anything for a moment. Hesitance flashes in his eyes before his hand rises up to Bucky’s hair. "Hold still a minute."

"What? Do I have more grass in there or something?" Bucky tries to make a joke, to sound nonchalant, but his voice trembles slightly. If Steve notices, he doesn't show it. He just pulls his hand away with a small smile. Bucky sees the blue ribbon dangling from Steve’s fingers and he looks up at Steve, questioningly.

"I'm just taking a piece of you. For good luck," he answers quietly, making Bucky’s heart flip flop. Bucky swears being near Steve must be putting stress on the old ticker. It's constantly doing acrobatics inside Bucky’s ribcage.

They’re nearing the door to the lot and Bucky knows that he’ll be heading in one direction while Steve goes in a different one. Bucky also knows that he has to do something. "Give me your hand."

"What?" Steve looks between them, down at their hands, and Bucky can tell he’s accidentally sending the wrong message.

Bucky stops, pulling Steve off to the side. "Let me see your hand, Rogers."

He silently holds his hand out, biting his lip and smiling. Bucky takes it in his own, keeping it still as he writes his cell number on Steve’s flesh. Steve’s fingers are long, his palm warm. Bucky wants to trace the little lines along it, memorize all of them. There's something about Steve’s hand that makes Bucky want to take it, hold on to it, refuse to let go. Bucky’s never been much of a hand-holder, but Steve’s were made for it. Bucky doesn't know if it's how big they are, how they'd make Bucky’s feel small and enveloped. Or maybe it's just that they're attached to Steve.

Bucky thinks it's entirely possible he’s becoming attached, too. The more time he spends with Steve, even in tiny increments, the more Bucky wants to know about him. It's not just that Steve’s gorgeous, that he has a smile that turns Bucky inside out. There's still so much to learn about who he is as a person and the process is something that Bucky wants to tackle yet cherish for as long as he can.

"There, now you have my number, too," Bucky says quietly. His heart is going crazy, pounding hard and fast, but not out of nervousness. Bucky is exhilarated by what he’s just done and especially by the goofy grin on Steve’s face.

"I'll never wash this hand again, Barnes," he teases with a dramatic sigh, then bats his ridiculously long eyelashes for good measure.

Bucky still hasn’t let go of Steve’s hand. Bucky doesn't want to, but it'll probably get awkward if he doesn't. He ghosts his thumb lightly over Steve’s palm, just to remember how warm it is, before releasing him.

"Well, at least wait until my number is in a safer place. I wouldn't want you to lose it."

Steve’s voice is low, his eyes fixed on Bucky. "Not a chance."

That look makes Bucky flush, makes him want to grab Steve’s hand again. Instead, Bucky throws him what he hopes is a confident smile and turns on his heel. Bucky doesn't look back, but he can feel Steve watching him as he walks away.

It's the second time today that Bucky has done something he wanted to do, something that's just for him. It feels good. Ridiculously good. In the scheme of things, it's small, but somehow Bucky gets the feeling it's these small steps that might lead him in a new direction.

Maybe even in the right one.

Chapter Text

For the rest of the night, Bucky thinks about the seven numbers he wrote on Steve’s palm and what they mean. He’s not sure what he does want, but he’s sure of what he doesn't want: for whatever this is to go away. It feels too good, too right.

Bucky wonders what it means to Steve.

He keeps his phone with him all night, even through dinner. His dad eyes it sitting on Bucky’s placemat, tucked next to the delicate white dinner plate. Then, his dad’s phone rings and he excuses himself, his business-brisk voice drifting down the hallway as he goes to his study. Bucky’s left in peace to stare at his own screen, halfheartedly eating his grilled chicken and salad as Becca nags their mom about a new Prada dress she just absolutely needs, while their mom makes cooing noises at FeFe who's curled up at her heeled feet.

It’s kinda pointless that their mom is pretending to not hear Becca because both he and his sister know that that dress will end up in her closet by the end of the week. Still, Bucky supposes it’s their mom’s way of pretending they aren’t both spoiled rotten. Which… yeah, they both bypassed that milestone before they even escaped the fucking womb.

Still, it’s a typical night and Bucky hardly thinks his presence is absolutely needed. 

"Can I be excused?" he asks finally, tired of sitting there when he knows that he’s not going to finish the meal, not with the nervous state my stomach's in.

His mom raises an appraising eyebrow, eyeing his plate. "Not hungry?"

Bucky shrugs. "I've got a ton of homework to do before bed. I want to get started on it sooner rather than later."

As expected, his excuse gives him the green light. Becca rolls her eyes and mutters something about him being a nerd under her breath which naturally only results in him sticking his tongue at her the very second their mom turns her back. Their mom nods, then reaches over to lay her hand over Bucky’s when he stands, picking up his plate. "Leave it, sweetie. I'll get it. Go get your homework taken care of."

Their dad strolls in just as Bucky steps out into the foyer and he ruffles Bucky’s hair as they pass each other. Sometimes that’s the only interaction they have at the table, short conversations about how school's going and what he’s learning. Usually his parents will ask him about Brock, too, but not tonight. Bucky had to admit earlier that they broke up when Brock didn't come over for their standing Monday night study date, which was usually less about studying and more about Brock getting to third base.

Somehow Bucky doesn't think his parents would be quite so dismayed by the news of Bucky’s break-up if they knew what Brock did to their precious son while they were right downstairs.

Bucky rushes through his Calc homework and slogs through the reading assignment for English. He would rather do proofs all day and night than read one word of Hamlet; math is easy for him and makes sense. There's an answer for every problem, cut and dried. There's nothing subjective about it. For not the first or eighth or eightieth time, Bucky’s glad he talked his parents into letting him take a regular English course instead of an AP one.

Bucky falls asleep with The Iliad on his chest and his phone in his hand.

It stays quiet until six the next morning, and even then it only blares his alarm. Bucky doesn't have to press the snooze button; he’s out of bed and in the shower before he even fully realizes he’s actually awake. His morning routine is a blur; he hydrates his face, blow dries and styles his hair, shimmies into his best dark skinny jeans and pulls on a thin v-neck shirt with a dark jacket over that Sharon says makes his eyes look ‘ridiculously gorgeous’.

Bucky knows he looks hot. He’s always acknowledged the fact in a detached sort of way. But there's something about the way Steve looked at him on Friday night that made Bucky feel more than hot… made him feel beautiful, and not just in appearance. Bucky wants to feel that again. It's only one of the reasons he’s so anxious to get to school. Bucky doesn't know if they’ll talk, but they'll at least look. Maybe that's all Bucky can handle right now anyway.

But when Bucky gets to school, Steve's not at his locker. Bucky looks for him in the hallways and in between classes, but he's not there either. Bucky always noticed when he was here, but now he notices when Steve’s not too. Steve’s absence is almost bigger than his presence. It irrationally annoys Bucky that he’s so aware of Steve, and that not seeing the blond affects him like this. It’s only natural that Matt and Sharon give him shit for being cranky all morning.

"Is it Brock?" Sharon finally asks. They’re all standing at Bucky’s locker just before English and she's leaning against the one next to his, her head resting against it. On the other side of him, Matt’s fingers tap, tap, tap against the metal and Bucky stares at them pointedly before meeting her gaze.

Bucky lets out a sharp sigh.

"It's not Brock, okay? I'm fine. But seriously, if you ,”-- he whirls around and glares at Matt “-- don't stop with the tapping, I'm going to take you out."

Matt snorts. "Yeah, I'd like you see you try, B.B. You may be sorta tall but sometimes a lower center of gravity can work to your advantage."

Bucky’s center of gravity all but floats away when he sees a folded up note resting on top of his Chem book. His hand darts out, placing his palm on the top of it, not wanting to take the chance of either of them seeing it and asking questions. If they find his actions a little weird, they don’t mention it-- probably thinking he’s still pissy.

Matt’s fingers are going again, pulling Bucky back down to earth. He shoots Matt a half-hearted glare that Matt pointedly ignores. "Did you do the reading for Fury’s?" Bucky asks as he shuts his locker. The note's burning a hole in his palm and he’s so fucking anxious to see what it says.

Sharon snorts. "The book was open while Phil and I were... um, doing things. Does that count?"

The three of them walk to English side by side as people automatically move out of their way. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that there's some sort of studying osmosis that happens when you have a tongue shoved down your throat,” Matt sniggers.

Sharon’s giggles burst out and several heads swivel in their direction. It still never fails that the attention makes Bucky want to hide. "Oh, that's not where his tongue was-"

Bucky’s hand goes up in the air, and he squeezes his eyes shut like somehow that will prevent him from hearing her. "I'm not listening. This is me, not listening. You might as well stop talking now because I'm NOT listening."

Sharon surprisingly takes pity on him and stops talking, which Bucky appreciates since there's really no need for him to hear the details that she's so apt to share.

His body seems keenly aware that he’ll be seeing Steve soon, a quiet hum working its way through his nerve endings when they reach the door to their English classroom. The thought that Steve might be out today passed through Bucky’s mind, but the presence of the note has proved otherwise and Bucky quietly anticipating their interaction, however brief it might be.

Sharon and Matt are incredibly loud as they enter the classroom and it’s almost annoying how everyone pipes down in comparison. Bucky doesn’t know why; Matt and Sharon wouldn’t hurt a fly and it’s not like they’ve ever physically bullied anyone either. Bucky supposes it’s the looks they give, maybe the hushed whispers, the air of superiority they like to think they have. He’s been trying his best to seem more approachable since Peter Parker approached them, seeing that look on Peter’s face when Matt had been a downright ass. He’s not a miracle worker though and tries not to notice how some of the students refuse to make eye contact with him as he makes his way over to the section they sit at. Sliding into his seat, Bucky glances over to see Sharon and Matt laughing about something, fully involved in their conversation, not really paying attention to him. Furtively, Bucky unfolds the note, pressing its edges down so that it's flat against his book.

You're a grammar Nazi. Is that better? Wait, are you offering to help me with schoolwork or are you using that as an excuse to get me alone?

Bucky ducks his head so that no one notices the blood rushing to his face. Steve’s got him completely figured out.

It just happens to be that very moment when Bucky feels Steve; his skin tingles when he realizes Steve’s there, in the room. Bucky looks up and sees Steve walking by with Nat and Barton. As Steve passes Bucky’s desk, blue eyes skim Bucky’s face. Steve's trying to be slick, so it's brief, but Bucky feels it anyways. He feels beautiful again, the way he did Friday night. It feels like Steve’s seeing him differently than any other guy ever has.

Steve’s attention lands on the note. He reaches his hand down, slowly so as not to attract any attention, and drums his fingers along the edge of Bucky’s desk.

Tapping is suddenly glorious .

Acting on impulse, Bucky reaches his finger towards Steve’s, and they hook for a fraction of a second. When their skin touches like that - secret but not - it's like going down the first hill on a roller coaster, an exhilarating rush that floods Bucky’s body, jump starts his heart adrenaline and catches his breath. And then Steve's gone, moving back to his desk, and Bucky is as good as gone for the rest of class. The rest of the day, really.

It takes Bucky a full minute before he can look at anything but the top of his desk. HIs heart is flying, racing down that proverbial hill. Bucky is so incredibly aware of Steve in the room with him. He can still feel him, but now only Steve’s eyes.

Matt and Sharon are talking next to him, but Bucky doesn't join in on their conversation like he usually does, even though they all have at least another minute of socialization to squeeze in. All Bucky can do is listen to the sound of Steve’s low voice mingling with Barton and Nat’s low laughter. Bucky wants to turn around so badly, to look at Steve and see if he's as affected by Bucky as Bucky is by him. Instead, Bucky stares down at his note one last time before he covers it with his notebook. He’s almost relieved when Mr. Fury starts class and Bucky has to focus on the discussion of the previous night's reading. It gives him something else to put all of this energy into and gives him a distraction from the boy sitting in the back of the classroom.

Sharon and Matt whisper and pass notes through all of class, but for once, Bucky doesn’t join in. If they notice, they don't act like it's weird, just sweeps him up right when the bell rings and pulls him out of the classroom. Bucky only gets a brief glimpse of Steve before they all get out into the hallway. Steve’s got his hand on top of Nat’s head, guiding her playfully down the aisle, but his eyes are on the doorway. On Bucky.

"So, what are you getting Phil for his birthday?" Matt asks Sharon, threading his arm through Bucky’s. Sharon gives them both a look, smirking, and Matt rolls his eyes. "You can't re-gift him your virginity, y’know."

"Shut up," she laughs, smacking Matt in the arm.

"What about you, Bucky-Bear?" Sharon turns to him and arches a perfect eyebrow. As they weave through the thick crowd, Matt tightens his hold on him.

"Uh, I'm still thinking about it." The truth is, Bucky hasn't thought about it at all. And now, not only does he have to find a present for Phil, he has someone else to buy for. It'd be kind of shitty to show up to Barton’s birthday party without a gift.

"Shopping trip after school?" Matt pipes up, his voice lifting with excitement at the prospect. “I’ve been dying to go buy some new jackets.”

Bucky shakes his head, extracting himself from Matt’s grip as they get to his locker. "Can't, I have an Honor Society meeting. You guys go ahead. I'll take care of it on my own."

Sharon seems a little put out by Bucky’s refusal, but then Matt starts talking about how they should make a pit stop at the lingerie place if Sharon really wants to get Phil a present, which lifts her spirits instantly. They flit off down the hallway, calling out "bye, bitch!" (Sharon) and "have fun being honorable!" (Matt),and generally making a spectacle.

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. Bucky doesn't see Steve again, but he tucks his note into the back pocket of his jeans, keeping Steve close in that way.

Bucky’s so distracted looking for and thinking about Steve as he makes his way to the room where the NHS meetings are held after school that he doesn't notice Brock until they nearly run into one another in the doorway. Bucky’s honestly a bit surprised to see him there. After all, Brock's got so many activities: golf, debate, NHS. Usually the Honor Society falls low on Brock’s list of things to attend. But here he is.

Miraculously.

"Oh," Bucky says, brilliantly.

"Go ahead," Brock replies, sweeping his arm out like it's some sort of grand gesture to let Bucky pass through first. Brock’s doing that thing again where he acts like he doesn't care, and it's just uncomfortable, so Bucky scoots past him into the classroom without another word.

Brock and him were invited into the Honor Society their sophomore year, much to their parents' delight. Brock didn't really give a shit about it, but he joined anyway, partly because his parents wanted him to have something to add to his already impressive list of accomplishments. Bucky had always had a feeling the other reason was because he wanted to spend time with him, although Brock never actually said it. He acted really unaffected most of the time, but he had those fleeting moments of vulnerability that caught Bucky off-guard – a soft kiss or a lingering touch. Sometimes Brock would come over to Bucky’s house after he and his dad fought. Brock rarely said anything about it, but that indifferent mask he wore would be gone, replaced by something sadder. They had put on a movie (always Brock’s choice) and he'd sit close to Bucky, holding his hand. It was those moments that made Bucky feel less like the guy he should date and more like the guy Brock wanted to be with.

Part of the problem, though, was that those moments became fewer and far between, until Bucky felt like all Brock saw was who he thought Bucky was, as opposed to who Bucky really is. It been just as obvious that Brock saw Bucky as a great idea, and maybe he was too, at first. But in three years, they never got beyond that. They never went too deep.

That's not enough for Bucky anymore. He doesn't understand how it could be enough for Brock either, why Brock would want him back when they weren't enough to begin with.

Bucky chews on his pen cap while Mr. Fury goes over the agenda, distracted by his thoughts. Bucky looks over his shoulder at one point, shivering when he feels the weight of someone's eyes on him. Brock is sitting one row over and three desks back, slouched down in his seat. His gaze shifts quickly to the front of the classroom when their eyes meet. Bucky’s all too aware of him, though, even after he turns back around, and it makes him squirm in an entirely different way than it does with Steve.

After Mr. Fury gives the precursory overview of the agenda, Bucky steps up to lead the rest of the meeting. One might think that something like this would freak Bucky out, public speaking. Surprisingly, it doesn't. When he has a script, an agenda and a goal, he’s totally fine. It's only when he’s left to his own devices that Bucky gets himself in trouble.

Like after the meeting when Brock follows him into the hall.

"So, what? You're just going to ignore me now, Bucky?" he asks, somewhat loudly.

Bucky can feel the attention from the students who have just exited the room with them. There's one of two ways that Bucky can play his part in this. He can either do what he’s done for the past, oh, forever , or he can just flat out say what he’s thinking, consequences be damned.

Bucky decides on the latter. What does he have to lose?

"I'm not ignoring you, Brock. I just thought... you might want some time." Bucky tries to say it quietly, gently, but it's difficult with Brock glaring and everyone. Fucking. Staring.

Brock’s trying to keep his cool but his hands are balled at his sides, betraying his effort. "We're in high school. All we've got is time. Why'd you blow me off on Saturday?"

Bucky’s eyes flash to the people around them. They've all but stopped talking. Bucky swears they're leaning in so they don't miss a word. Bucky steps closer, hissing at him, "Well, seeing as how you broke up with me , I figured you didn't really mean to ask me out on a coffee date. You don't take someone out for coffee when you've broken up with them."

Brock stares at him for a moment, then lets out a soft snort. "Thanks for confirming what everyone's been telling me for the past three years, Bucky."

It's a final dig, and while Bucky knows Brock doesn't really mean it, that he's just saying it to get under his skin, it does its job.

Bucky is so done with this shit. Done with this conversation and done with the implications that he’s an asshole for finally doing what he’s wanted to do for a long while. Bucky turns on his heel and walks away, his silence sending the message that his words cannot.

To Brock it says, ‘I know you're disappointed, but I am, too.’

To them, all it says is asshole, asshole, asshole.

Bucky can't bring himself to care.

When he gets to his vehicle, he fishes the folded piece of paper out of his back pocket and grabs his phone. Bucky doesn’t know if it's the conversation with Brock that fuels his fire, but without a second thought (usually he’s all about second thoughts... and thirds), he pulls up Steve and taps the text message button.

His fingers fly over the screen as he quickly types out a message: Do you need to be tutored or are you using that as an excuse to get ME alone?

Bucky presses send before he loses his nerve. Surprisingly enough, his phone buzzes in his hand almost immediately, and he smiles like a fool, feeling the heavy weight of his interaction with Brock evaporate completely.

Why do you have to turn it around on me? And do you always answer questions with questions?

Oh, really now? It doesn't go unnoticed that Steve’s throwing Bucky’s words back at him from their conversation in the hall the other day. His face burns with the thrilling realization that Steve's paid close attention to them, just like Bucky had.

I think that I asked you first if you need a tutor, so technically speaking, you're turning it around on me.

Bucky sits anxiously, alternating between staring at the screen and out the window. The parking lot is pretty deserted and he doesn't see any of his friends' cars, but he can see the shiny glint of Brock’s Corvette a few spaces away. Bucky nearly jumps when the phone vibrates again, even though he’s expecting it. God he’s such a geek.

I want to hang out with you. If you want to call it tutoring, that's cool too.

Holy hell. Not gonna lie, Bucky does a stupid little happy dance in his car. Happiness is a few simple words from Steve with the implication of so much more.

Bucky catches sight of himself in his rear view mirror and leans forward, pulling it down so that he can get a good look at the guy he barely recognizes. He’s smiling like a total idiot and his eyes are a little glassy, like he’s been drinking. Steve does make him feel drunk, though - dizzy and floaty in a good way, but also on solid ground.

Bucky doesn't know what it is about Steve, but in the past few days, with just a few interactions, he suddenly feels like taking chances, like stepping outside his comfort zone and seeing what can happen. He’s spent so long inside this little box that's been built around him - by his parents, his friends, even by himself - it's like he’s peeking out and Steve is the sunshine and fresh air outside. Steve represents the possibility of things Bucky could have if he were to stretch his legs, if he just trusted and let go.

But the reality is, there are people who probably won't understand that. He’s always been Bucky-Bear and B.B to them and he always will be. The expectation has been set, and he doesn’t know how to change that, especially where Steve is concerned. It's always at the back of Bucky’s mind, wondering what Sharon and Matt and everyone else would think if something were to happen between him and Steve. He’s sure Sharon would have an opinion and would give it freely, but part of Bucky wonders if Matt and Sharon would be happy for him after the initial shock wore off.

Bucky guesses that's a little horse before the cart, considering they've shared only meaningful looks, a smattering of touches and some mild, mutual flirtation that makes Bucky’s heart want to beat its way out of his chest and walk itself right into Steve’s hands.

And now text messages, of course. Text messages that say Steve wants to hang out with him, tutoring or not. How does Bucky even respond to that?

Oh, right. With words.

Well, I AM hanging out with you on Friday.

Bucky doesn't wait for a response this time. He’s been sitting in the parking lot for way too long, staring down at his phone and probably making the most ridiculous faces. His car doesn't exactly blend in and the last thing he wants is to be spotted just chilling out there, smiling to himself like a crazy person.

Besides, he has a little shopping and a lot of homework to do. And probably some daydreaming, too.

Oh, who is he kidding? It'll be mostly daydreaming with a side of homework.

He pulls out of the parking lot hardly paying attention to Brock as he stands at the door of his car, staring questioningly at him with his keys held loosely in his hand. Bucky does see him through his side view mirror and barely resists the urge to flick him off as he turns away. 

Later that night, Bucky is sitting cross-legged in bed, hunched over his AP Chem homework with FeFe next to him when his phone chimes from the nightstand. Bucky pounces on it, telling himself it's probably Sharon or Matt so he doesn't get his hopes up.

But his hopes are up and when he sees Stevie on his screen (he’d changed Steve’s original contact earlier, not having the ability to keep is so impersonal), it goes straight to his chest. Bucky thinks there thing is going to kill him before he even gets a chance to see where it might go.

Good point , his message reads.

His response is simple and doesn't really give anything away, but still, Steve wrote him back. That has to mean something, right?

Ten seconds later, another message pops up.

Would it be too forward to say you looked really good today? Because damn, Buck.

Bucky nearly falls off his bed, first from shock and then from laughter. Bucky can almost imagine the devilish grin Steve probably had on his face when he sent it, his cheeks a little pink like they were on Friday from the fire.

And maybe from Bucky.

"Honey, are you okay?" His mom's voice drifts up from downstairs. FeFe is barking at him like a maniac and somewhere down the hall Becca shouts at him to stop being lame. Bucky shifts, pulling FeFe into his arms and puts his hand over its snout. FeFe growls, but eventually quiets down. The little monster.

"Fine," Bucky calls back, pressing his hand against his forehead and looking back down at his phone. He can barely make out his reflection in the screen, but he doesn't need to see his face to know he’s got a goofy expression going again. Bucky hopes to god Becca or his mom don't come up to his room because there's no way he can get away with saying his AP Chem homework has him this bright-eyed.

When he’s sure his mom has gone back to the living room, he goes back to his phone, back to Steve. Bucky feels almost feverish, his blood pulsing wildly through his veins. It's heady, a little dizzying, but in a good way.

You liked my clothes?

His teeth are biting into his cheeks and it’s only then that he realises that his cheeks actually hurt from how long he’s been smiling, and how strong said smile is. Being coy is practically new to him; he’s never had to act like that with anyone else. It feels riveting.

Of course. But I liked you in them more.

Truly it amazes Bucky how much of a charmer Steve actually is, how Steve can play him so easily and so effectively. And now? Bucky is going to make Steve fall off his bed.

Good. Wanna hear what i’m wearing now???

Tread carefully, Bucky

I'm wearing your hoodie … Bucky types out with a smirk.

Bucky actually is wearing Steve’s hoodie with sleep shorts and a long-sleeved shirt, but he doesn't share the extra articles of clothing. He wants to see how Steve'll react, if at all.

You're killing me

The smirk morphs into a euphoric smile. Obviously he does have the same effect on Steve.

Bucky bites his lip, wondering how to proceed. He’s not exactly a pro at flirty texts and he’s maybe sent three in his entire lifetime, including the one he just sent Steve. So instead, he finally settles on: you probably want it back at some point, right?

The phone vibrates again.

Nah, you hold onto it. I like the mental image more than I like the hoodie.

Oh, god. Bucky’s dead. Steve's killed him. Bucky has no reasonable response to that, so he falls onto his back, nearly crushing FeFe in the process. Bucky covers his mouth to muffle his giggles as FeFe jumps off the bed with a huff.

If Bucky was dizzy before, it's nothing compared to the feeling rushing through him now. His cheeks are hot from Steve’s words and their exchange. He doesn't know what it is about Steve, but he does know he wants more of it.

A lot more.

They continue stealthily texting back and forth the next few days. Bucky’s basically walking around with his phone in his hand at all times. Which is really no different than before, but it feels different now. Everything does.

The texts are about nothing and everything. Sometimes it's inconsequential - like that Steve’s at the bakery picking out a cake for Barton because the owner is an old family friend so he gets a discount. Sometimes, it's more telling, like the fact that while he's at the bakery, he's also getting cannolis for his grandma since they're her favorite and she's not feeling well.

Bucky is walking to Calc on Friday morning when his phone does that telltale buzz in his back pocket. Since he’s alone, Bucky checks it then and there, right before he goes into the classroom.

What time do you think you'll be leaving Coulson’s? I can meet you at the corner of King St.

The bell rings so Bucky fires off a quick answer, his fingers flying over the screen.

Not sure, hopefully not too late. Save me a big piece of cock.

As the little bubble turns blue and the words fly from his phone to Steve’s, Bucky stares in horror. Downright, utter horror when he does a double take on the last word he sent. His eyes are blown wide and he actually stops breathing for a handful of seconds.

Auto correct. It must have been auto correct, because it's not like he goes around chatting about cocks on a daily basis. Wellll… . okay, maybe he does a little. With Sharon and Matt but... no.

That was not what he wrote. No.

No.

No.

" No !" Bucky quietly wails to himself, cursing technology. What happened to the days of carrier pigeons?

"Mr. Barnes? Will you be joining us or should I move the class into the hallway for your convenience?"

Bucky looks up from the screen. Mrs. Copenhaven is standing in the doorway, an annoyed expression on her face. After muttering the proper apologies, Bucky sulks his way into the classroom, still holding his phone, fucking mortified.

"Phones off, people." It's a general announcement that she makes at the beginning of every class, but today it seems to be directed especially towards him.

Speaking of the offending piece of technology, Bucky’s buzzes in his hand one last time as he sits. Bucky peeks at it, almost scared to see how Steve responds.

Moving a little fast, aren't we, Barnes?

Holding the button down on the top of his phone, Bucky shuts it off before sinking down into his seat.

Excuse him while he goes and dies now.

"Nachos are a boy’s best friend," Matt all but groans as the underclassmen at the concession stand hands him a heaping pile of semi-stale tortilla chips drenched in artificial cheese sauce. The young girl stares at Matt, mouth slightly agape, as Matt dips his finger in the cheese and brings it to his mouth, letting out an orgasmic moan.

"Can you calm it down a bit? You’re giving a show," Bucky mutters under his breath, his lip curling up in disgust as Matt swirls his finger into the fake cheese again.

Matt ignores his comment, nudging Bucky away from the concession stand with his shoulder. There's a long line snaking behind them; it's halftime at the football game, which apparently equals snack time. Bucky doesn't know why, but the concession stand is always packed and Matt is one of its most loyal customers. He gets nachos every game, without fail, always moaning and groaning over them like he's never had them before. Considering Matt's had some of the best cuisine from all over the world (his lawyer parents are travel nuts that take on international cases), it's a little ironic that it's the nachos at Shield High School's concession stand that get him all hot and bothered.

Sometimes Bucky wonders if his and Elektra’s foreplay involves imitation nacho cheese or something cause of her last name and Matt’s excitement over it is completely suspect. Of course, then Bucky would have to do a mental brain bleach because...no. He’s still scarred from the time he overheard Matt having phone sex with Elektra during a sleepover last year.

Sex inevitably makes Bucky think of Steve, which inevitably makes him think of their text message exchange earlier. His entire body flames with humiliation. Bucky saw Steve at his locker after school and Steve could barely look at him, he was laughing so hard, his broad shoulders shaking and the back of his neck adorably red. Steve caught Bucky’s eye for a split second when Matt and Sharon weren't looking, and the smile, those happy lines around his eyes, made Bucky’s stomach quiver and his eyes roll simultaneously. Stupid auto correct. Bucky knows Steve will give him shit about it later.

Later . Bucky’s pulse races just thinking about it. He feels like they've set some kind of foundation for what might happen tonight. For what Bucky hopes happens tonight. He can't deny that he’s thought about Steve walking him home, without Nat this time, and what might happen in the darkness of his driveway. Just the thought of it makes Bucky come alive. He’s so aware of what Steve does to him and he loves it, wants to feel it all the time.

Bucky’s been watching Steve on the field the whole night, his eyes glued to the wide set of Steve’s shoulders enhanced by the football pads and the tight fit of his uniform pants. He’s always been aware of Steve out there, but tonight it feels like more. Bucky has an overwhelming sense of possession, like Steve’s his. Bucky wants to yell out and clap when Steve makes a tackle or gets the ball, but Bucky can only bite his lip and follow Steve with his gaze, staying with him that way.

Bucky hopes Steve feels him.

"Hey, the stands are this way, B.B," Matt says suddenly, yanking on Bucky’s arm.

Bucky was so caught up in his thoughts of Steve that he’d wandered completely off path. Matt is oriented toward the metal bleachers, one hand cradling his precious nachos and the other one on Bucky’s elbow. He's wearing some vintage Coach letterman that happens to be in blue and white and has the hood of his cashmere zip-up pulled over his head, and he’s staring at Bucky like he’s a little unstable.

Okay, maybe he is.

"I'm going to hit the bathrooms real quick," Bucky says, hitching his thumb towards the gym.

"What, you don't want to use the Porta-Potty?" Matt asks, smirking.

The name alone is enough to make Bucky shiver. There's no way he’s stepping foot in that thing and Matt knows it. Matt laughs at the look of horror Bucky is sure he’s wearing and waves him off with an extra-evil little giggle.

Bucky rolls his eyes and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "I'll meet you back at the bleachers in a minute, okay? And be sure to save me some of those quality nachos."

Matt flips him off over his shoulder as he strolls off.

There are packs of students everywhere. Bucky catches a whiff of pot from the tree line as he walks up the path to the school. The band is still playing, doing their halftime show, which is a dedication to Broadway musicals or something like that that is too artistic for Bucky to even begin to understand. The laughter from the pack of girls in front of him floats through the air as they link arms and bend their heads together.

Only when they enter the school, under the harsh fluorescent lighting, is Bucky able to see that it's Kitty, Ororo, and Emma. The three of them are holding blue Slurpees, which Bucky is pretty sure have a vodka topper in each.

It’s when he’s leaving the bathroom, heading back towards the exit of the gym that he catches their voices, somehow they managed to make it out in the same time he did.

"Rogers looks so good tonight," Bucky hears one of them, maybe Kitty, say. Bucky’s steps lag drastically at their conversation until he’s practically walking side by side with them, not close but not particularly far either.

He sees when they become aware of his presence, how they suddenly fidget with their hair and their clothes. They all look up at him for a second, and Bucky forces a smile, because it's what everyone is supposed to do, but Bucky knows it comes off cold. The trio returns the gesture. It reminds him of Matt and Sharon’s fake smiles: thin, no teeth.

"Steve looks so good every night," Emma amends as they turn back to their little circle and each other. They continue talking about Steve as they walk towards the bleachers. God, Bucky really does have so much he could add to their conversation, but he keeps silent. He has to practically bite through his damn lips but he still keeps it all good and quiet.

Bucky makes a bee-line for Matt as soon as he spots him, getting as far away from the trio that he can. As he approaches, he can see that the team is huddled together on the sidelines, going through some ritualistic pep talk where Coach Phillips yells and they all grunt and yell back and smack each other's asses.

It’s all so non-heterosexual yet is strangely enough deemed the ‘manly’ thing to do. It always makes Bucky chuckle when he sees the whole thing in action.

The team breaks right before Bucky walks past. Apparently Bucky isn’t far enough from the trio that he can hear the girls shout out "Go Eagles!" and "Yay, Steve!" And of course, they make the obvious comments about a tight end.

Bucky sneaks a glance at Steve. His jersey is pulled up, hanging around his neck as he adjusts the pads hugging his ribs. It’s like magic when Steve’s head lifts up and he scans the crowd until his sharp blue gaze finds Bucky. Steve’s blond hair is damp and wavy, sticking to the nape of his neck, his eyes bright and brilliant underneath the stadium lights. Steve smiles right at him, to Bucky, and then one of his teammates shoulder-checks him to reclaim his attention. Bucky keeps his gaze on Steve though, shamelessly. The Under Armour shirt he's wearing clings to his body like a second skin, an obvious size that is much too small for Steve’s body yet still unbelievably mouthwatering to look at. Bucky can make out the outline of Steve’s abs beneath it. He doesn't have too much time to ogle them, though, because something else catches Bucky’s attention: a blue ribbon tied to Steve’s shoulder pads, fluttering in the light breeze.

Bucky’s blue ribbon.

Bucky’s heart stutters in his chest and just before Steve pulls his jersey back down, Steve smiles while tugging at it. Bucky knows Steve knows that he’s watching.

He all but floats back to the stands.

Kitty, Ororo, and Emma go on talking and speculating about whether Steve will be at the party at so and so’s house that night. And usually, Bucky would keep his smiles on the inside but damn it, right now? He’s smiling. Sure, it might be slightly smug, but he doesn't care. Because he knows Steve won't be at that party, and deep down, Bucky thinks they know that Steve won't be there either.

Unlike them, Bucky knows exactly where Steve will be.

With him .

Chapter Text

Steve is wearing Bucky’s ribbon.

That ribbon is all Bucky can think of for the rest of the game, which, true to Phil's prediction, Shield wins. It's all he can think about when he catches Nat's eye as he and Matt walk past her, Barton and Danvers in the stands after the game. Nat lifts her chin, and all three of them give Bucky conspiratorial smiles. Matt is so busy craning his neck to look for Elektra that he doesn't see Bucky wave, a quick wiggle of of his fingers.

A dizzy rush of anticipation hits him. In just a few hours, he'll be back in Nat’s backyard, where all of it started. Bucky’s already thinking up excuses to leave Phil’s fast, which makes Bucky feel like an asshole because they're his friends too, and it is Coulson’s birthday party. Bucky mentally justifies his actions, pushing down the guilt: they'll all be too drunk to notice anyway and Bucky is going home, just making a pit stop and they'll be fine without him.

But most of all? Steve is wearing Bucky’s ribbon .

They all migrate to the parking lot and get into their cars, revving engines and honking horns and whooping out the window. Brock’s black Corvette creeps past just as Bucky’s about to climb into his wagon, the tinted windows rattling from his music. Bucky can't see him, but he knows Brock's looking at him. Not surprisingly, Brock guns his engine and takes off, leaving Bucky in a non-existent cloud of his exhaust.

Cute.

Matt rolls up next, steering with his knees so he can flip off Brock's Corvette with both hands. He grins and while a part of Bucky appreciates Matt’s loyalty, another part of Bucky thinks Matt just enjoys the drama. Bucky just wants it to be over with. He’s tired of talking and hearing about it, being in the middle of a situation that no one else wants to let go of. Bucky already has; everyone else needs to get on board.

"See you at Phil's?" Matt asks, swaying to his own music playing.

"Yeah, I'm just going to swing by my house and get Phil’s present." And Barton’s, Bucky thinks to himself, but of course doesn't say it out loud.

"Hurry that sweet ass up then!" Matt yells. Bucky gives him a sarcastic thumbs up and then Matt’s gone, strong bass music wafting out the open window.

Bucky picks himself up as he situates himself into the leather seat of his car. The lot is an eclectic mix of vehicles, everything from newer Corvettes and Porches to Kias and Barton's clunker (still sitting over near the gym, next to Steve’s Jeep). The cars are just another indication of the variety of students who go to their school, their attitudes and status.

And Bucky knows, just from his seventeen years on earth, that it doesn't change much out in the real world.

When he eventually gets to his house, Bucky ditches his car, sprints upstairs and back down so that he can place Barton’s present in the cargo space of his car, strategically covered by Steve’s hoodie. He has Phil’s present tucked underneath his arm but it’s not like he can just take a second present to the party without people raising eyebrows and shooting of their questions. He’ll have to take the five minute walk back to his house to get Barton’s gift but it’s a small price to pay especially since there’s a likely possibility that Steve’s going to be walking with him.

Naturally, Bucky’s camera hangs from his neck. When he walks back inside for the second time, the house is still quiet save for the soft volume of the tv show Becca is watching. Their dad is still at work otherwise the news would most certainly be on.

Bucky peeks around the corner to find his mom sitting on the couch, her legs crossed at the ankles. FeFe is, of course, sitting regally next to her while Becca sits on the floor, painting her toenails. A glass of wine sits on the table next to them and Bucky is more than certain it has to be their mom’s third glass at least.

"Hi and bye. I'm going to Phil's," Bucky says, spinning on his heel and making his way back to the front door. All he had needed to do was announce his departure and now that he has, he’s ready to go go go. 

His mom looks up from her book and nods with a small smile. "Sounds good. Remember your curfew." She glances down at her watch. Bucky doesn’t know if the gesture is for him or if it's for his dad. Either way, he gets her message.

Bucky shifts from one foot to the other, gnawing at his bottom lip as he waits to be dismissed. His mom says nothing more though. "Okay. I'll see you later,” Bucky continues toward the front door, but stops and backtracks. "Love you."

"Love you, too, sweetie." Her smile gets a little brighter and Bucky considers himself a good son for the night, knowing she will too.  

“Whatever loser,” Becca snorts but still turns her head and blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it and stuff it in his pocket because they’re both weird like that.

Walking the short distance between his house and Phil’s, Bucky passes Nat’s house and notes that while Nat’'s car is in the driveway, Barton’s and Steve’s aren't there yet. Bucky turns the corner at King, taking in the number of cars lining the street. It's a little overwhelming when he sees them all. Then again, it is Phil's birthday party and the team just won the game; Bucky doesn't know why he'd expect any different.

Bucky slips in through the side gate, making a beeline for Phil and Sharon. They're walking around like prom king and queen, welcoming people and accepting presents, some of which are just ridiculous and totally over the top. Somewhere along the way of their lives, gifts became less about what their friends liked and more about one-upping the next guy.

Bucky will admit that he’s fallen victim to that line of thought more than once. Sharon's last present from him and Matt had been a Louis Vuitton handbag with a matching wallet.

It's only when Bucky started thinking about what to get for Barton’s birthday that he realized that. So instead of getting something extravagant for Phil, Bucky went personal. He had a slew of pictures he'd taken of their group of friends over the years: pictures from football games of years past, of them hanging out in Phil’s yard, of them in sixth grade with really unfortunate haircuts. They've all been through a lot together, so Bucky created an album of all the pictures he'd taken over the years. Bucky had spent some time in the photo lab on Thursday, during lunch and after school, so he could add the pictures Bucky had taken of Phil and Sharon at the pep rally. He’d also stuck in a shot of Phil and the team, the same one that Peter Parker had informed Bucky would be running on the front page of the paper on Monday, much to Bucky’s surprise.

When Bucky hands Phil's gift over, Sharon tucks it under her arm and starts to walk away, undoubtedly to add it to the already massive pile of gifts that have accumulated, but Bucky reaches out, stopping her.

"Actually, I'm going to have to head out early. So um, Phil, if you just wanted to open it now..." Bucky doesn't know why, but he’s a little nervous about this gift; it's like he’s giving a part of himself with these photographs. Besides, Phil usually makes a production out of opening his presents, and Bucky doesn't want him opening his with an audience.

"James Buchanan Barnes! Why do you have to leave early?" Sharon's hands go to her hips, like she's waiting for a good answer so she can figure out if she should act appropriately pissed or sympathetic. Bucky knew the question and opposition were coming, so he figures he might as well put it out there, although he doesn't answer immediately.

Phil is busy ripping into the wrapping paper. He mutters under his breath, "Ooh, she full-named you, James Buchanan. You better have a good reason."

Oh, Bucky can give a good reason alright. The boy with the bright blue eyes and the amazing smile whom he’s been secretly crushing on over for the past forever is meeting him at the corner in the dark. There's no better reason in the fucking world.

Bucky bites his lip, thinking about the text Steve sent while Bucky was putting Barton’s gift away, asking when Bucky would be gracing them with his presence. When Bucky responded that he’d walk over as soon as possible, Steve had gone all knight in shining armor on him, insisting on meeting Bucky at the corner. He didn't want Bucky to walk alone, like those few blocks are a huge deal. For some reason they are to Steve, and it makes Bucky’s heart do funny things, knowing Steve will be waiting for him when he tells Steve he’s ready.

Sharon rests her hand on Bucky’s shoulder, craning her neck as Phil lets the wrapping paper fall to the ground. His eyebrows knit together in confusion while he takes in the album, but when he opens it and sees the first picture, he laughs. It's a picture of all of them at the country club - Phil, Sharon, Matt, Brock, Jack, Elektra, Tony and him with his arm looped through Nats - tiny, innocent versions of themselves mugging for the camera.

Phil flips through a few pages, looking up at Sharon to give her a smile that Bucky feels like he’s in the middle of, before winking at Bucky. "Hey, this is really cool, B.B, thanks." And then he hands the album to Sharon, who tucks it against her chest.

"Our little photographer," Sharon coos, leaning her head against Bucky’s. He knows she means it affectionately but to Bucky’s ears, it sounds condescending.

Irritation and disappointment bubble up inside of him, making his jaw lock. Bucky forces a strained smile, but they don't notice because suddenly Jack sidles up behind Phil and claps him on the shoulder, thrusting a bottle of Gentleman Jack against his chest.

"Happy birthday, fucker," he says with a shit-eating grin on his face.

"Premium JD? No fucking way!" Phil crows, snatching the bottle from Jack’s hand. Phil gives Sharon a quick peck on the lips and reaches out to pull Bucky in a one-handed hug. "Thanks again for the present, B.B. You're the best." He turns to Jack, grabbing him in a headlock. "Let's go open this shit."

They wander off, singing the happy birthday song at the top of their lungs, just as Matt stumbles up, already drunk. They haven't even been here much longer than Bucky has, which means Matt was doing shots or slamming down beer. Knowing him, it's both. Along with a handful of jello shots.

"My besties," he says expansively, his arms stretched out wide. He has a red Solo cup in each hand, and it's a miracle that whatever's in them doesn't spill as Matt rushes up.

"I thought you got lost. What were you doing inside for so long?" Sharon asks, accepting one of the cups. Matt turns to Bucky, wiggling his shoulders and swaying the other cup in Bucky’s face, but Bucky shakes his head. Bucky is still too salty about Phil blowing off his gift.

"Drinks. And maybe Elektra a little bit, too." Matt shrug-snorts and Sharon joins him. They don't even realize that Bucky doesn't.

Jesus . Is it time to go yet?

A couple of hours later, they're sitting at the pool with their feet dangling in the warm water. Matt and Sharon are draped over each other, laughing hysterically about who knows what. Bucky’s checked his phone at least twenty-seven times, but it's stayed quiet, the screen dark.

There have been pockets of entertaining moments tonight, but he’s restless. His mind is three blocks away in another backyard already.

Bucky leans back, resting his hands on the pavement behind him. His gaze wanders as Sharon struggles to get her snorting fit under control. And then Bucky sees him, sees Brock at the far end of the yard, smoking a joint with some Coliseum Central Prep kids. There's a vaguely familiar guy next to him, a sophomore from their school. Danny, Bucky thinks, although there’s no guarantee. Bucky squints through the darkness and sees that the guy’s hand is wrapped around Brock’s wrist.

Huh.

"Hey, who's that with Brock?" he asks.

Matt tips back and Sharon sways around until she's facing the right direction. Bucky watches both of their expressions morph into disgust, which is...weird. They're acting like they know that guy, but Bucky’s not sure how that's possible since the guy’s a couple grades younger. Which… is even stranger considering how Brock always expressed his dislike for the underclassmen.

"What's he doing here?" Sharon snipes, her glossy lips curling up.

"Seriously." Matt leans in, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s shoulder before raising his voice so he's basically shouting in Bucky’s ear. "How he can go from this to that is beyond me."

Brock looks over at Matt’s comment (as do many others; he's really fucking loud) and shoots him a dirty look. Or maybe it was directed at Bucky. Always possible.

Bucky has to tell them.

"Shut it down, Mattie." Bucky presses his fingers to his temple and looks down at the water, embarrassed by Matt’s brash behavior. Bucky should be used to it by now. They've always been louder, more vocal than him. Sometimes it's entertaining, but right now Bucky just wants to hide. "Listen, you guys. I need to tell you something, but keep it to yourselves, okay? I don't want it to go beyond us."

Sharon raises her hand, her expression earnest. "Can I tell Phil?"

"Uh, no. What part of 'don't want it to go beyond us' do you not understand, Carter?" Bucky shoots back, annoyed that she's even asking.

"We promise," Matt speaks up, and they both try to put on their very best serious and not in the least bit trashed faces.

Bucky does a quick sweep of the area with his eyes, craning his head to make sure that there isn't anyone close enough to hear what he’s going to say. Matt and Sharon look around too, tilting their heads and peeking in the grotto. It's too cold to be swimming tonight, even with the water heater on, but that doesn't really stop drunk people.

When Bucky’s satisfied no one's lurking, he turns back to them, keeping his voice low. "I broke up with Brock, not the other way around. He decided it would be better if he told people that he was the one to end it. I just went along because I wanted to be done with it."

"Okayyy," Sharon breathes out, dragging the word for way too long, clearly not understanding the logic.

"He thought it would put me in a better light." They both stare at Bucky blankly and he waves his hand impatiently, annoyed all over again with his ridiculous reasons for lying in the first place. "You know, since people already think I'm an asshole. It was for my benefit."

"What an ass," Sharon mutters, glaring over at Brock.

"Why didn't you tell us sooner?" Matt asks, his gaze surprisingly soft and searching into Bucky’s. Sharon moves to rest her head on Bucky’s shoulder as she mumbles her agreement. Bucky has a feeling the alcohol is diluting her response, making her sweeter than she would have been about the fact that Bucky didn't share this before. She’s the kind of girl to blow up for things like that.

"I don't know,” Bucky answers, truthfully. He has no fucking clue why he went through with it. “I guess I was just trying to work some things out in my head."

And, there's the whole thing with Steve that's taken over Bucky’s every waking thought. Not to mention his goddamn dreams.

"Fine, we won't say anything. But if push comes to shove, I'm not holding back." Sharon looks back at the group again, giving them the all too perfect bitch brow.

Bucky shrugs. At this point, Brock’s the only one who'll look bad if and when the truth comes out. Bucky would rather they just let it die there, though. He doesn't want to deal with the repercussions.

Bucky can feel Brock’s eyes on him and he looks back over his shoulder. Sure enough, Brock's staring at him, taking the three of them in. Bucky can tell by Brock’s glower that he knows what they're talking about. Brock pulls Danny-Duncan-Derek ( seriously , what is that guy’s name?) in front of him, pressing the guy’s back into his chest.

Sharon rolls her eyes and crosses her arms. "I still don't like him bringing that guy around here -"
Matt breaks in with, " We . We don't like it."

Bucky’s phone buzzes in his hand and he sneaks a look while they continue to rant.

Soon? The message reads.

"It's not cool and the guy like -" Sharon hiccups. "Doesn't belong here."

Bucky knows damn well that Brock wouldn’t get caught dead with anyone that wasn’t on their status, or somewhat close enough to be considered okay. So Bucky can’t help but think that if they aren't accepting of that guy, who has to come from money and at least runs with the same type of crowd, although two years younger, there's probably no hope for them to understand what Bucky feels for Steve. Because if that guy doesn't belong there at the party, how could Steve?

Bucky will I have to go to Steve instead.

He texts back his answer: Now .

"I'm leaving," Bucky announces, standing up and dusting off his backside, his phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline.

"What?!" Matt exclaims, his eyes wide. "Don't leave because of him, B."

"I'm not."

"Don't go!" Sharon wails dramatically, clutching at Bucky’s leg. Bucky knows she's not as devastated as she's acting, though. Her giggles give her away. Matt rolls his eyes and lifts his cup in a mock toast.

"Get home safe, then. Don't let the bogeyman get you!"

Yeah, that's definitely not who's going to be getting him. "Be good, kids."

Matt raises his dark eyebrows dubiously at Sharon, who's still hanging onto Bucky’s leg. Bucky has to physically shake her off. She gets clingy when she's drunk like that. She pouts, but forgets to be sad a second later when Phil sneaks up behind her, crouching down and planting a loud kiss on her neck. Then Elektra’s there and they're all raucous and yelling and Bucky just drifts away, momentarily forgotten.

It's a lot easier to disappear when people aren't looking.

Bucky weaves his way through the crowd. He doesn't look in Brock's direction, but he knows Brock's probably the only one watching Bucky slip past the gate, the guy hanging onto Brock’s arm and his every word. Brock probably seems so impressive to the sophomore - senior, golf star, good-looking, popular, rich. But that's just the shell. Even after three years together, Bucky’s still not sure what exactly is beneath it.

Bucky tries to forget what he’s walking away from as he makes his way down Phil’s winding driveway: how Phil brushed off his gift; Brock and all that encompasses; Bucky’s drunk best friends, whom he’s so out of sync with tonight. It crops up every once in a while, that nagging feeling that  needs more from them. But the other times that are good and feel right hide what's missing, or at least make the gaps less obvious.

So, instead Bucky focuses on what he’s walking toward: Nat’s backyard and the fire pit, mellow music and good conversation.

And Steve.

Steve's standing there at the corner as he promised. It's dark, even with the fancy street lights lit, and Bucky can only make out Steve’s outline at first. Other than the music coming from Phil's backyard, it's quiet. Bucky hopes Steve can't hear how hard and loud his heart is beating, or how his breath gets just a little bit shorter. If Steve does, maybe Bucky can blame it on how fast he walked to get to this point.

When Bucky gets close enough to really see Steve, it doesn't make his body's situation any better. Steve's rocking on his heels, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans. He's wearing a hoodie with the sleeves pushed up and a backwards baseball hat and when Steve smiles at him, all slow and sweet, (but sexy too? Like he's been waiting for this, for Bucky) it spreads down Bucky’s legs to his knees and up to his face, making his cheeks go hot.

Suddenly, Bucky doesn't know what to say to him. He tries to draw up the courage of the Bucky who's been text flirting with Steve all week. But that Bucky could hide behind a screen, could think about his words before typing them (even when they come out wrong. Damn you, auto correct). Standing in front of Steve now, Bucky isn’t sure where to start, or how.

Steve takes care of it for him, thankfully. "Took you long enough," Steve calls out.

Bucky stops right in front of him, inches away, close enough that Bucky can smell clean skin and cologne.

Bucky has never wanted to touch anyone so badly in his damn life.

He shrugs and tries to act casual, like meeting Steve on street corners is normal. Like he doesn't activate every cell in Bucky’s body. "Sorry, duty called. I hope it’s not a problem but we’re gonna have to stop by my car. I have Barton’s present in the trunk.”

Naturally, like the gentleman that Steve is, he just nods his head. “It’s no problem, Buck. Exercise is good for the body afterall.”

Bucky chuckles at that. “Like you need any more of it. You’re built like a brick house, Steve.”

“Is that your way of giving a compliment?”

“Maybe,” Bucky muses. “... maybe not.” Steve puts his hand over his heart and pretends to be wounded but the smile on his face and the soft shake of his shoulders as he chuckles is a dead giveaway saying otherwise.

They start walking, their strides matched up, and Steve’s arm brushes against Bucky’s. Steve looks down at him, still smiling. Even though Bucky’s palms are sweaty, he feels kind of peaceful. He feels right.

"So is that what it is?" Steve asks.

"What?"

"You said duty. Is that what that is?" He nods his head back toward Phil's house.

Bucky thinks about it for a minute, chewing on the inside of his cheek. "Sometimes it feels like it. Lately it feels like it a lot, I guess. They can be kind of a lot to take, especially when I'm the only sober one."

He doesn’t know why he’s telling Steve all of that, but Steve's nodding and smiling this really small smile that Bucky thinks he loves. It makes Steve’s face look soft-- kissable.

"What's this then?" Steve asks, pointing between the two of them.

Bucky laughs, remembering how easy it is between them. It helps him find his voice. "You're so fishing right now."

"Maybe." Steve’s fingers slide down Bucky’s palm before threading through Bucky’s own fingers. "You gonna get caught?"

Bucky already is.

They both look down at their hands, happily and easily entwined, before looking at each other, smiling. Bucky wonders what Steve would do if Bucky kissed him right here in the middle of the street. If he just laced his free hand into Steve’s hair and pulled the blond towards him. Would that be inappropriate? Because Bucky really wants to.

Like really badly.

It takes no time at all until they’re both tiptoeing down the driveway of Bucky’s house. Bucky has scoped out the driveway so many times before that he knows just how far he needs to tread along the driveway in order to keep the security light off and preventing his parents from being alerted at his arrival. Earlier, Bucky hadn’t bothered to lock his car so when they reach the wagon and he pops open the back, Steve frowns at him. “You drive a vehicle that costs over a hundred grand more than my Jeep and you don’t bother to lock the damn thing?”

“I don’t like carrying my keys. They ruin the look,” Bucky shoots a grin towards Steve as he waves a hand over his body, highlighting said look. It’s a spot on birthday get up; clothes that are expensive and fancy and some of Bucky’s favorite that emphasize his assets. His white button up is pressed and crisp, matching well with his navy fitted trousers and Gucci loafers. All in all, he looks good but what’s important is that now he feels good too.

Steve just looks even more confused. It’s downright adorable. “How? No one would see them if they’re in your pocket.”

“Yeah but then they poke into my thigh and press against the fabric.”

Steve snorts, shaking his head. “You poor thing.”

Bucky turns his head and gives Steve a fake pout, pulling the present and the hoodie out of his car. “No one even comes this far into the neighborhood. I could leave my car unlocked all the time and nothing would ever happen. People are too paranoid around here. Haven’t you noticed all the security cameras?”

“Is that what those things are?” Steve jokes. Bucky’s grin deepens and he turns around, holding out the gift and hoodie for Steve to take so that he can close the cargo hold shut. Bucky has to ease it into place with both hands to prevent the noise, and presses it closed, waiting for the click to reach his ears. When it does, he turns back towards Steve and sees the blonde eyeing the fancy wrapping for a short second before he takes in the hoodie.

“All set,” Bucky reaches out and takes them back, pulling the fabric of the hoodie to his chest and taking a deep breath of Steve’s scent that still lingers on it. Steve doesn’t say anything about the hoodie, just let’s his smile say everything that words can’t. Bucky is quick to move the present and hoodie into one hand so that he can reach down and intertwine their fingers together again. Then, they’re off once more.

It’s quiet as they walk towards Nat’s house, hand in hand, and brushing shoulders every few steps. They swap whispers of nothing in particular, basking in the silence of the evening. It’s rejuvenating in a sense, considering Bucky’s eardrums are still vibrating from the music that was blaring at Phil’s. With it being so peaceful, Bucky practically jumps when Steve’s cell phone begins to ring.

Bucky starts pulling his hand away so that Steve can answer but Steve’s fingers tighten around Bucky’s, holding his hand in place. Steve uses his free hand to dig into his pocket and pull his phone out. When he looks at the screen, the easy-going smile disappears from his face.

"Uh, sorry, I have to -"

"Answer it, Steve," Bucky says quietly, gently squeezing his hand. He can tell something's wrong.

Steve puts the phone to his ear with a frown. "Gram? Is everything okay?"

Bucky tries not to eavesdrop but... well, they're attached, so he sort of has to. Steve’s voice and demeanor have changed; his features twist with concern, but he's making a concerted effort to sound fine. Bucky’s not sure for whose benefit, his or his grandma's. Maybe both.

"Did you take the medicine I left on the counter for you?" He pauses, listening to her response. "Right..." Steve’s eyes catch Bucky’s. "Okay, well, I can come home if you need me to."

Bucky doesn't know much about Steve’s home life, but from the little that Bucky does know, he thinks Steve lives with his grandparents. Or maybe just his grandma. Bucky doesn't know, so he can only speculate. Bucky wants to know and he wonders if this is a sore spot in Steve’s life, something that's difficult to talk about, or too personal. Last week he'd said that his Gram raised him right, so Bucky was assuming that she had a hand in making Steve the person he is today.

"Are you sure? Okay, listen. I'm going to call you in a half hour to check and make sure..." He's listening to her speak again. Then his face breaks out into a smile. "Yeah, we won. Kicked their ass-- sorry--we kicked their butt . Better?"

Bucky smiles inwardly at that. And then Steve says something that makes Bucky’s heart stop.

Steve obviously doesn't want him to hear it, because Steve darts a glance at him and turns his head away before he speaks. "With him now."

The words are all blended together and low, but in the quiet night they're crystal clear to Bucky. It takes every ounce of willpower not to react.

She knows about him. Steve has talked to his grandma about him. Him .

Bucky hears a high, thin voice on the other end saying what sounds like "speak up" and Steve faces forward again, a blush creeping across his cheeks and down his neck. If Bucky wanted to kiss him before, it's nothing compared to now.

"Uh huh, okay Gram, gotta go. You go relax and I'll call you later." He pauses, looking embarrassed and still a little bit worried, and then mumbles out, "Love you, too."

Steve hangs up and looks straight ahead, his skin flushed pink. Both of them are quiet for a few seconds while Bucky waits to see what Steve will say, if anything at all. Then Bucky drifts closer, nudging him with his shoulder until Steve really looks at him.

"Everything okay?"

Steve opens his mouth and then closes it, like he wants to say something but can't. And then he stuffs his hand, still intertwined with Bucky’s, into the pocket of his sweatshirt. "Yeah, everything's cool. Just my gram checking in."

Bucky nods, running a finger over Steve’s knuckle, which is rough, maybe scabbed over. He feels like something's going on, like maybe Steve needs him, but Bucky doesn't know in what capacity. He doesn't want to push, so he doesn't ask.

Bucky catches Steve’s gaze again and his expression morphs into a playful smile. Bucky know this one well. He’s rolling his eyes before Steve even says anything. "You ready for that cake, Barnes?"

Bucky can't help smiling.

"No, wait , silly me. It was cock , wasn’t it?," Steve replies, grinning wider now. "I have it saved on my phone if you want to check."

Bucky stops as all of the blood drains from his face. "You didn't show that to anyone, did you?"

Steve turns toward him, brow creased but the teasing smile still on his face. "C'mon now, I wouldn't do that to you."

"Oh, but you'll allude to it every chance you get, I'm sure." Bucky shoots back.

He gives Bucky a look like, " duh ," and squeezes Bucky’s hand with a boyish smile, and then they're off again.

“What’d you get him anyways?” Steve nods towards the gift tucked under Bucky’s arm.

But Bucky shakes his head. “And ruin the surprise? You can find out when he does.”

“And here I thought that I was special,” Steve teases.

Oh how Steve just doesn’t know . Steve can’t possibly begin to understand just how special he is to Bucky.

Before long, they're walking into Nat’s yard. The fire pit is blazing, same as last week, and Bucky feels a sense of déjà vu. It's almost like walking in on the same scene, although this week there's a cake involved, which everyone is huddled around. Bucky’s greeting to them is less shy this time, feels way more comfortable than before. They seem genuinely happy to see him, all of them wearing wide smiles. Bucky doesn't miss all of their gazes homing in on his intertwined hand with Steve’s either.

Steve exchanges a fist bump with Wilson, who then throws Bucky a wink. Nat rushes up and throws her arms around Bucky’s neck for a hug while Barton holds up his hand in a wave. Bucky can't help but laugh when he reads Barton’s shirt, a purple one with "Where's the strippers?" plastered across the chest.

Barton nods at him. "You like that, huh? It's always the quiet ones."

Danvers is wielding the cake knife, pretending it's a lightsaber, before she hops down from the low rock wall and carefully places it into Barton's hands. "We held off on the cake until you got here."

Bucky hears Steve murmur something under his breath about holding the cake, which Bucky pointedly ignores. Yeah, he knows he’s never going to hear the end of it.

"I'm sorry I'm so late,” Bucky explains. “I couldn't get out of there. You didn't have to -"

Clint cuts him off, waving the knife into the air. "Don't be ridiculous, B. We knew you'd be here sooner or later."

"I hoped for sooner." Steve’s voice is low in Bucky’s ear but Bucky’s pretty sure the rest of them hear it anyway. He wonders what, if anything, Steve has told them about their interactions over the week.

Steve’s comment makes Bucky flush, but he plays it off. "I bet you just couldn't wait for the cake jokes," Bucky whisper back. Steve grins with a shrug, running his thumb across the back of Bucky’s hand.

It feels so good to be there with him. With all of them, really.

Sam lights the candles on the cake with a Zippo lighter, making a show of showing them all the falcon that’s painted on the side. As he does, Steve's phone rings again and he slips away from Bucky, walking off the deck and into the yard. Bucky takes the opportunity to pull his camera from his neck.

"Oh, hold on! I need the beanie that Carol made for me before we start,” Clint races over to the bench and opens a gift bag, pulling out an black beanie that has little bow arrows intricately knitted around the border. He places it on his sandy blond head, bounding back over to them as Carol preens. "All right, carry on."

Bucky busies himself taking pictures, but it feels different there than it did with his friends last week at Phil’s. He’s not picking up his camera to separate or distance himself, but rather to capture a moment he knows he’ll want to remember.

Bucky smiles, turning when he feels Steve sidle up next to him. "Look at this one," Bucky murmurs, holding up the camera so Steve can see the shot he just snapped of Sam standing behind Clint, pretending to light his hair on fire with the lighter.

Steve’s hand wraps lightly around Bucky’s wrist and he laughs, a low, rumbling sound. Bucky shivers because of the touch and also the way Steve’s breath moves Bucky’s hair, how close Steve is. "Damn, that is Sam and Clint in a nutshell. Good job, Barnes."

Bucky shrugs, hoping Steve can't see the way his compliment makes Bucky’s cheeks go hot. By the impish way Steve grins down at him, Bucky’s guessing he can.

They all huddle around the cake and after a loud, off-key rendition of Happy Birthday, Clint pulls the candles from the cake with a flourish. Carol then steps up and smears his name on the cake with her pinky before dabbing a dot on each of their noses. Bucky’s not sure what to think, standing there with frosting on his face.

Nat laughs, elbowing him in the side. "It's her tradition," she says, then lowers her voice. "She says it's for good luck, but secretly I think she enjoys making us all look dumb. We adopted it, though."

Bucky arches an eyebrow. "You know, it's really hard to take you seriously with white frosting on your face."

Nat chuckles and shrugs, looking back at Clint.

Clint holds up the knife in his hand and looks at the cake thoughtfully, as though he's about to perform a surgery. "Let's see now," he murmurs. Then, to Bucky’s bewilderment, Clint cuts off each of the corner pieces and puts the four slices on a plate, pushing the sides together to form a smaller version of a cake. “You guys can have the rest.”

Clint hands off the knife to Carol who wastes no time gliding the knife in zigzags through the cake. Bucky’s lips part in shock as she hacks at the thing.

"What are you doing?" he breathes out the question, mystified and a bit concerned for her mental state.

Carol shrugs. "Who says you have to cut the cake a certain way, you know?"

"It's another one of our traditions," Nat speaks up, winking at me.

Bucky nods slowly, repeating what Carol said silently as she starts passing around jagged slices of cake.

Who says? 

The phrase is so different in her context than it is in Bucky’s. There's so much freedom to it, no rules attached or fine print to read. And as silly as it is, Bucky feels like something clicks for him in that moment. It's just a different way of cutting cake, but for some reason it seems so much bigger than that.

Bucky watches as they dig into their slices of cake, laughing and joking around, and it's in that moment that he realizes he might have a lot to learn from these people.

They've been sitting around the fire pit for a while, gorging on cake, when Bucky remembers Barton’s present.

"Oh, Clint. I have a little something for you." Bucky jumps up from his seat and walks towards the stone wall where he put the gift and Steve’s hoodie. When he grabs the package he presents it to Clint with a hesitant smile. "Happy birthday."

The group exchanges surprised looks.

"You brought me a gift? You didn't need to -"

Bucky waves his hand, stopping him. "I wanted to, okay? It's just a little something that reminded me of you."

Truthfully, Bucky actually had to take a pitstop to the mall after school a few days back, going into a store that had t-shirts lined up on the walls. The store had been really dark with music almost blaring from the speakers, and more than once he had gotten raised eyebrow looks from the workers. There had been a girl with neon green hair and a lip piercing; then a guy with a blue-tipped hair and an insane septum ring. Bucky had probably looked like a dumb, sweater wearing dork but all it took was one glance at the t-shirts and he knew he hit the gold mine. He ended up buying four of them: a grey one with the words ‘I Love It When My Girlfriend Let’s Me Play Videogames’ but some words were larger so it actually reads ‘I Love My Girlfriend’; a black one with the words ‘I Don’t Age, I Just Level Up!’ on top of a xp video game bar; another grey one with black, bolded letters reading ‘Adult-Ish’; then the last with a picture of Samuel L. Jackson saying his iconic Pulp Fiction line ‘I’mma Smart Motherf****’ because ever since Clint pointed out that Mr. Fury has an insane resemblance to the actor, Bucky hasn’t been able to look at him the same. It’s been obvious that Clint likes to make a show with his t-shirts so Bucky figured why not get him a few more to add to his collection?

“Holy shit,” Clint grins as he pries the lid of the box that Bucky put the t-shirts in. He takes each shirt out, one by one, and reads the shirt to himself before he shows the rest of the group. With each shirt he shows, there’s a collection of laughter from the group. “This is perfect. Thanks, B.”

Bucky nods his head in return. “I didn’t really know your size so I guessed. If they aren’t right, I put the receipt in there too if you wanna swap them out.”

Clint shakes his head, “Nah, they’ll fit.” Then, he must finally spot the photo that Bucky slid in there as well because there’s a soft look that takes over his face. While Bucky had been printing the pictures for Phil’s album, Bucky had remembered the picture he’d taken at the pep rally of Nat and Clint and tucked it into the box before he wrapped it all up. “Nat, look at this picture.” 

Nat leans in, looking over Clint's head. "That's... really good. Can you email it to me, Yasha?"

"Sure thing," Bucky answers with a nod.

Bucky plays it cool outwardly, but internally he’s basking in Barton’s excitement. It feels good to have gotten it right, especially after Phil and Sharon’s distracted and lukewarm response earlier. Barton’s gift is so simple but the smile on his face as he looks at the picture of him and Nat is priceless. And when Bucky looks over at Steve, the fire is reflecting off his face. Steve’s eyes and smile are full of what looks like admiration, spreading warmth through Bucky.

They settle back into conversation after that, all of them relaxed and laughing. The scene is very different from the one at Phil's. It's so much smaller, more intimate. They have some really random and weird traditions, but it's comfortable. Bucky can tell how much they love each other. He feels like he fits there, right next to Steve. They're including him, pulling Bucky in even though he’s so new to all of them except Nat. Bucky wouldn't be able to say the same for his own friends.

"Way to go on the present," Steve murmurs into Bucky’s ear. His hand closes around Bucky’s leg, and Bucky presses his knees together, trapping him there. Their faces are close, their noses nearly touching. “So much better than the self help journal Carol gave him as a gag gift.”

Bucky laughs softly. Steve smells so good, his cologne mixing with the smell of firewood that it makes Bucky feel drunk on life itself. "I wonder what he would write in it."

"I stole one of them once,” Steve blurts out. “Danvers gets him one every year and he actually finishes them. He says it’s cleansing for the soul but really, all it is is the dirty things he and Nat do.” Bucky must look as horrified as he feels because Steve cracks up, his eyes squinting adorably. "I'm kidding, Buck. Although really…. I wouldn’t be surprised if it were filled with his sex scribbles."

"I think that's your wishful thinking,” Bucky points out, grinning.

"If you think that, then you're confused about who I really like." Steve leans even closer until his mouth is at Bucky’s ear. His hair brushes against Bucky’s temple and Bucky places his hand on Steve’s knee to ground himself. Steve makes Bucky forget his own damn name when he's this close. "Pretty sure you know him. Maybe you can put in a good word?"

Bucky swallows and lets out a breathless laugh. "I'll see what I can do."

The blond pulls back and smiles, almost shaky, before rubbing the back of his neck. When Bucky looks around, everyone is on the other side of the fire, not even trying to hide the fact that they were watching the two of them. Carol grins and shoots a pretend dirty look at Steve.

“Y’know Steve, I think for your birthday, I’m gonna get you one of those journals too,” Carol teases. “They teach self guidance. And I’m more than positive that you could’ve used its guidance last weekend, couldn’t you? Had a little trouble deciding which path to take?" Carol's statement is purposely cryptic, Bucky can tell, and she gives Steve an innocent smile that screams not so innocent after all. Bucky turns his head, raising an eyebrow at Steve. He's glaring at Carol but as soon as Steve catches Bucky’s gaze, Steve stands, looking nonchalantly at his watch.

"Hey, look at the time. We have to go."

Bucky frowns. "We do?"

Steve nods, tapping the face of his watch. "Oh, we do."

Their goodbyes are quick since Steve seems to be in a rush for something. Once again, they're alone and Bucky’s pretty sure he’s figured out what the something is. Steve’s hand reaches for Bucky’s before they even hit the sidewalk, only now Bucky’s on Steve’s left side, rather than his right. Their hands go into Steve’s pocket again, where Bucky’s fingers find something.

The ribbon.

Bucky’s fingers lace around it and Steve smiles, sensing his discovery.

"You wore my ribbon."

"I did wear your ribbon," Steve replies, all casual. His blue eyes flick to Bucky and Bucky bites his lip to stop from smiling like a total crazy person. "I was going to put it in my hair, you know, but I thought that'd be a little obvious."

"Oh, I don't know, you would've looked very pretty,” Bucky coos.

Steve laughs and shakes his head. "Then people would've started asking questions, which could have gotten awkward."

Bucky looks up at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, this you and me thing is -"

Oh. Bucky gets it. 

"Don't say 'secret'," Bucky interrupts, even though it's the truth laid out so stark and clear. But it's just so new. Bucky’s not even sure it's real right then, him walking with Steve in the darkness with his hand in Steve’s, completely overtaken by his warm palm and fingers.

"What is it then?"

Bucky thinks that is what Steve was asking earlier. Now Bucky is ready to give an answer, though it's not the perfect one.

"It's ours," he answers truthfully. "For now."

Steve smiles at Bucky’s answer, his teeth standing out again the dark night. "For now."

They continue to walk side by side, enjoying the quiet of it all. Bucky, however, is biting the insides of his cheeks because he just wants to jump Steve’s bones and keep him in his arms forever and ever, never letting go.

“I want to though,” Bucky whispers. The words seem to linger in the air as if he shouted them and Steve turns to look at him, his eyes so soft that Bucky feels something on the inside blosom to life.

Steve goes to open his mouth but Bucky beats him to it. “Today Brock…” he darts his tongue out to lick his lips, finding the ability to speak almost unbearable. “-- he brought some guy to the party. An underclassman from the school that no one even knew his name. And they were-- Matt and Sharon were so quick to judge and started going off about what a shitty rebound the guy was compared to me and-- and it just… it sucked.” Bucky pulls his attention up and makes sure he’s looking into Steve’s gaze. Steve doesn’t look away, not for a second. “I don’t want what we have to be seen like that. I don’t want people to think of you as my rebound or something stupid because you aren’t like Brock. Nowhere near him and it’s a good thing, Stevie.”

Bucky’s hand tightens around Steve’s and he leans further into Steve’s side. “I just wanted you to know that.”

He may have confessed a bit more than he wanted to but he knows that Steve deserves some type of explanation, however weak it may sound. But it’s the truth nonetheless and Bucky is practically pouring his soul out. He just wants Steve to understand.

Steve pulls Bucky into him even further until Bucky is practically tucked under his arm. “We’ll get there eventually,” Steve whispers down into Bucky’s hair, his lips pressing into the top of Bucky’s skull. There's a shift in the wind and Bucky shivers. "Do you..." Steve starts to unzip his hoodie, but Bucky puts his hand over Steve’s, stopping him.

"You'll end up with no clothes if you keep giving them to me."

Actually, that's not a half-bad idea. Bucky lifts up the hoodie he brought and has to take his hand out of Steve’s pocket so that he can pull it over his head. He grins as Steve pretends to pout but he pauses in the middle of the sidewalk as he slides it onto his body. As he does, he can feel his hair get ruffled as the hood stays upright, causing his locks to get disheveled in front of his eyes. He grins again as he peaks up from behind the hood, looking at Steve stare at him.

"You're wearing my sweatshirt," Steve says, teasingly, yet there’s something almost awestruck in his tone. 

Bucky gives him a little smirk. "You have my ribbon, I have your sweatshirt. I'm all about reciprocity."

"Very good to know." Steve steps forward, brushing Bucky’s hands away from pulling the hood off. Bucky stops breathing and looks up at him, watching as the tip of Steve’s tongue touches his top lip in concentration.

For a second, they just stare at each other. Bucky’s heart is beating hard against his ribs. The night is so quiet and peaceful, and Bucky thinks it might happen right there, that he might finally know what Steve’s mouth will feel like on his, how Steve will taste.

"Keep going?" Steve asks in a soft voice. Steve’s gaze darts from Bucky’s eyes to his mouth and back again.

"Okay."

Bucky wants to kiss him so badly he almost can't see straight, but at the same time he’s afraid and he doesn't know exactly why. Maybe because he’ll be making the first move, which he’s never had to do. Maybe because it's Steve and he's so much more than any other guy Bucky has ever liked. And definitely because Bucky knows that kissing Steve once won't be enough, but he doesn't know if that's all he’ll get.

Steve waits until Bucky starts walking again and then matches his stride. Bucky’s hand automatically searches Steve’s out. He’s no longer surprised at how easy that feels or how insanely comfortable. Bucky’s house is just ahead and once again, he’s dreading it because he knows that means he’ll be saying goodbye to Steve.

"Well, this is my stop," Bucky says, stupidly.

Steve knows that. They were just here last week. At least this week Bucky won't be shaking his hand again like a total nerd. Bucky is trying to limit his stupidity to once an interaction.

They get to the edge of the driveway and, just like last week, Steve stops there. Bucky looks over his shoulder and see that all the windows are dark. It makes him feel even more secluded with Steve, knowing that everyone is either asleep or blocks away from the two of them, that they have that moment to themselves.

"I'll call you tomorrow?" Steve asks. That's something new; they haven't talked on the phone. It gives Bucky something to look forward to.

"You can call me when you get back to your car. You know, so I know you got there all right," Bucky suggests, which is unnecessary, but whatever gets him a little more time with Steve will do. Plus, it seems like a reasonable request considering they don't have a chaperone this time.

Steve snorts. "Yeah, you think someone's going to kidnap me?" He gestures down his body as if that’s all the clarification that Bucky needs. And well, it is. No sane person is going to try and stuff Steve into a trunk, not with those muscles on display.

"Oh, I don't know, a beautiful boy walking home in the middle of the night..." Bucky trails off, borrowing Steve’s words.

He’s rewarded with a gorgeous smile as Steve grins and drawls out, “Right.”

Bucky is playing with the hem of the hoodie, stalling because he doesn’t want Steve to leave yet. He’s waiting to see which one of them is going to have the courage to do what Bucky knows they both want to do. He can see it in Steve’s eyes.

The waiting is seriously killing Bucky, though, and when Steve opens his mouth, Bucky can't help staring at it and wanting him. Bucky steps forward. He doesn't even know what Steve is saying; Bucky can't hear it over his breath.

Bucky has to do it. He has to kiss Steve.

Bucky take Steve’s wrist and pulls him close and then they’re pressed together, Steve’s chest against his, their thighs touching. Steve’s voice trails off. He looks down at Bucky, so serious suddenly, his eyes searching Bucky’s, and Bucky closes his eyes when Steve’s hand moves up to cradle Bucky’s face.

"Buck," he says, so quietly Bucky almost doesn't hear it. Bucky hears him swallow and feels his heart pounding and that's really all the courage he needs.

Bucky stands on his tiptoes and winds his hand around Steve’s neck, pulling him down. Steve’s skin is warm against his. And then Steve’s mouth, oh , Steve’s mouth finds his and he takes Bucky’s top lip between his, soft and hesitant at first, like he's trying Bucky out.

Oh my god , Bucky’s going to die right there, right there in his driveway. Steve’s fingers dive into Bucky’s hair as he inhales deeply. Their lips part together and thank god Steve's holding on to him so tightly because when Bucky feels Steve’s tongue, his knees cease to exist.

Steve shifts his hold on Bucky, his hands wrapping around and up Bucky’s back. No one has ever kissed Bucky like that before, like Steve wants to devour him but is holding back, like Steve's memorizing Bucky’s mouth and the slight curve of his back where Steve’s fingers are now digging into.

Bucky’s never felt that, not even in his most intimate moments with Brock (or with himself, which he’s not sure even counts). The way Steve is kissing him is so brand new.

They pull apart after what seems like forever and no time at all and Steve leans his forehead against Bucky’s. They're both out of breath. Bucky doesn't even know which way is up right then. He’s so light-headed, and woozy.

"Okay," Bucky says finally, when he’s figured out how to speak again.

"Okay," Steve repeats, his voice husky.

"I'm going to go." Bucky doesn't move and Steve’s hold doesn't loosen.

"Okay." Bucky can't help it; he starts laughing and then Steve does too. Steve brushes his thumb over Bucky’s cheekbone. "I wanted to do that last week. I've wanted to do that for a really long time, actually."

"Let it be known that I kissed you, Rogers. Don't take all my glory."

"Fine, you get the first one. But guess what?"

"What?" Bucky whispers.

Bucky watches, mesmerized, as Steve tilts his head so that his lips are right there again, right over Bucky’s. Bucky feels them and Steve’s words and especially Steve’s smile, and their mouths part together as Steve says, "I'm all about reciprocity, too."

Chapter Text

If Bucky thought he was floating when he saw Steve wearing the ribbon at the football game, it's nothing compared to how Bucky feels after they kiss in the darkness of his driveway. He’s a Bucky-shaped balloon, gliding happily and blissfully toward his house. His mind immediately rewinds and plays every conversation, every sentence and every word they shared. Bucky inwardly giggles at the silly things he said, but it's all erased when he remembers Steve’s comment to his grandma (‘with him now’) or the way their friends (they're Bucky’s too, now, right?) watched their interactions.

Bucky slips in the front door, surprised to find his parents still in the living room, watching a movie in the dark. His dad's head is resting in his mom's lap and he's dozing as she finishes the movie she obviously picked out. He stirs when Bucky walks into the room, raising his hand before closing his eyes once again. Bucky’s mom runs her hand over his head.

"Did you have fun, sweetheart?" she asks.

Bucky feels a flush rise to his cheeks while he presses a hand over his racing heart. He lets out a breathy "Oh, yes" and his mom looks surprised but smiles anyway. She mentions that Melissa from the Lion’s Club called to let them know they don't need Bucky to volunteer tomorrow and Bucky nods before drifting up the stairs. Honestly, everything feels so unimportant compared to the thoughts racing through his head and the tingling sensation that still dances across his lips.  

Bucky shuts the door to his room quietly behind him, leaning against it as he tries to collect his breath. Seconds later though, his phone rings and it's Steve, letting Bucky know that he found his way back to his car without getting lured away by a stranger with candy. Bucky changes while talking to him and they whisper back and forth, early into the morning hours.

When they're finally passing out from exhaustion, Bucky’s eyes closing more often than they're open, he mumbles, "What are you thinking about?"

And Steve replies, "The next time I can kiss you. Sleep well, Buck."

Little things keep Bucky tethered to the ground, keeping him from drifting away altogether. Things like homework. Things like his conversation with Matt and Sharon (once they've sobered up) about what exactly Bucky meant when he told them that he’d broken up with Brock.

But there's always the counteraction.

In between homework, Bucky calls or texts Steve.

The conversation with Matt and Sharon about Brock is a bit awkward. There's no easy way to say that Bucky felt like he and Brock outgrew each other while both Matt and Sharon are still very much in their current relationships. He’s not sure they understand his logic or reasons. With a group of three, Bucky guess there's always someone who feels a bit on the outs. Lately, it's been him, though he’s not sure how much either of them realize it. But then they have quality bestie time, getting mani/pedis and there's that tip of the scales, when everything feels just right again, or at least as right as it’s always felt. Then again, perhaps the only reason the time they spent together was bearable was because him and Steve hadn’t stopped texting, even when the lady had one of Bucky’s hands and he was left texting letter by letter at an excruciatingly slow pace.

Bucky spends a lot of time dreaming about Steve too, the day and night kind. He dreams about Steve’s voice and his smile, that kiss and his lips and his hands. A lot of time is spent on Steve’s hands.

All of that dreaming makes him sleep through his alarm clock Monday morning and he jolts up and is out of bed in a second flat. He’s shocked his parents didn't wake him; usually if he’s one minute past his alarm, they're yelling up from downstairs that he needs to get going. God forbid he’s late to school. But when Bucky races downstairs after throwing on some clothes, his mom and FeFe are in the kitchen with the newspaper.

Damn, the newspaper. With all of his mooning and swooning and homework, he’s completely forgotten that a new edition of the school paper will be out today. Bucky’s photos will make their debut for the Shield High School's population. He feels a little smile pull at his lips thinking of the credit: James Barnes that will be below them. Or maybe Peter will put Bucky instead, since it’s what the younger kid had addressed him as.

"You're going to be late for school if you don't hurry," his mom says, like it's some kind of newsflash. She gazes down at the front page casually. Bucky almost goes smart ass on her, but her eyebrow is arched, and it’s a trait that he inherited and therefore recognizes. He knows exactly what it means: you're pushing me .

"I'm going, I'm going," Bucky grumbles, grabbing a banana from the counter and an organic granola bar from the walk-in pantry. His loafers make a soft tap, tap, tap against the granite floors and he leans over, planting a swift kiss on his mom's cool cheek as he goes. FeFe growls. Bucky nudges it with his toe. "Love you, too, monster."

"Have a good day, sweetie," she calls after him.

Yeah, he doesn’t think that will be a problem.

The parking lot is packed when he pulls in and he ends up at the back of the lot, not too far from Brock's car. He dashes past Steve’s dark blue Jeep and cranes his neck, even though he’s sure Steve’s already inside at his locker. It's crazy that even seeing his car makes Bucky’s stomach flip. They won't be able to do anything or say anything within the walls of the school, but right now all Bucky wants to do is see him.

And see him Bucky does, as soon as he turns the corner to his own locker. Steve’s taller than 99 percent of the school's population, so Bucky easily spots the medium blond hair that his fingers got acquainted with on Friday. Not that it matters; Bucky would have seen him whether Steve blended in with the crowd or not. Bucky’s body is just attuned to him now. He swears he feels like he’s being physically pulled toward Steve. And as if Steve feels it, too, he looks over his shoulder and their eyes meet in a quick and silent hello.

Bucky wants nothing more than to march up to him, press his body against Steve, weave his hands through Steve’s hair and pull their mouths together. But he doesn't know if that would be okay, even if people did know about them; any kind of PDA gets the crackdown. So instead, Bucky stands in the middle of the hall, his fingers pressed against his mouth. They're a poor substitute now that he knows what Steve’s feel like.

A soft thwack on his head shakes him from his Steve-coma and he looks up, annoyed to see Phil, until Bucky realizes that a rolled school newspaper was his weapon of choice. Bucky grabs it from his hand and unfurl the paper. And there they are. Bucky’s pictures are on the front page. "Nice job moonlighting, Barnes. You got my good side."

"Nah, you can still see your face," Bucky quips back, borrowing one of his favorite Rizzo lines, the Pink Lady Bucky aspired to be when he was younger (and maybe a bit now, minus the whole pregnancy scare thing). Of course, Phil doesn't know Grease so he totally doesn't pick up on that. "I'm surprised your liver is still functioning. Did you have fun after I left?"

"No, B.B. I sat there crying that you were gone. Oh wait, no. That was Shan and Murdock at random points in the night."

"That's no surprise. I am the missable type." Bucky nods sagely. He pushes past the people standing between him and his locker, anxious to get there so he can make it to homeroom on time. He’s a bit thrown from his usual schedule, which always makes him feel off-kilter.

Phil trails him, seeing that Sharon is waiting there. Bucky glances over at Steve; he's slamming the metal door shut and stuffing his cap into his back pocket.

"Morning, beautiful," Phil says gallantly, pulling Sharon against him and placing a quick kiss on her nose. She giggles and goes straight for his mouth, which is awkward because they're mere inches from Bucky. If Bucky were to make a wrong move, it'd be a three-way. Apparently they're not concerned about PDA.

Maybe Bucky needs to take a page from their books instead. He sure does want to, that's a fact.

Bucky clears his throat loudly, but they're intent on ignoring him, so he rolls his eyes and busy himself with pulling the books he’ll need for the morning.

The first warning bell rings just after he shuts his locker door. Covertly, Bucky looks back to locker 137, although he doesn't really need to worry about Sharon and Phil noticing since they're still wrapped up in each other, doing all the things Bucky longs to do with Steve. Steve isn't there, but Danvers is. She holds up the paper and gives Bucky the thumbs up once she sees that his friends are otherwise occupied. Then she mouths, "Talk later?"

Bucky would much rather talk to her now. It's not like his friends are paying the slightest bit of attention to him. But she's already backing away, so Bucky nods hisses head and watch as Wilson grabs her hand, pecking her cheek once before they head in the opposite direction.

"Bucky-Bear! You ready to roll?" Sharon asks this like he’s the one who's been holding them up.

"Oh, I was born ready." Awesome. Bucky thought that he'd be able to float a little bit longer but he’s already dishing out the attitude. "Let's go."

Phil slings an arm around Sharon’s shoulder and she puts her free one through Bucky’s, pulling him into them both as they walk toward their homerooms. "I looked at that scrapbook thing that you made for Phil's birthday. Those pictures were fucking classic."

Phil chimes in, "Yeah, that was really cool. Thanks, Bucky."

He doesn't know why it bothers him as much as it does. Because they're thanking him, complimenting it in their own special way, but it's empty. Like they're saying the words but don't really get the gift. After seeing how appreciative Clint was of his, it stings.

Bucky wonders if he can make them sting, too. If they'll even care.

"Yep, whatever." Bucky pulls his arm out of Sharon’s. He’s quickly being pulled back down to earth.

Sharon flinches and looks at Phil, who shrugs, before turning back to Bucky. Her eyebrow is cocked, her bottom lip puffed out a little and shining with a thick layer of gloss. "Look at those claws, kitten. Rough night?"

On the contrary. It's the morning that's been rough, the harsh light chasing away what felt hazy and dreamlike Friday night and through the weekend. Bucky’s well aware that his friends can be like that, wrapped up in their own shit, a little selfish more often than not. He shouldn’t be one to talk much since he’s pretty guilty of the same behavior. But sometimes Bucky really really really wishes they'd look beyond themselves and this little world none of them have ever strayed from.

Everyone has the capacity to change, right?

Bucky knows he does. Furthermore, he is. It's weird, scary; it makes him feel like what's happening is pushing him further from them, but they can't even see it. They have no idea how close he is to just throwing himself into Steve’s arms and saying fuck it to everyone else. .

He feels like an asshole for snapping, but he can't control his irritation. "Tired," he says shortly, as if that’s all the excuse he needs to offer. Then again, he knows they’ll take it. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?" Sharon asks, reaching for Bucky’s hand. He lets her catch it, but just briefly before he gestures to his homeroom class.

"Uh, class? I think that's the whole point of this school thing."

Sharon turns to Phil. Coulson is obviously uncomfortable with the tension, his eyes roaming the emptying hallway like he's looking for someone to save him. "My best friend is a smart ass, Phillip. Isn't that cute?"

"At least he’s a nice ass." Phil grins and then, seeing Sharon’s dark expression, adds quickly, "Not that I'm looking. I've never looked. I've heard. From...people."

"Please shut up while you're a little bit ahead. See you at lunch, B.B." She barely looks at Bucky as she tows Phil away, now irritated with both Bucky and her doofus boyfriend. Bucky rolls his eyes, turning on his heel to go into class.

Between his semi-fight with Sharon and the fact that Bucky doesn't even get a glimpse of Steve after homeroom or before second period, Bucky’s sure he’s sporting a total bitch face. He ducks out of Chem for a quick bathroom break, needing to stretch his legs and release some of his pent-up tension. He’s pretty sure he was making his lab partner Anna LeBeau nervous with all of his petulant sighing.

Bucky is stomping down the hallway toward the boy’s restroom when he hears a hushed "psst!" Bucky ignores it at first, but it gets more insistent and then he hears the footsteps trailing behind him. When he turns around, Carol is making her way quickly toward him, grinning. Her hair is tucked underneath a knit cap similar to Clint’s and she's wearing an old Rosie the Riveter shirt with a cardigan thrown over it. On anyone else, it would look ridiculous and sloppy, but she pulls it off with style that Bucky can only envy.

"Hey! I saw you walk past my classroom so I grabbed the bathroom pass. Got a few?"

Bucky rolls his eyes toward his classroom. "Probably not, but I don't care. I'm absorbing next to nothing today. What's up?"

"Come with me to the art wing." She starts off in that direction, walking faster than humanly possible. Bucky follows her as she speaks over her shoulder. "Mr. H has a prep period and he lets students hang out in there whenever we want."

"That's very generous of him."

Actually, this information doesn't surprise Bucky in the least. He knows more about the art wing than people probably realize. When he was a freshman, Mr. H saw him with his camera and offered the use of the photo lab, teaching Bucky how to mix the chemicals and how to time different phases Bucky needed to let each picture develop. Even though Bucky couldn't take his class, he supported Bucky’s love of photography, answering questions and asking how things were going from time to time.

"Yeah, he looks at us as a little family. You know, the misfits. Rather than having us getting into trouble out behind the school, he'd rather have us in here creating something." She holds the door open and waves her arm dramatically. "Step into my office."

A few students mill around, drawing in sketchbooks or sitting on the floor and talking quietly. No one even looks up when they walk in. Carol grabs his hand and leads him to the back corner before plopping down and pulling out the paper from today. Her mismatched colored fingernails press into the print under the pictures, the one that carries Bucky’s name. "You're good, Bucky."

"Well, thank y-"

"No, like, you're really talented. You captured something in these pictures that makes me want to grab some pom poms and cheer for our school. That's talent, Bucky, considering that, other than helping with the Homecoming banner, I'm not exactly known for my school spirit. And that picture you gave Nat and Clint? It nailed their connection. Other people take pictures but you…you capture ." She pauses to take a breath, a smile spreading across her face. "So, I have a favor to ask, if you're interested."

She cuts straight to the chase, probably knowing that Bucky has to get back to Chem. He wishes he could stay there, locked away with people that could understand and appreciate the small things. No one has raved about his work, and it pulls him back up from his low. Bucky wants to hear more, his selfishlessness beside for like a split second at max.

"What sort of favor?"

She leans forward, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "So, I just started my own Etsy shop, selling things that I knit. Like my hat and the one I gave Clint for his birthday. I don't know a lot about starting my own business, but I do know that it's super important to present your products in the best light. And for my business, that means the best pictures." She tilts her head at that, purposely looking down again at Bucky’s pictures spread across the front page.

"You want me to take pictures for your site?" he asks. Bucky can't hide the surprise in his voice.

She nods, quick and eager. "Yeah, I do. I mean, I don't have money to pay you or anything -"

The expression on her face is almost contrite, but Bucky won't have it and he holds up his hand to stop her. "Pay me? Don't be ridiculous. I want to do this, Carol." He wiggles his fingers at her, palm up. "Give me your phone. I'll add my number so we can discuss the details."

And just like that, he’s floating again. It's amazing how his close friends can bring him so low and people that he’s just beginning to know are taking him so high. Carol has keyed in on something that makes Bucky happy in the purest sense and given reason to it. Bucky doesn't even know if she realizes it. And the more he thinks about it, the more Bucky understands she's doing him a favor. These pictures could potentially go into a portfolio, could start Bucky on a path to actually do something with what he’s starting to realize is a legitimate talent.

Digging into her sweater pocket, she hands over a phone that looks like it's on its last legs. If Tony were here (which he probably doesn’t even know the school has an art room) he would have probably fainted at the sight and insisted on hooking her up with something nice and shiny and new. There’s something oddly charming about the phone case though, a 3D golden star in front of a section of dark blue and red.

"Fantastic! Plus, I'm making something for you right now so you'll be getting a Carol Danvers original out of the deal."

"I can say I knew you when," Bucky say dryly, punching in his phone number before passing the phone back to her.

She smiles brightly, pockets her phone and then sticks out her hand. "Great doing business with you, Mr. Barnes."

Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes a little, but they shake on it, both of them giving a nod. Everything about her is infectious, almost magnetic, and Bucky realizes as he’s walking back to Chem that it's not just Steve that he wants to get to know better and spend time with. Their group of people is special; he knows it even after hanging out with them a couple of times. Bucky gets why Nat defected in seventh grade, even beyond her huge and instant crush on Clint..

Despite Carol's proposal, the rest of the morning drags. He nearly cries with happiness when the bell rings for lunch. He’s out of his seat before anyone else even realizes they're free, flying down the hallway yet making sure his hair stays impeccably in place. With his books dumped off at his locker, he hightails it towards the lunchroom where the mass of students have began to congregate, their voices giving him an automatic buzzing in his skull.

He pushes past the people who have decided they'd rather stand in the middle of the hall like annoying human roadblocks than actually, you know, walk. That would be much too practical for high schoolers anyway. Apparently the cluster of girls standing in the doorway of the lunchroom got the same memo everyone else did. Bucky waits approximately two seconds for them to move before he sidesteps them impatiently, muttering, "Excuse me."

They scuttle out of the way, but he’s already past them, his eyes shifting to the table where Steve and his group always sit. The other four are there, leaning in on a conspiratorial huddle, but Steve’s seat is... empty.

Bucky feels the breath deflate out of his lungs, his shoulders slumping in misery. He swears to god, it’s like the universe is laughing at him. Or maybe Steve is. If Steve is trying to drive Bucky crazy by being the living embodiment of Where's Waldo? , it's working.

It’s also kinda annoying. Like really really annoying.

What Bucky sees next does nothing to improve his quickly darkening mood.

The usual suspects are at Bucky’s table, which, of course, is at the epicenter of the lunchroom, where they are at the display for the rest of the student body to gawk at. Sharon is sitting next to Phil, leaning against him as she waves her hands at Matt. Elektra is next to Sharon, staring down at her phone in concentration as Matt sits across from her. The seat beside Matt is open, for Bucky of course, but on the other side of that seat is Brock. And next to Brock, tucked into his side is the guy from the party. Danny-Duncan-Derek.

Bucky stops in his tracks, his hands flying to his hips. "Oh, fuck."

Sharon and Matt are actively shutting Brock and Danny-Duncan-Derek out, their bodies turned away from the both of them. But the rest of the table is acting like it's no big deal. Jack and Tony are chatting it up with Brock, like always, and Bucky can’t actually tell if they’re acknowledging the new guy, but he sincerely doubts it. Tony has no patience for crap like that and Jack, well, Jack does anything that Brock does so…

The problem is that Bucky knows exactly what Brock's doing - he wants to rub the other guy in Bucky’s face. Brock thinks he can make Bucky realize what a horrible mistake he’s made breaking up with him and beg him to take Bucky back. And what a mature way to go about it. Surely Bucky will come running with his arms held wide open, right?

Right. No. Hell no. Bucky wouldn't have patience for that on a normal day, but today he turns and walks the fuck away. He sails out of the lunchroom, even when he hears Matt call after him. Bucky cruises right on down the hallway and out the front doors. He has no idea where he’s going, just that he’s going away from that. From them. All of them.

At first Bucky thinks it's a mirage, the tall boy loping across the parking lot. A hood covers his head, but Bucky would recognize that sweatshirt, that back and those shoulders anywhere.

"Steve!" he calls. Naturally Steve doesn't hear him, so Bucky yells it even louder the next time and start speed-walking toward him.

Shit .

Steve's getting in his car, so Bucky fucking runs. He knows he looks like an idiot booking it across the lot but he doesn't care. Bucky wants to go wherever Steve’s going.

Bucky gets to Steve’s jeep just as he's gunning his engine and Bucky raps on the window urgently. The sun reflects off the glass, obscuring Steve’s face, but Bucky can still see Steve jump. He waits as Steve rolls the window down, Bucky’s arms crossed, and his heart skips when Bucky finally gets to see Steve up close.

"Buck?"

"Are you deaf?" Bucky is trying to hide how breathless he is. If Steve didn't see Bucky running after him, Bucky doesn't want to advertise the fact. It would probably only show how desperately out of shape he was. "I was screaming your name,” he explains.

"You were screaming my name, huh?" Steve repeats, grinning like a madman. Now if there is anything that Bucky does know, it’s that he loves that smile; it's all masculine and sin and deep, deep dimples and laughter lines. He never wants to go a day without seeing that face.

Bucky needs to either concentrate or jump Steve right then and there. But because Bucky wants to get the hell out of there for a minute, concentration wins. "Where are you going?"

Steve hesitates, a cloud of doubt passing across his eyes. "Uh...home."

"Can I come?"

Steve’s eyebrows flicker up and Bucky can tell he's trying to decide whether to be perverted or not. Not wins. "Aren't you going to eat lunch with your crew?"

Bucky’s hands grip onto the straps of his leather backpack at his shoulders, feeling nervous yet exhilarated at the same time. "If I wanted to eat lunch with them, I'd be in there. I'm here with you."

One corner of Steve’s mouth pulls up and his eyes search Bucky’s. Bucky is quiet, and is silently pleading that Steve won’t send him away to the dooms of their high school. Thankfully, Steve doesn't make him wait for long. "All right. Get your fine ass in here, Barnes."

The smile that stretches across Bucky’s face has to the biggest he’s ever smiled before and he jogs to the other side of Steve’s Jeep, pulls open the door and hoists himself into the vehicle. Once he’s settled and belted, Steve peels out of the parking lot. Bucky is done watching him from the corner of his eye, so Bucky turns in his seat, blatantly staring. "Beautiful to fine ass in less than two weeks, huh?"

Steve smirks then and Bucky swears to god that he hears angels singing. Bucky doesn't even fully understand what Steve does to him or how, but Bucky likes it. "Hey,” Steve’s voice drops slightly, turning mock-serious. “I'm not the one talking about cocks. Licking the fork and talking about how the cake was so moist and delicious? Yeah, don't think I wouldn't bring that up." Steve furrows his brow and shoots him a look as Bucky laughs, his cheeks flushing. "Secret's out - you're a dirty guy, Bucky Barnes. You brought this on yourself."

"Yeah, well... don't spread it around. We've all got secrets to keep," Bucky says, thinking about the conversation they had that first night.

"Yeah, I guess we do," Steve says quietly, flicking his gaze at Bucky before focusing on the road. His fingers drum on the steering wheel, but other than that, it's quiet. No music, no talking. Bucky is still turned in his seat, his head against the headrest so that he can watch Steve. After a minute, the silence starts to make Bucky nervous. He’s obviously hit some kind of a nerve with a comment that was supposed to be off-handed. He’s not sure how to bring the comfortable ease between them back. Bucky wracks his brain, trying to think of something, anything to talk about.

"Carol asked me to take pictures," he blurts out. Well, that's something.

"For her knitting thing, right? She mentioned she wanted to ask you. Glad to hear she tracked you down." We sit quietly for a moment before Steve clears his throat. "The pictures in the paper were good. Thanks for getting that one of me in there."

The one of Phil was prominent, front and center. But the paper did a collage of pictures on the inside page, and one of the highlights was the one he had taken of Steve hamming it up for the camera.

Bucky waves his hand dismissively. "Oh, that was all Parker. And well, you."

"Don't sell yourself short." Steve reaches over and grabs Bucky’s hand mid-wave, giving it a squeeze before releasing it. Steve’s hand goes back to the gear shift and Bucky lets his gaze drift over Steve’s fingers wrapped around it, the peaks and valleys of his knuckles, the map of veins underneath his skin. Bucky hesitates for a moment before reaching down to trace where his eyes just were. Steve shifts in his seat, and Bucky can feel him looking at him. Bucky lets his fingers fall in between Steve’s deciding that they belong there, interlocked with one another.

"So, why are we ditching lunch?" Bucky asks after a quiet moment, glancing at Steve out of the corner of his eye. He’s pushing, but it's gentle. He knows what his motivation for running was, but he wants to know what Steve’s running from, or to. "Surely there are other more important things to be missing. Like maybe English or science?"

Steve hesitates again, glancing at him quickly. Bucky runs his thumb along the side of Steve’s hand, which seems to do something to Steve, or maybe for Steve. "My gram has been having trouble. Uh, with her meds. So, you know, I worry about her. This past weekend was really...I don't know. Not good." His words are coming out reluctantly, like he's testing Bucky, waiting for Bucky to say something. But when Bucky doesn't, Steve keeps going, keeping his eyes fixed on the road. "I just want to swing by and check in on her, make sure she's doing okay. Cool?"

Bucky is still watching his face and Steve’s expression tells so much more than his words do. It's almost like Steve's nervous that for some reason Bucky, of all people, would be opposed to visiting his gram. "Steve, I'm fine with that. Why wouldn't I be?"

"Some people get weird around elderly people. And she's really all I've got. She's the one who raised me the majority of my life. I just..." Steve stops talking and shrugs.

"Hey, I'm the one who crashed your party here, okay? It's cool, really." Bucky tightens his fingers around Steve’s, hoping to show him that Bucky’s in. That Bucky is there for him, want to be whatever Steve needs right now.

They turn into an older neighborhood and Steve pulls into the small, narrow gravel driveway of an unassuming ranch house.

"You could probably fit at least a dozen of my house in yours," Steve says. It's meant as a joke, but it's hollow and Bucky doesn't know what to say to that, so he doesn't say anything, just climbs out of the car as Steve makes his way around the front of it. "You're supposed to wait and let me get the door for you, Buck."

Bucky grins as he meets Steve at the front. "Oh! Sorry, I didn't realize this was 1935. Do you want me to get back in?" he teases, hitching a thumb over his shoulder.

Steve shakes his head. "Gram's from the old school. This is what we do here."

"Hmmm,” Bucky exaggeratedly taps his fingers on his lip as Steve grabs his hand and pulls him toward the door. "I guess I shouldn't mention the screaming my name and fine ass comments when I meet her then."

Steve leans in, his face right in front of Bucky’s, and Bucky can see himself reflected in Steve’s blue eyes. "Yeah, probably better leave that out of the conversation." Bucky moves his fingers just in time, just as Steve’s lips meet his own for a brief kiss. "I've wanted to do that since this morning when I saw you in the hall. All that lip tapping. You were sending me signals."

Bucky brings his body closer to Steve and kisses him again. It's not enough. Honestly, Bucky will never get enough of him. But it's all they can have for now. Steve shakes his head, as if coming out of a daze before jiggling the key into the bottom lock and opening the door.

"Glad to see you picked up on them," Bucky murmurs as he follows Steve into the house.

Steve unzips his sweatshirt in the small foyer and hangs it on a hook directly inside the door. "Can I - " He turns, his eyes raking over Bucky’s body as he realizes that Bucky is indeed not wearing a jacket. He honestly forgot to grab it in his haste to flee the house that morning. Steve points to his jacket. "You're wearing that back."

Normally Bucky would put up a fight. Go all equality rights on his ass, just because he can. It would give him a hard time and get him talking more. But, Steve is wearing a tight grey shirt that stops Bucky. It’s thermal material and stretches across his chest and shoulders, tapers a little where his torso and waist does, and when Steve runs a hand through his hair, the hem of the shirt creeps up just enough to reveal the top of an elastic strip and smooth skin.

Hello, jaw. Meet floor.

"Steven Grant, is that you?" A reedy, disembodied voice calls. It's vaguely familiar, but that's not what catches Bucky’s attention, distracting him from the Steve peep show. Steve blushes scarlet and scratches at the back of his neck.

“Steven Grant?” Bucky whispers, taking Steve’s arm. Steve glares and huffs a bit, but it’s good-natured like everything else he does.

"Here, Gram," Steve calls back. Bucky’s hand slides down to his and he lets Steve pull him down the hallway. Bucky runs the fingers of his empty hand through his hair and over his abdomen and tops of his thighs, straightening any imperfections he may have. He knows he has nice clothes but looking down at his loafers and tapered pants and collared shirt, he can only hope that he looks good enough. He would downright die if he looked like a fool in front of Steve’s gram and who knew what Bucky would look like to her?

He tries to calm himself as Steve drags him further into the house. The house is tiny but immaculate. It's pretty easy to tell that this is Steve’s gram's house. In fact, if it weren't for the coats hanging in the hallway and the gym bag on the floor right by the front door, Bucky would never know that Steve lives here. Everything is all flowers with lace touches and dark, ornate wood. It smells like potpourri and spicy cinnamon. It's cozy and warm. Nothing echoes, not even his gram's voice coming from the other room.

Everything about it is so strange yet it still feels so welcoming and so right . 

Steve stops in a doorway and peeks in. Bucky stops just out of sight, not sure if he’s supposed to be there or not. Pictures line the wall in the hallway, the vast majority of them are of Steve at various stages of his life. There's one picture of a man and a woman holding a baby. It's time worn, a little yellow, but Bucky recognizes the blond hair and blue eyes immediately. Steve has his mom's smile and his dad's eyes. They both have the blond hair, the man’s slightly darker than the woman’s though. Looking at the picture, Bucky can't help wondering where they are.

"Why are you hovering there, sweetie?"

Steve looks over his shoulder at Bucky, smiling bashfully, and oh, my god, it's the most adorable thing Bucky has ever seen. Bucky wants to take Steve’s face between his hands and kiss Steve’s lips, just a soft touch or two, or maybe more like two dozen times.

"I brought someone with me, Gram," he replies and tugs Bucky gently through the doorway of what Bucky guesses is Steve’s grandma's bedroom. It's as pristine as the rest of the house, washed in soft colors. Steve’s Gram is sitting in a chair by the window and her gaze moves from a television on the nightstand in the corner to them. Closed captioning scrolls over what looks like Law & Order.

Bucky’s eyes widen however, when he gets a good look at the elderly woman. And holy shit, he knows Steve’s grandma. "Oh! Mrs. McCarthy, how are you?"

"Bucky, dear." Her voice is thin and a little weak, but the surprise is strong. Grace McCarthy is one of the regulars at the Lion’s Club and a major bingo enthusiast. Bucky sees her nearly every time he volunteers and they always exchange hellos. She usually kicks everyone's ass, and now that Bucky knows she's Steve's grandma, he can see the resemblance. Her hair is snow white, but has the same texture that Steve does, the softest, barely-there wave within the locks. They smile the same, too. Hers is just as mischievous as his. "How are you? I didn't see you at the club this weekend."

"Oh, they didn't need me." Bucky can feel Steve’s eyes on him, warm and inquisitive, but he stays silent.

"I'm sure you had better things to do," she says with that smile. Bucky opens his mouth to tell her that no, actually, he really doesn't and that he loves being there anyway. Bucky doesn't get the chance, though. She waves Steve over, her eyes never leaving Bucky’s face. "What are you two doing out of school? Am I going to get another call from the principal's office?"

Steve laughs a little. "No, Gram, it's lunch time. And you know I learned how to forge your signature for sick notes a long time ago."

Gram clucks and smacks him lightly on the cheek when he crouches down next to her. "You'd better be lying, Steven Rogers."

"I am," he says, but when she's not looking, he looks at Bucky and mouths, "I'm not."

Bucky has to press his fingers against his mouth to stop his smile and Steve watches him, his eyes narrowing.

Steve turns back to his grandma. "Did you take your pills?" His voice is low, almost conspiratorial, and Bucky takes a step back to give them some semblance of privacy. Steve reaches across her and picks up the pill case on the arm of the chair, popping open one of the tabs to check it.

Gram looks at me indignantly before snatching it from Steve’s grasp. "I've survived sixty-one years without you checking up on me, you know."

"Yeah, well, you had a bad week because you missed a day of meds, Gram, so now I'm gracing you with my presence."

"And the lovely Bucky's." Gram winks at Bucky, her irritation forgotten.

"Yes. 'The lovely Bucky' and I have to head back to school now, otherwise we'll be late and you might just hear from Principal Ross." Steve catches his eye and makes a face. Steve’s smile is softer now, one that's obviously reserved for special people. Leaning down again, he drops a kiss on her head. "Get some rest, okay? I've got practice after school but I'll call to check in."

It's clear that she's taken the medication she's supposed to. Bucky wonders what happened the other day when she didn't. And he also wonders where Steve's parents are, why he's taken on the task that should have been theirs. Steve seems a lot older than seventeen right now, so much older and wiser than Bucky could ever be.

Acting on impulse, Bucky moves from his spot near the wall to her chair. He leans toward her, his arm carefully wrapping around her frail shoulders and he hugs her for a moment. His cheek rests on hers, paper-thin from seeing years and things Bucky’s never known. "I'll see you again soon, Mrs. McCarthy. Next time I'll pick up some cannolis too."

When he looks at Steve, his expression is unreadable. Bucky hopes to god he didn't say something wrong, that there will be a next time.

They’re quiet as they walk from the house. Bucky is wrapped in the hoodie Steve helped him into, the leaves swirling around them with the wind that has kicked up. Steve walks Bucky to the passenger side of the Jeep and helps him in before climbing into the driver's side. Bucky hopes he isn't doing this just because he's being chivalrous, like his grandma taught him to be.

Steve doesn't say anything, just starts the car and begins to drive the path back to school. But Bucky can tell, even without Steve’s words saying it, that not many people see that side of him. Behind the easy-going, laid-back attitude, this is where Steve’s heart lies. Bucky’s eyes focus on his own hands and he wonder if Steve regrets showing this to him; if Steve wishes Bucky hadn't forced himself on him in the parking lot.

God, Bucky can be so selfish.

Bucky’s starting to get the nervous sweats when Steve suddenly slams on the brakes and pulls to the side of the road. They both jolt forward a bit with the sudden stop and he shuts off the ignition.

"Holy Je-"

Steve’s lips are on Bucky’s and his hand twist through Bucky’s hair before he can get out another word. Leaning across the gear shift, Bucky can feel their upper bodies pushing valiantly against each other, but it's not enough. It can't be. Steve pulls back, for just a moment, and tilts the wheel all the way up. Bucky scrambles to unbuckle his belt and when he does, he climbs over the console, straddling Steve’s legs with his own.

Their faces are close, so very close, and Steve kisses his way along Bucky’s jaw before making his way to Bucky’s mouth again. Bucky’s pulse is racing, his heart beating wildly out of control and Bucky presses himself into Steve even further, giving everything that he has and is. Bucky’s fingers are at the hem of Steve’s shirt and he can feel the muscles in Steve’s stomach tighten when Bucky touches the skin smattered with fine hair. Steve groans as Bucky’s palm flattens again his stomach, curving along his side.

Bucky has never felt like this before. That all-consuming want and need . Bucky doesn't care about anything but this moment with Steve.

And then Steve pulls away, resting his forehead against Bucky’s. Steve’s next words swirl all around them, in the thick air, and Bucky sighs when he murmurs hoarsely, "You're so fucking special."

Chapter Text

You're so fucking special.

Bucky repeats it in his head after Steve says it, when Steve’s mouth covers his again.

Bucky only feels and hears Steve, nothing else: his lips on Bucky’s, his hands on Bucky’s hips, gliding up, fingertips getting close to places that Bucky would like Steve to touch and feel, and hold on for hours on end. The sound of their breath, mingled together and matching the same labored pace. The steering wheel is pressed into Bucky’s back unless he arches very close to Steve, which he eagerly does. Steve’s thighs are strong and solid beneath Bucky’s, and when Bucky rolls his hips, a downright sinful groan leaves Steve’s throat.

All that exists in that very moment is him and Steve. Bucky’s hand finds the headrest behind Steve and he holds on for dear life, because he feels like he’s drowning. Bucky was right about Steve that first night; Bucky is being downright consumed , but also consuming, so close to Steve but not close enough.

He thinks that what they’re doing is what it's supposed to feel like. Bucky thinks that is what people dream about and hope for. Bucky felt it increasing, watching Steve with his grandma, and Bucky feels it now. It’s wanting Steve, but needing him too. And not just because Steve's kissing him like he’s never been kissed before (although that's definitely part of it), but because Bucky saw part of Steve’s life and another part of who Steve is, and it just makes Steve so much more beautiful to him.

Steve pulls away and Bucky keeps his eyes closed, trying to draw out this feeling, not wanting to forget too quickly. One palm is still against Steve’s stomach and his fingers trail over Steve’s flesh like it’s a sacred treasure. Bucky loves the way their skin feels pressed together like that, how their warmth blends as one.

"Damn. Sorry," Steve murmurs, his tone more breathless than Bucky has ever heard. Bucky’s own heartbeat echoes in his ears, so he almost doesn't hear Steve, but when he opens his eyes, Bucky sees Steve’s mouth first. It's curled upward, which draws Bucky up to Steve’s eyes. They're dark and twinkling and Bucky can physically see that want-need in them too.

"I'm..." Bucky tries to find some words but they're stuffed away in a deep corner with his brain. "Not sorry. What… what was that about?" He’s still trying to catch his breath and every time he takes a lungful of air in, his chest presses further into Steve’s.

"You know Gram," Steve says instead, reaching up to tuck a stray piece of Bucky’s hair behind his ear that had came undone with their liplocking.

Bucky nods and pulls back a little, resting against the steering wheel. Bucky hopes to god no one drives by right now because their position would be very hard to explain. "She's quite the bingo hustler. I didn't know she was your grandma, though. She mentioned her grandson a few times, but I didn't put it together. Your last names are different..." Bucky trails off, asking but at the same time trying not to pry.

Steve’s eyes flicker over Bucky’s face and then down, before looking out the window. "She's my mom's mom."

"You have her smile," Bucky says, pressing a finger at each corner of Steve’s mouth and gently leaning forward to plant his lips at both sides, giving a quick peck.

"My mom had hers, too,” Steve answers back. He captures Bucky’s lips with his own before tipping his head back into the headrest. Bucky didn't miss the past tense, but Steve forges on, throwing Bucky a grin that's more like the Steve Bucky sees at school - easy and sure, confident through and through. Steve’s hands tighten slightly around Bucky’s waist.  "I saw you there once, you know. At the Lion’s Club."

"You did?" Now that actually throws Bucky slightly, because he knows damn well he’s never spotted Steve at the club. He’s never seen anyone from their school, actually.

"Yeah, usually I just drop Gram off and pick her up. She's stubborn as hell, so she doesn't like me walking her in. But I did one time and saw you in the bingo room."

Bucky flushes. "I call out the numbers sometimes."

"Handle the balls?" Steve laughs at his own dumb joke and Bucky smacks his chest, right over his heart. Steve catches his fingers, however, and presses his palm against the back of Bucky’s hand so that it's trapped between Steve’s hand and Steve’s chest. Bucky can feel his heart racing, the steady thump flourishing under Bucky’s fingers..

"Why didn't you say hi when you saw me?" Bucky asks accusingly, his eyes narrowed slightly. He’s playing of course, but part of him is actually curious. Even a wave would have made all the difference to him, probably would’ve made that night much more rememberful that it had been.

Steve shrugs. "Because we didn't really say hi back then. We just smiled at each other every once in a while." He pauses. "Well, I smiled. You blushed."

"I didn't blush." That's a blatant lie and they both know it.

Steve puts his hands at the dips in Bucky’s waist, pulling him even closer to where their belt buckles clink together. "You did. I know you did."

"How do you know?" Bucky challenges.

"Because I did it on purpose." Bucky’s face goes hot and Steve’s smile widens and softens simultaneously. "There it is."

Steve’s hands drag slowly up Bucky’s back, brushing his shoulders before landing on Bucky’s face. They trace his cheekbones where the blush is most prominent, before weaving back through Bucky’s hair, pulling him closer to kiss him again. It's shorter this time, though no less wanting. Bucky doesn’t think anything will ever feel better than the inside of Steve’s mouth, with their tongues brushing against each other, their teeth knipping and teasing. "I should get you back," Steve breathes into Bucky’s mouth, his lips still against Bucky’s. It’s so erotic and hot as hell that Bucky wants Steve’s mouth everywhere all at once.

"I guess," Bucky sighs, reluctantly pulling back. He unwinds himself from his place on Steve’s lap and flops back over into his own seat but leaves his legs draped across console, his calves lingering on Steve’s legs. Bucky doesn't want to lose contact completely just yet.

Steve laughs as he looks over at him. "You might want to..." Steve’s hand waves around his face, "do stuff?"

Bucky shrugs lazily. "Stuff, huh? That's really all encompassing."

But, Bucky supposes Steve’s right, although he doesn't really want to. He’d rather not brush away what just happened in Steve’s jeep but Bucky knows that it's really just the appearance; Bucky won't be losing what they just gained from this, whatever it is.

While Steve drives, Bucky transforms back into the guy that's expected at school. The one with the perfect hair and the crisp clothing. He’s still wearing Steve’s hoodie and that's the last thing Bucky wants to let go. It's Steve’s equivalent of a Letterman jacket (Steve has one of those, too, but it's not what Bucky associates with him) and it makes Bucky feel like he’s Steve’s, surrounded by Steve even when Bucky can't be near him.

When they get to the school parking lot, he slows considerably, looking around to see if there's anyone that might see us. At first it kinda stings seeing Steve be on the lookout for other people, as if he doesn’t want to be seen with Bucky, as if it would be embarrassing. But then Bucky remembers that Steve is sticking to his wishes even if only for a little while. There is no need to do this, the secrecy, but Bucky wants this to be theirs and no one else's just for a bit longer.

There’s no one around so Bucky doesn’t have any concern for letting go of Steve’s hand. If anything, he holds on just a bit tighter.

"How do I look?" he purses his lips in a mock kiss, and there are the dark eyes once again.

"Beautiful." There's no teasing now. Bucky feels it. Inside, outside, and all around. It's everywhere on him, around them like a fluffy fucking cloud.

They make their way back into the school, pausing in the vestibule so he can return Steve’s hoodie. Bucky’s reluctant giving it back and he can tell that Steve’s reluctant taking it back. It's so much more than a hoodie to Steve; it's him taking care of Bucky.

Steve taps his fingers against Bucky’s lips quickly and then nods, looking down at his keds. "Go on. You're going to be late."

Bucky already is.

"Aren't you coming to English?" Bucky ask, wondering if we can prolong this just a little bit longer.

"Nah, I'm going to go hang at Mr. H's for a bit. I've got a note I can give Fury later."

Bucky picks up what Steve's not saying. It would look weird if he and Bucky walked into the classroom together or even one right after the other. Bucky knows that he'll catch a ration of crap from Fury for being a couple of minutes late. He’s seen how Fury acts when other students are, but Bucky also knows that being the NHS president carries more weight than it should. Other than hearing about it for a couple of minutes, that will be it.

Bucky steps away from Steve and turns, changing his expression from being Steve’s to being theirs .

And man does he wish he could just be Steve’s all the time.

"Homecoming court, Bucky." Sharon draws out the words, over-enunciating each one like he’s deaf. "You're on the court! I can't believe you missed the announcement."

Sharon and Matt are by his side immediately after class. Of course, Bucky got notes tossed in his direction telling him as much during class, but rehashing things discussed in notes is what his friends just do.

"Of course he's on the court," Matt chimes in. "The teachers in this school love him. Did you see how Fury just raised an eyebrow and told him the page number we were on when he walked in like, fifteen minutes late? If anyone else tried that, they would have had automatic detention."

It's true. When Bucky walked into the classroom, he got a sarcastic "How nice of you to join us, Mr. Barnes/ Glad you could fit us into your schedule," from Fury... and that was it. Honestly, Bucky was a little disappointed it wasn't anything more. Even when Bucky was bad , he was still golden.

Bucky did get looks though, and not just from Sharon and Matt, who stared at him like he had grown another head when he rushed in. Clint and Nat had given him surreptitious looks, too, Nat’s gaze flicking towards Steve's empty desk before bouncing back to Bucky. Bucky hadn't responded, mainly because he couldn't, but also because he didn't need to. To the people who knew, it was obvious why he was late and Steve was missing. Of course, they probably only assumed the two of them were together. Bucky sincerely doubts they knew what they had been up to though.

"So, where the hell did you run off to, B.B?" Sharon asks, elbowing him in the side.

"Uh..." Bucky’s brain is still sluggish from lunch, so it takes him a few seconds to figure out an alibi. Matt notices and his eyes narrow slightly, but then a freshman accidentally bumps into him and he busies himself throwing the underclassman a withering look. "I was in the library. I'm kind of slammed with homework, so I wanted to get ahead."

Sharon rolls her eyes so hard that for a second, Bucky actually thinks they may get stuck like that. "Yeah, I'm sure it had nothing to do with that sophomore asshat sitting at our table."

"Jesus, Carter," Bucky mutters, frowning at her. "That's a little harsh, don't you think?"

Sharon snorts. "Uh, no. Phil walked in on them hooking up in his parents' bedroom on Fri-"

"Sharon!" Matt interrupts, reaching across Bucky to shove her. "You have the biggest fucking mouth on the planet."

Sharon flushes scarlet and looks straight ahead, chewing on her bottom lip. It’s obvious they must have discussed this and decided not to say anything to him. Which, ouch . Then again, does Bucky actually care? Uhm, nope . Brock can do whatever the hell he wants. In fact, Bucky would very much encourage his ex to do so. Because then that would mean no more looks in Bucky’s direction, no more coincidentally parking a few spaces away, no more calls past midnight that Bucky lets go straight to voicemail when he hears Brock’s drunk-as-shit voice on the other end. Funny enough, the last one he got was at four in the morning on Saturday when Brock was apparently with the other guy so…

Bucky of course doesn’t inform either of his friends any of that particular can of worms. Because then that would show that he cares. Then again, it’s pretty obvious that he hasn’t made it clear enough to them that he doesn’t give a shit about what Brock does. 

Bucky stops, right in the middle of the hallway, and they do, too. People are streaming around the three of them, a river of students, but Bucky roots himself to the ground and yank them in close so he doesn't have to speak up. "You guys, I don't care. It doesn't matter, okay? We broke up. He’s done with me, and I am done with him. Brock is free to date whomever he wants, hook up with whomever he wants, whatever. I just didn't want to deal with the awkwardness today, so I bailed. My feelings aren't hurt, trust me."

Sharon and Matt exchange a look, like they aren't quite sure what to make of him. But then Matt puts his hand on Bucky’s back and rubs it soothingly. "Okay, B.B. We just want to make sure you're really okay with this, you know? You guys were together for three years and it seems like you... I don't know, moved on really fast."

Oh, if only they really knew.

"Like I said when we talked on Saturday, it was over for me a long time before I actually broke it off. Brock's the one taking it hard, not me."

"Actually, I think Danny is the one taking it ha-"

"Shut up, Sharon," Matt bellows. "Christ!"

Matt doesn’t pay attention to their female friend long because all too soon, he’s back to focusing on Bucky. “Besides, we all know your the best power bottom in the state, B.B, so whatever Brock is getting has to be kinda weak in comparison.”

Bucky feels his face flush in embarrassment, mortified beyond belief that they choose here of all places to have this conversation. He prays no one is listening to their conversation but dear fuck, they’re loud.

“We just gotta find someone to give it to you now,” Sharon nods her head in agreement. “I think you really need it. So stressed all the time, y’know? And it’s not like you’ll have to try hard. You could literally throw yourself at the next rando and--”

“I will most definitely not be throwing myself at any rando,” Bucky splutters.

Matt’s brows shoot up and a grin stretches across his face. “Oh? Well is their a specific person then? Everyone knows Frank Castle has been after you for ages. Then there’s Benn Grim or--”

“Ben Grimm would be ideal,” Sharon nods frantically. “Think of the size difference between you two, it would be cute as shit and he could probably knock out Brock with one punch.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “A lot of people can knock Brock out with one punch. Hell, we all watched him get k.o’d by a fucking light post.”

Matt and Sharon burst into laughter, and the people around them whip their heads to stare. Sharon claps her hand over her mouth, eyes wide and kinda misty. Matt hunches over slightly, which causes a wave of students to swerve to the right, practically scraping against the wall of lockers. And seeing them relive the memory of Brock walking into that light post and knocking himself out makes something bubble up in Bucky’s lungs. It leaves him as a snort and then he’s full out laughing with them, leaning against Matt as he starts to clutch at his stomach. Sharon’s head is tipped back and she’s ugly laughing but all three of them are too gone to actually give a damn about appearances right now (shocker, right?). It’s been so long since the three of them have laughed like that, together, and it actually feels good. Maybe he’s still delirious from lunch and Steve and Steve’s lips, but Bucky will take it.

"Will you guys drop it now? Please?" Bucky asks when he’s gotten a grip on himself, carefully wiping at his eyes to avoid making his face all splotched and red. "I really don't want to talk about it anymore."

Matt shrugs. "Okay. If you're cool, I'm cool. I'm not going to go out of my way to be nice to the guy, though. Or Brock, for that matter. It's not like you're flaunting some new relationship in his face.”

Sharon taps Matt’s nose and then Bucky’s. " Exactly . Just goes to show that you're the bigger person, Mister Homecoming King, and not an asshole like someone we all know"

And just like that, they switch gears and move on to another subject. They don't even notice Bucky’s silence. He’s sure they don't notice how hot his cheeks get or how his face closes off, but he guesses someone would really have to be paying attention to see the mortification that Bucky is sure is spreading over his face.

He could tell them about Steve right then, just blurt it out and be done with it. But it's not the right time, not after what they just said. Bucky thinks about how, two weeks ago, he was still with Brock, if only in the technical sense. He thinks about Matt and Sharon's hostility towards Danny Rand. Bucky knows they don't hate Danny as a person. How can they? They barely know him. No, they’re pissed because Brock moved on in what they think is too short a time, considering how serious he and Bucky were. Or at least how serious they seemed. There are rules associated with this kind of thing, and Brock isn't the only one breaking them. It makes Bucky want to stay quiet, at least for a little longer, because Steve doesn’t deserve their hate. Steve is too good for such petty things and Bucky will be damned if he drags Steve into his mess.

Besides, despite the fact that Bucky feels himself slipping further and further under his heavy emotions, him and Steve haven't actually talked about what they're doing. They haven't made any spoken declarations.

So Bucky says nothing. He walks with them down the hall, his lips burning from the memory of Steve's kiss, but also from the things he can't tell his best friends.

Not yet.

After school, they head to Sharon's house for some much needed Murdock, Barnes, and Carter time. Well, according to them it's much needed. Bucky doesn't see much of a difference from what they normally do in terms of hanging out, but he supposes his quietness about Steve does feel like it's driving a wedge between the three of them.

Sharon's mom is there when they arrive, home with Sharon's youngest brother, whom they affectionately call Mini-Carter (except when Sharon's pissed off about something and then she just calls him "Mistake"). The twins are still at school; the middle school has the latest buses for some reason. Becca had downright refused to be home at such a late hour so naturally their mother makes the drive and picks her up at 3:20 sharp.

There's always something going on at Sharon's house. His mom refers to it as organized chaos. She's always shaking her head, saying, "I don't know how Susanne does it." But as she says it, Bucky catches that wistful look, the one she doesn't let slip by too often. Then she usually pulls Bucky closer to her and kisses his forehead.

Sharon’s mom, Susanne, keeps them supplied with these amazing croissants she makes every time Matt and him come over. They sit at their kitchen table, talking animatedly about what's going on at school, and her mom just fits into the conversation. Sometimes she's easier to talk to than Bucky’s own parents. Probably because she isn't his.

After a few hours go by, Bucky knows that he needs to get home if he’ll have any chance of getting his homework done that night. They make plans for a shopping trip for Homecoming outfits, even though Bucky’s dropping hints left and right that he wishes he didn't even have to go to the dance. Who the hell is he going to go with? Steve would be ideal ( obviously ) but what if Steve doesn’t want to go? He certainly hasn’t mentioned it...

When Bucky gets in his vehicle, he fires off a quick text message to Steve, telling him to call when he gets the chance. Bucky knows Steve had football practice immediately after school, but he figures Steve is probably wrapping with that now.

On the way home, Bucky finds himself driving past Nat's house. Bucky’s subconscious mind has something to do with it as he slows down, looking for Steve's Jeep, in vain. Instead Bucky finds Nat, leaning into the trunk of her dad’s Escalade, pulling out reusable bags of groceries. Bucky taps lightly on his horn, pulling up along the curb. She raises a hand in the air as she continues to pull the bags out and Bucky gets out of his car. "Your ass looks amazing in those pants,” Bucky whistles as he approaches. “You seriously need to give me your workout routine.”

Nat gives him a look. “If I told you, then I would have to kill you.”

“Please, if you didn’t, I’d start telling everyone you got injections. Probably jacked them from your dad’s office at the hospital,” he teases, before leaning in and giving her one armed hug.

“Of all the drugs that I have access to, silicone is seriously the last thing I would grab,” she jokes back. “Can’t do any damage with silicone, Yasha.”

“Uhhh have you seen Botched?”

Nat’s brows furrow as she turns to eye him up and down. “I seriously worry about you, if you watch Botched in your free time.”

Bucky grins before pointing at the houses that surround them, the perfectly manicured everything. “I’m a product of my environment, Romanoff.” 

"Aren't we all?" With that comment, Bucky’s pretty sure they're no longer talking about fucked up plastic surgery or silicone.

Natasha nods her head towards the truck, silently telling Bucky to close it for her now that her hands are full. She only has two bags in each hand and Bucky would help, but he knows better and also knows that she would bite his hand off if he tries to signify she needed help. He’s learned from his mistakes over the years, naturally.

"Noticed you weren't at lunch today,” she says as Bucky reaches up and closes the trunk. 

Bucky almost freezes. Oh, so this is how they're going to play this. He catches himself before she notices, although she’s so sharp that she probably already saw. "Nope."

"You know..." She draws out, very uncharacteristic to her usual to-the-point remarks. "Steve wasn't at lunch today either."

"You don't say!" Bucky’s eyes go wide and he feels his mouth pulling upward despite his best attempts at keep a straight face.

"Really." She nods solemnly. "And then? You were late to English and he was mysteriously nowhere to be found."

"Imagine that." Bucky presses his lips together while looking out at the street. He’s so failing at being nonchalant. He’s been bursting to tell someone for so long that now with Nat there in front of him, he can’t control it when he blurts out, "He took me to his house, after I found him in the parking lot. I mean, I sort of forced the event into happening but... he took me home."

Bucky knows she'll latch on to the "took me home" portion of his statement and she does, but not how Bucky expects her to. She steps back, frowning.

"You went to his house?"

Bucky nods, raising an eyebrow. "I did."

"Steve took you to his house," she repeats, as if she can't believe it. Okay, is it that hard to believe?

"Pretty sure that's what I just said, Romanov."

"Did you see..." She trails off, focusing on her house in front of them, like she's trying to pick her words carefully. Her expression melts from shock to practiced nonchalance. "Were you alone?"

She's really asking if Bucky met Steve’s grandma, because where else would she be? Nat won't say it explicitly and the protective tone in her voice reminds Bucky of how close-mouthed she was when Steve went away in eighth grade. There's obviously a story there, so many things Bucky still doesn't know about Steve and his situation, but just like before, it's not Nat's story to tell. And really, Bucky doesn’t want to hear it from anyone other than Steve. Bucky wants Steve to let him in, to trust Bucky enough to tell him what's going on in Steve’s life. Bucky’s starting to think that maybe he’s the only person Steve has let in this far, and that makes Bucky protective too-- of Steve and them together and the thing that they're doing.

"No," Bucky replies. "I knew her before, though, from the Lion’s Club."

"Still." There's so much she isn't saying in that one word - it's a big deal and this isn't the norm and probably other things Bucky can't figure out because he doesn't know what Nat knows.

Her "still" lingers there. Bucky has no idea what to say in response, not without revealing things Steve told him in confidence. They're basically at a standstill, neither one of them giving up any more information for the sake of their separate loyalty to Steve. Bucky doesn't want to share what he knows and he doesn't want Nat to share her knowledge either. Bucky wants to hear it from Stevie himself.

Thankfully neither of them have to say anything because at that moment, the garage door behind the free space in the driveway automatically starts to open and they look up to see Nat’s dad walking down the driveway. Dimitri comes over to where he and Nat are standing, calling out his hello.

"Bucky, it's good to see you! I've heard you've been hanging around here more lately. I'd hug you but I smell of hospital." He grins ruefully with a shrug, his slight russian accent a beautiful chime in Bucky’s ears. "How's it been going? School?" His voice lowers as he tilts his head towards Bucky. "Got a boyfriend?"

It's more than obvious that he's heard something. Bucky doesn't know if it's about Brock and him breaking up or Steve and him being... whatever they are, but Bucky chooses to skirt that question altogether. Instead he puts on his serious question face. "School's school, Doc. You're a professional. Tell me, is it possible to have senioritis within the first few weeks of my senior year?"

Dimitri Romanov taps his head, mock thoughtfully. "I suppose it is possible. I prescribe plenty of rest, football games, and starting a countdown to winter break."

"98... including weekends," Nat and Bucky answer, simultaneously.

"I don't know whether to be impressed or worried that you already knew that information." Dr. Romanov shakes his head, trying to suppress a smile, then squeezes Bucky’s arm. "Take care, kiddo. Tell your parents Agatha and I are looking forward to Thursday."

"What's Thursday?"

"We're going to do dinner, maybe a movie."

"Man, you guys sure know how to party," Nat says with mock-incredulity.

Dr. Romanov smacks Nat on the back, probably a little harder than necessary, then ruffles her hair. "You didn't get that mouth from me. I'll see you inside, okay? Mom's at a meeting so we're on our own for dinner tonight."

"Pizza?" Nat answers, expectantly.

"Dinner of champions, my дочь.” He reaches out and takes the few bags from Nat, before saying his goodbye as he walked back towards their house.

"I'll call from my cell while you de-hospitalize." Nat calls over her shoulder before turning back to Bucky. "So hey, congratulations about the Homecoming court."

Bucky resists the urge to roll his eyes, but just barely. His voice conveys what his eyes can't, though. "Yeah, thanks."

Nats eyebrows go up, along with one side of her mouth. "Jeez, Barnes, I don't think you could sound less enthused if you tried."

"Oh, I bet I could," Bucky snarks back.

She shrugs in agreement and crosses her arms, rocking back and forth on his heels. "So why aren't you excited? I would have thought Homecoming court would be right up your alley."

It's a valid statement. Last year, Bucky probably would have been into it, like on fucking cloud nine. But Last Year Bucky is a very different guy than Right Now Bucky. Last Year Bucky pushed down those feelings of restlessness, of knowing that Brock and him weren't right for each other. That Brock forced the pieces to fit and hid the ones that didn't, because it was easier. Because that was who Bucky was supposed to be. And Bucky didn't question it, not until the nagging feeling of being more became too big to ignore. There's been a ripple effect since that night Bucky broke up with Brock, a feeling of freedom that washed over him when Bucky told him it was over. It's only gotten more potent with his involvement in the paper, however small, and Carol wanting him to take pictures for her Etsy site. But it's the most powerful when Bucky’s with Steve, like he could be anything and anyone, and Steve would take it all without question.

It's just that being on Homecoming court reminds Bucky of the things he’s supposed to be, and he’s having a hard time mustering up the excitement. Plus, now that he’s thinking about it, trying to figure out what the hell to do about the dance and whom he’s supposed to go with is not something Bucky is looking forward to.

Nat doesn't need to hear all of that, though, and probably doesn't want to on top of it. So, Bucky just shrugs and picks at the skin of his pinky nail. Bucky keeps it simple by saying, "I guess it's not the court so much as the dance."

She nods slowly, understanding dawning on her face. "Not looking forward to cutting a rug with Matt and Sharon?"

"Who says cutting a rug anymore?" Bucky shoots back. She opens her mouth to speak, but Bucky interrupts her. "Besides my grandparents."

"How about you stop deflecting and tell me why you're so opposed to the Homecoming dance?"

"I can think of a million reasons, but top of mind is the fact that I don't have a date."

"You don't?" she asks, but there's no surprise in her tone, only curiosity.

Bucky gives her a look. "I haven't been asked. And anyway, you know that group. I just broke up with Brock a couple weeks ago. There's a mourning period I'm supposed to be going through, apparently."

A smirk breaks out on her face. "I knew you broke up with him."

"What, Steve didn't tell you?"

"Was he supposed to?” she raises a questioning brow. She waits a split second as if waiting for him to answer, but then she looks away and shrugs. “I guessed and he didn't say no, but he didn't tell me anything," she replies. Bucky’s heart swells so much that he thinks it might break out of his damn chest. He remembers asking Steve not to tell, making it the first secret between them, but it still surprises Bucky that Steve didn't let it slip, not even to his closest friends. And at the same time, it doesn't surprise Bucky at all. Bucky knows he can trust Steve’s word. He thinks he always knew; which is why it slipped out of him so easily. "It was pretty obvious to anyone with half a brain. The guy took every opportunity to tell people he ditched you, which pretty much reeked of wounded ego."

"He's moved on," Bucky says with a shrug.

Nat laughs and reaches out to grab him by the shoulder. "Yasha, c'mon. He hasn't moved on. Brock Rumlow knows you're the best he'll ever get. Everyone else knows it too. And even a blind person could see the way he still looks at you. Talk about desperate,” she purses her lips. “But you have moved on, which brings us back to Homecoming."

Her eyes are piercing and Bucky swallows, looking out toward his car, jet black and spotless. "I don't want to go with just anyone and I…I don't know," Bucky trails off lamely with a shrug.

"What about Steve?" she presses.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably from foot to foot, thinking of his conversation with Matt and Sharon earlier. "I don't even know if we're at that point, Nat. He hasn't mentioned it. And even if we are, you know better than almost anyone how my crew rolls. They didn't exactly welcome Barton with open arms, did they?"

"I'm not even going to start about why your logic is flawed, because you are really talking to the wrong person about this." She's staring him down now, her eyebrows raised meaningfully. It's not like she shunned her friends to pursue Barton, but she definitely didn't let them stand in her way, either. She must see something in Bucky’s expression, though, how much Bucky doesn't want to get into that right now, because one side of her mouth pulls up into a crooked half-grin. "Well hey, anyway, I understand not being pumped to go. Clint's going to visit his mom in Chesapeake that weekend. Belated birthday trip or whatever, so he gets out of going. I was thinking about skipping, but since I'm on the court..."

"Oh!" Guess Bucky missed more than just his own announcement at lunch. "Uh, congrats?"

She shrugs, her indifference showing.

"I guess skipping isn't an option for either of us, then." Because Bucky is nothing if not dramatic, he throws his head back and wails, "Why is life so hard?"

"I'm crying on the inside," Nat says dryly. "You wanna stay and have pizza with me and my dad? I should call soon."

"Nah, I better get home and have some face time with my parents." Bucky turns toward his car. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yep,"s he says, scrolling through her list of contacts. As Bucky is walking away, she calls after him, "And hey, Yasha? I'm going to sound like my dad here because he always says this but… these things have a way of working themselves out." Then she pauses and Bucky thinks she's done, but just as Bucky turns to speak, she throws in something that's more Nat and less Dimitri. "But don't fuck this up."

"I don’t plan on it,” Bucky calls over his shoulder. He opens the door to his wagon and pulls the Ray Ban sunglasses that are perched on his head down over his eyes. "Oh, and for the record, your dad isn't a bad guy to sound like."

When Bucky gets home, he’s surprised to find his mom already there. He helps with dinner prep, washing the lettuce and cutting the vegetables for the salad as Becca takes over the au gratin. They talk about their day with FeFe underfoot, waiting for any scraps that might fall her way.

Bucky’s cell phone is in his pocket and he keeps checking to see if there are any missed calls or texts.

"Waiting to hear from your friends?" their mom asks. Bucky just nods, even though he’s already told her that he spent the majority of the afternoon with them.

“Or maybe his boyyfriendd ,” Becca sings aloud, practically screaming with the silence of the house. Bucky ignores her with pleasure even though thinking about Steve being his boyfriend does a hell of a job on his brain and his body. 

But Bucky is more focused on the look of his mom’s face. He can tell that somehow she's already heard through the rumor mill about the Homecoming court, by her exaggerated, "So, did anything special happen at school today?" and the way she feigns surprise when Bucky tells her the oh-so-great news. Bucky doesn't know why she bothers to hide that she knows. He makes a promise to himself that he'll never do that when he has kids. He’ll just tell it like it is.

Becca, however, finds out then and there and jumps up and down in glee. She throws her arms around Bucky’s waist and tells him congratulations and that he’ll make the best nerdy King to ever exist. From her he easily accepts the praise, and actually smiles at her reaction when she starts to ask about what he’s gonna wear and how he’s going to style his hair to make the crown look ‘poppin’. 

When he says he doesn’t know, she yanks her phone out of her pocket and starts pinteresting ideas while their mom hovers, her gaze bouncing between her children. While she's heard about the court, Bucky knows she hasn't heard about his pictures being published in the paper, the thing that's actually important to him. So he bounds over to his backpack, excited to show her, and rifle through it until he finds a copy of the paper. Maybe showing her the pictures will make her understand how much it means to him, how much Bucky wants to do it. Maybe she'll even think he’s good at it. She's seen pictures here and there, but never like this.

"Hey Mom, I wanted to show you the -"

Bucky’s cut off by the phone ringing. Her finger goes in the air as she rushes toward it. "Hold on a sec, sweetie."

Bucky watches as she wipes her hands on a dishtowel and grabs the phone, balancing it between her cheek and shoulder. He can tell from her side of the conversation (mostly mmhmms and other short answers) that Dad's stuck at the office and that they'll have to eat without him. After she hangs up, she looks disappointed for a brief moment. But then her expression smooths out and she drifts back to set the table. He notices she pours herself extra wine when she's done placing three settings.

Becca, however, has her head up and is staring at the paper in his hands, her brow raised as she waits for him to talk.

He approaches the island that she’s sitting at and holds it out to her, proudly, the only way a big brother can. She brightens at being given the ‘big kid’ news and she inspects each and every picture like they’re personalized Mona Lisa’s. Then, her eyes must catch on to his name below the pictures because her head shoots back up and her eyes are wide.

“You took these?” she smiled.

Bucky nods his head, returning a smile of his own as she looks at him like he holds the damn moon.

“They’re so good,” she murmurs, her head shifting back down to look at the pictures again. It’s almost as if she looks at them for a second time now that she knows he’s taken them, as if she’s finding new things that only he could have captured. 

It takes her a few minutes until she’s done fascinating over the pictures and folds the paper back up and holds it out for him to take back. She still has a smile on her face and as he takes it from her, her words make his smile stretch. “Can you take pictures of me too?”

Bucky nods and leans forward to peck her on the forehead. “For you, of course.” He drops the newspaper back into his bag and zips it up. “Twenty dollars a shot though.”

“You wish.” She sticks her tongue out at him and makes a show of going back to her phone, her pointer finger scrolling with purpose. “Ooh, how about a pink suit?”

“That’s like, super gay Beck.”

She picks her head up and shoots him an unimpressed look. “Last I checked, you kinda were super gay, Buck.”

Bucky snorts and nods, “Touche, little sister.”

Becca, of course, begins to laugh uncontrollably.

Instead of retreating to his room after dinner like he normally does, Bucky hangs out at the table and does his homework there. Not surprisingly, it goes a lot quicker without the distractions of his room, his music and phone calls and texts. As he’s finishing his Calc homework, his Mom comes up behind him, looking over his shoulder. She plays with Bucky’s hair with one hand, holding FeFe with the other. "I don't even remember that stuff. I'm not even sure I learned that stuff. You're so much smarter than me, sweetheart."

Bucky doesn't miss the note of pride in her voice and it irritates him for reasons he can't quite place. He thinks again of the paper and his pictures, now hidden in his bag, and wonder if she'd be just as proud looking at his photos as she is seeing that he’s mastered the art of solving derivatives and integrals.

"Well hey, it's good to know that I'll not need this in my life after high school and college," he grumbles, hunching over his book, and then add to himself, "why bother?"

She hears it, of course, having super-sonic mom hearing, and leans over to kiss the top of his head. "Because it's expected that you have these foundations now." Then, like she’s electrocuted, she straightens at the sound of the garage door opening. "Oh! Your father's home. Let's go say hi to Daddy, FeFe." Bucky swears that dog sticks its tongue out at him as his mom carries the damn thing away away. She turns back to him before she reaches the doorway though. "Thanks for hanging out with me, sweetheart."

Bucky nods just as his phone lights up, Stevie flashing on the screen. Finally . Bucky’s irritation fades away just seeing his name.

"Well, well, look who it is," he drawls, quickly standing and gathering his school stuff with one hand. He’s got one eye on the hallway leading to the garage, where his parents will be coming in at any moment. "I was wondering if you were ever going to call me."

Steve laughs low in his throat and Bucky shivers. Somehow Steve’s voice is even sexier over the phone. "I would've called earlier, but I was sidelined by the bitch-out I got from Gram."

"Bitch-out? What do you mean?" Bucky repeats, freezing. For a second, he worries that it's because of him. Maybe he wasn't supposed to be at their house. Maybe he did something at the Lion’s Club once that pissed her off, like called out a number that gave someone else a bingo. God, what if she hates him?

"I got the crackdown from Fury."

Bucky’s so caught up in his mental turmoil that Steve’s statement doesn't sink in right away. His parents walk in, hand in hand, looking perfect, pristine and happy. Bucky supposes his mom is over the lateness. Bucky’s heart and voice both stutter. "Fury?"

His dad's eyes light up in recognition. Good, they think he’s talking about school, probably with Matt or Sharon. Bucky keeps his face completely neutral and hopes he’s not flushed. Nothing to see, folks.

Bucky must sound like a complete idiot to Steve. Or a parrot. Or an idiotic parrot. All he can do is repeat back what Steve has said to him, but his parents are right there watching him and the Calc book is really goddamn slippery right now. Bucky can't get a grip on it. He just wants to get out of there and be alone with his phone and Steve.

"Yes, Fury," Steve replies, sounding amused. "He gave me detention for skipping and the school called Gram to let her know. You don't want to see my gram when she's pissed. Shit, I don't want to see her when she's pissed."

Bucky finally gets his book and pen and notepad cradled safely in his arm and wiggles his fingers at his parents before dashing out of the kitchen to the stairs. "How the hell did that happen? I thought you had a note," he asks when he’s far enough that he knows they won't hear.

"Uh, well, I was a little distracted and forgot to grab one at home."

A smile spreads across Bucky’s face at the thought of being the one who drove Steve to distraction. Bucky can almost see the sweet blush on Steve’s cheeks.

"I can't believe he gave you detention. Doesn't he know who you are?" Bucky says, walking into his room and dropping his things onto his desk. He crosses his room and collapse on his bed, gazing up at the ceiling. He can imagine Steve doing the same thing.

"I'm pretty sure that's exactly why I got detention," he laughs. "Anyway, he said he was going easy on me by giving me Saturday detention instead of after-school. That way I don't have to miss practice, you know."

"How benevolent," Bucky says dryly.

"Ooh, nice SAT word, Barnes."

"I try." An idea blooms in his mind and he rolls onto his side, hugging a pillow to his stomach. "Hey, listen, if you need help catching up on what you missed today, my tutoring services are still on the table."

"Are they now?" God, Bucky loves the sound of Steve’s voice right then, like Steve's promising him something.

"They are. Interested?"

"You have no idea." Ehh, Bucky’s pretty sure does. He certainly got a preview of that interest in the jeep earlier that afternoon. "So, when do you want to, uh, tutor me?" Steve’s tone is heavy with insinuation and Bucky snorts softly.

"My parents are going out with Nat's parents on Thursday." Bucky says, then pauses. Steve stays quiet, the anticipating silence strong as fuck. "And my sister has piano lessons until eight. Um, so if you want to come over while they're doing that...?"

"Sure," he replies, voice low, and that one word makes Bucky’s heart beat hard. He presses his knees together tightly, trying to get a grip on himself.

They're quiet for a minute. Bucky can hear Steve breathing and he closes his eyes, pretending like he’s in Steve’s room with him, or that Steve’s here with him. The silence stretches between them, but it's not weird. It's the type of silence Bucky didn't even know existed, full and comfortable, with no pressures from anyone or anything.

"What are you doing right now?" Bucky asks finally, because he wants to hear Steve’s voice again.

"Thinking about you."

There's a slow-spread of warmth through Bucky’s body at Steve’s words, making him sigh. "What about me?"

"Not telling."

"Why not?"

Steve inhales, a long, slow breath and Bucky can hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks. "I want to show you instead."

Bucky grins like the dumbstruck fool that he is.

Can he have a time travel machine and make it be Thursday already? Because he would very much like that. 

Chapter Text

Bucky passes by the window for what's got to be the twenty-third time, peeking out of the heavy curtains that hang in the foyer. His eyes eagerly scan the driveway before darting down the road, looking for Steve or his Jeep, when he suddenly hears the retching noise.

His head falls back as he groans, “Oh you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

In all the scenarios that Bucky has dreamed up over the past three days about what would happen when Steve gets to his house, Bucky on his knees, scrubbing dog vomit out of the carpet ranks pretty damn low. But that's exactly what he’s doing. At least FeFe has the decency to look somewhat sorry as he pulls the carpet cleaner and towels from the hall closet.

So naturally that's where Bucky is when the doorbell rings, on the floor, spraying cleaner and letting it soak in. FeFe is giving the towels a look like she wants to show them who's boss and Bucky knows he can't leave the dog alone with them, otherwise he might come back to an even bigger mess and his mom would be more than pissed to know her Superior 900 GSM towels got FeFe-sized bite marks. The dog often gets in fights with inanimate objects (mostly Bucky’s foot) so he scoops her up, not wanting to take the risk otherwise. She tries to lick Bucky’s face and Bucky can’t tell if it’s in gratitude or just to mess with him, but either way he holds the all white pomeranian as far from his body as he can.  

"Um, no, vomit mouth. You can keep that,” Bucky mutters. 

Rushing into the foyer, Bucky doesn't even chance a look in the mirror. He just flings open the door with a whoosh that breezes back his hair. Steve's got his finger on the bell, like he's about to press it again, but stops and pulls it away. He takes his baseball hat off his head, shoving it quickly into his back pocket. God , he's gorgeous. The plaid shirt that Steve's wearing looks worn, and not in the hipster, I-bought-this-new-but-it-already-looks-worn kinda way. The dark wash of his jeans are slightly faded but it’s so authentic--- the real deal; just like Steve himself.

Steve’s frame fills the doorway and he looks down shyly, running a hand against the back of his neck. "Hey. I'm not early, right?"

"Hi," Bucky answers, breathlessly. "Um, no, you're not early. I was just..." Oh great, Bucky. What is he going to say? ‘I was just cleaning up dog vomit?’ Yeah, hard pass. "I just have to clean something real quick. Come in." Bucky ushers Steve into the foyer and Steve looks around, his eyes taking in the entranceway, moving up to the cathedral ceiling and the chandelier hanging from it. "Do you like dogs?"

Steve raises a dubious eyebrow as his eyes land on FeFe. "Is that even considered a dog?"

FeFe growls at Steve’s comment and Bucky can only laugh. "Careful, it speaks English."

Bucky thrusts FeFe towards Steve and Steve takes her into his hands with a gentleness only his mother uses with the the dog. They look funny together, such a tall, broad guy holding a tiny pipsqueak of a dog. "Stevie, meet FeFe. Can you hold her while I finish up? It’ll only take a sec."

"Sure," Steve says as FeFe sniffs her black little nose at him, deeming Steve acceptable to chauffeur her around. "Hey girly. Paw bump."

"Oh and not that I think you'll have to worry about this because she doesn't give her love freely but... don't let her lick you."

Now Steve's looking at FeFe with concern. "Uh, okay. Why?"

"Just trust me,” Bucky shoots him a look before spinning on his heel and dashing back into the living room. The speed at which he scrubs at the floor astonishes even himself. He throws the towels into the laundry room, puts away the cleaner and washes his hands before making his way back to Steve and FeFe. Bucky can't believe he left Steve standing in the foyer with the monster. Clearly the dog is a little devil, but still, he’s left Steve dangling there like chew toy. The fumes of the cleaner must have gotten to his head.

Bucky rounds the corner expecting to find Steve still there, standing where Bucky left them. Instead, Steve's sitting on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him. FeFe is running around manically, grabbing all of her favorite toys and dropping them into Steve's lap before nudging at his knee with her nose as if demanding his attention.

Steve looks down at the collection of toys and then back up at Bucky with a bemused grin. "She wanted to show me something."

"Whoa,” Bucky nodded, impressed. His hands are on his hips and FeFe doesn’t pay him a second of attention, like usual. Bucky doesn’t blame her. Steve has that effect on animals too it seems, his beauty stunning all sorts of species. “I'm surprised she warmed up to you so quickly. Or well, really at all. Usually she barely tolerates people, myself included."

"This sweet girl?" Steve picks FeFe up with one hand, squinting at her tiny face. "Maybe she's just shy until she really gets to knows someone." He gives Bucky a pointed look.

Bucky snorts at Steve’s attempt at paralleling him with the monster. "No, she's just sort of a bitch sometimes. She used to try and bite Brock for no reason."

Steve grins even further, letting his fingers comb through FeFe’s smooth fur. "Smartest dog ever then."

Bucky rolls his eyes. The damn thing just puked on the carpet. The smartest dog ever would have realized that Bucky was waiting for the cutest boy ever to come over and would have headed outside. Or at least aimed for the tile.

Yeah, smartest dog his ass.

Bucky tilts his head to the side as he looks down at them. It’s awfully domestic, with Steve in his house playing with his dog, and really all Bucky wants to do is plop down in Steve’s lap and play too (just, minus the dog and it’s chew toys). Which… wow then.

Bucky shakes his head slightly, recapturing his thoughts. "So, where's your car? I didn't hear you pull up."

Steve watches FeFe traipse away, her bedazzled dog tags jingling softly. "Barton needed a ride to Nat's house because his car was acting up, so I just left it there." One corner of Steve’s mouth pulls up. "They kicked me out pretty quick."

"Oh yeah?"

Steve stands, his eyebrows raised, and then he's looking down at Bucky with those gorgeous blue eyes that are the color of the sky. "The house to themselves without any parents around? I'd kick me out, too."

It takes a second for Steve’s statement to really sink in. In all of Bucky’s mania over FeFe's puke, he forgot for a moment what they're doing and that this house is absolutely empty except for them. Beyond their few stolen moments, this is the first time the two of them have really been alone.

But Steve’s words remind him. When their eyes lock, everything goes very quiet. Bucky feels the blush that he sees in Steve’s cheeks spread across his own and he swallows heavily, more than aware of the warmth that begins to pool deep in his stomach. He’s pretty sure the sound of his swallow echoes off the walls and the floor; Bucky knows Steve hears it, because his gaze goes to Bucky’s throat. Steve can just look at Bucky a certain way and next thing Bucky knows, he has goose bumps all over his skin.

"I'm not going to kick you out, don't worry," Bucky whispers and takes a slow step forward. When he gets into Steve’s space, he lets his hands find Steve’s sides and pulls the blond in for a hug, pressing his ear right over Steve’s heart. Steve’s arms circle around Bucky’s back, pulling him even closer and Bucky feels a kiss planted onto the top of his head. For a few seconds they just stand there, holding tight onto one another as they listen to each other breathe and focus in on just being together. Steve’s hands softly rub against Bucky’s spine until he pulls back slightly to gaze down at him. Bucky has to shift his head to look up and when he does, he sees Steve’s smile, sees how Steve’s teeth catch onto his own bottom lip almost bashfully.

"I would hope not,” Steve breathes, inclining his head down a bit to where their lips are only inches apart. “I just got here."

Bucky knows with every fiber of his being that Steve is going to be the end of him. Every little look kills him, makes his heart feel like it erupts in a flame of hunger and want. Bucky closes his eyes when Steve’s lips brush against his, so soft and warm.

"Stevie..." Bucky whispers, shocked to hear the desperation lace his tone, his voice practically a whine. Steve swallows it up before he laughs but it's husky and low and makes Bucky shiver in his arms.

Steve lets one of his hands mold against the back of Bucky’s skull, holding Bucky in place as he leans their foreheads together. "It sucks seeing you at school, but not talking, you know?"

Bucky closes his eyes. "I know,” he mumbles “God, I know." He feels the same pang that he’s been feeling for the past three days. School has been torturous; Matt and Sharon have been creating some kind of fortress of solidarity around him because Brock is parading around with Danny. Even though Bucky has told them repeatedly that he doesn't care, they've gone into mother-hen mode, which means they won't leave him alone at school. Ever.

Because of that, the extent of Bucky and Steve’s interactions have been few and far between. They've snuck in texts; on Tuesday, Bucky got one that just read ‘you look beautiful’, but when Bucky had looked around, Steve had already turned the corner. And for the past three days in English, Bucky angled himself just the right way in his desk so that he could watch Steve in his peripherals and so that Steve could see Bucky bite at his lips, sending all kind of signals. It's became their unspoken sign, and Bucky always feels the weight of Steve watching him every time Bucky did it in class or at his locker.

"I guess we should make up for lost time," Bucky continues, slowly grinning at Steve. He skims his hands along Steve’s arms, brushing up along his thick biceps before wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck. He has to tiptoe in order to plant a kiss onto Steve’s lips but a second later, he pulls away, turning so that his back is pressed into Steve’s chest.

Steve’s hands trickle down onto Bucky’s hips and once Bucky starts walking, Steve follows suit. Really, it’s more like shuffling because neither of them want to give up the physical contact they crave. Bucky leads the two of them into the hall where the house splits; the kitchen in one direction, the living room in another, and the staircase that leads to the upstairs floors. For a second, Bucky pauses, unsure of what to do as he looks towards the various archways. "Do you want a tour? Anything to eat or drink?" he asks, thinking it’s the polite thing to do. 

"No." Steve draws out the word.

Bucky leans his head back onto Steve’s shoulder and stops their forward motion so that he can twist to look at Steve’s face. Bucky’s eyes fall to Steve’s back, where he notices that Steve’s backpack is most definitely not. "Oh, did you forget your books? How am I supposed to tutor you if you don't have those?" Bucky says, teasingly.

"I thought that you'd share with me," Steve murmurs back. His eyes are shining and it's that whole want-need thing again that makes Bucky feel so warm. Bucky wonders what he looks like to Steve, knowing that he constantly feels different when they're together; Bucky feels alive, his nerve-endings on complete overdrive.

"I'm spoiled rotten. I don't do well with sharing. But I think I can make an exception for you."

Steve raises a brow and leans further into him. "How generous of you."

Bucky snickers before reaching out and taking Steve’s hand, intertwining their fingers. "Come on, my books are upstairs in my room. I'll share with you there."

The double meaning of his words isn't lost on Steve; Steve’s smile tells him as much.

Their hands stay linked as they walk up the stairs and once they get to the landing, Steve’s right there again, his chest against Bucky’s back.  

"Gram says hi, by the way. And she wanted to know if you want to come to dinner sometime next week. Maybe Tuesday? Or sooner even. Monday?" Steve speaks. Bucky can physically feel the words leave his chest, how they rumble up and out his throat.

Bucky smiles as Steve rambles on. Once again, he’s reminded that they're the same, that Steve feels the pull between them just as much as Bucky does. "Are those her suggestions or yours?"

"Mine." Steve shrugs, clearly in no form or fashion of being apologetic. "I like seeing you."

Bucky’s pretty sure his smile is ridiculous. And like Steve, Bucky just doesn't care. “I guess it’s a good think I like seeing you too,” he grins back. Bucky picks up the hand that they have intertwined together and presses his lips against the top of Steve’s hand, letting his lips linger as they continue to walk further down the hall.

When they reach the door of Bucky’s room, suddenly he’s shy. It’s ridiculous but he’s always believed that bedrooms are incredibly intimate, especially his. It took nearly a year before he ever let Brock in and practically the same timespan before Matt and Sharon broke the threshold. Because his room is where his everything is, where the things that are important to him lie and thrive. It’s the window to his soul, practically displaying every little detail about himself for people to see. But, however much it’s bothered him before, with Steve, Bucky wants him to come in. Bucky wants Steve to see. Everything.

He opens his door and pushes it aside with ease, leading Steve in. 

"Um, so this is my room," he says, darting a look in Steve’s direction. He tries to act like it’s not a big deal but it is . It's sort of surreal to have Steve there, in Bucky’s space. Just a few weeks ago, Bucky sat on the floor, trying to research and remember the few things he already knew about Steve. From then to now, Bucky’s learned so damn much; about himself, even.

"Whoa,” Steve gasps, causing Bucky to bite down into his cheek. He knows the room is clean, practically spotless, and he knows that it’s all luxury on a silver fucking platter but he doesn’t want Steve to only see that. He wants Steve to see the pictures on his walls and see the certificates neatly framed and the books on his shelves. He wants Steve to see past the obvious stuff and look at the details because it’s the small things that are the important ones, the things that make Bucky Bucky .

In silent anxiety, Bucky drums his fingers against his thigh, watching as Steve steps further into his room. Bucky tries to appear nonchalant as he watches Steve’s every move, following Steve’s gaze as it flickers around the room.

"Um, yeah,” Bucky shuffles from foot to foot. “It actually used to be two rooms. But... well, when my parents found out they weren't able to have any more kids after Becca, they decided to take part of the wall out and added the French doors. It's crazy, I know.”

"There's a fireplace. You have a fireplace in your room," Steve mumbles. Bucky doesn't say anything. He only watches Steve wander around the room, past Bucky’s desk with his laptop and a stack of college brochures, the chair that Steve’s hoodie is draped over, and to the lines of photographs Bucky has hung across the walls. There's a picture of his parents that Steve picks up to study before turning his head to look over towards Bucky. "Did you take this?" he asks.

Bucky nods, walking over to stand next to Steve. "That was at a Lion’s Club event last spring that my mom organized."

Steve smiles softly as he turns back to the frame. "It's a good picture, Buck. Carol was smart to ask you to help her out."

Bucky flushes at the compliment. Danvers must have already told him about the plan they made to take pictures at Nat's house on Sunday. She'd caught Bucky in the hallway yesterday, just before lunch. When he had suggested that the other guys be there to model her stuff in addition to Nat, she'd just smiled knowingly, because by "guys" Bucky had obviously meant Steve.

Steve’s still looking at the picture of Bucky’s parents with an odd expression. "You look like her."

"When I was little, I really resembled my dad more." Reaching past him, Bucky runs his fingers along the shelves until he find the picture he’s looking for, the one of his dad and him on the boat. Bucky was about five or six and sitting on his dad's lap, wearing his captain's hat. "Practically twins, see?” he holds out the picture for Steve to take. “I inherited the cleft so it was natural to see the resemblance. But now everyone says my mom and I are the real look alikes-- the hair, the eyes, the facial structure… all that type of stuff no one really cares too much about when your a toddler. I guess things change overtime."

"They do," Steve says quietly. There's a hint of sadness there and Bucky has to work hard not to make him elaborate. He doesn't want to push, because Steve seems so hesitant.

Instead, Bucky grabs the books from his desk and motions for Steve to follow after him. He’s trying to give Steve space, let him talk about things on his own time, if he even wants to. At the same time, Bucky is hoping that he doesn't look like a total horny asshole by dragging Steve to his bed. Bucky’s in a very ‘I wish you'd open up to me, but hey, since I'm going to give you the chance to do that on your own, come to my den of sin ’ type of mindframe.

Naturally his den of sin is decorated in hues of navy blue with way too many pillows to count and one large grey faux fur blanket that rests at the foot of the bed.  

"Well, I guess we should..." Bucky smiles shyly, easing his way down onto his bed and flipping through the pages of the textbook. Finding the page with the comprehensive questions, Bucky then awkwardly pats the space next to him, signaling for Steve to join him.

Steve sits at the edge and wrestles off his shoes, dropping them with a quiet thud onto the white carpet. For a split second Steve runs his fingers through the fur of the blanket, totally oblivious to the way Bucky watches him, kind of breathless and completely head over heels. Because Steve is on his bed. Repeat: Steve is on his bed . Holy fuck. Bucky has thought of Steve while laying in that bed, has had thoughts of Steve being in his bed, and now Steve's there and Bucky doesn't even know what to do or say.

"All right, Mr. Barnes, let's do this," Steve says, scooting backwards until his back presses against the headboard. Steve’s knee brushes against Bucky’s, like that first night at Nat's, and his grin mirrors Bucky’s as well. They are both more than aware of what they’re doing, or what it could transpire into, but neither of them are saying it. Maybe they don't even have to; it's in the air that surrounds them, waiting.

Bucky shifts so that both of their knees are pressed together and he turns the book to give Steve access. Despite the fact that Bucky is distracted by Steve’s closeness and the way he smells (so, so good), or how Steve looks at him and smiles whenever Bucky glances up from the questions or his notebook, they get through the bulk of the comprehensive questions pretty quickly. Steve stays with him the whole time, sometimes answering ahead of Bucky, but just blinks innocently whenever Bucky raise a suspicious eyebrow.

Steve doesn't speak up much in English, except when Fury calls on him (which is hardly ever), and the two of them don't have any other classes together, so Bucky’s not very familiar with how Steve does school-wise. Bucky is a little surprised at how quickly the answers come to Steve though, how easily they spar back and forth. It's another little piece of the Steve puzzle Bucky’s putting together, all of these pieces that make a such beautiful picture.

But there's still so much Bucky doesn't know. So much he wants to figure out.

"I don't think you needed me at all," Bucky says accusingly, when all of the questions are done and over with.

Steve looks up from the notebook Bucky loaned him, pulling his pen cap out from between his teeth, and grins. "I did to. I never would've gotten through these questions without you."

Bucky shakes his head slowly. "Wow, I never took you for a liar, Rogers."

He laughs, drops the pen and closes the notebook, and then slides down the bed, propping his head up with his arm. "Okay, maybe I would've been able to get through them, but I like doing it with you more."

Bucky doesn't miss the innuendo or the way Steve's smirking, all laid out in front of Bucky like that. Bucky’s bed is a queen and it's always felt kind of huge to him; sometimes he wakes up and finds that he’s gone horizontal, like he is now. But Steve makes it feel so much smaller. Steve even fills the space he doesn't actually take up.

Bucky wonders how it will feel to lay in it tonight, remembering how Steve looked there.

"Why do you like doing it with me?" Bucky asks coyly, letting his teeth sink into his bottom lip.

Steve’s grin widens - such a boy- before he shrugs. "Because you have a really hot..." His eyes sweep over Bucky, slowly, and even though Steve flushes a little while he does it, his confidence makes Bucky’s stomach quiver. "Brain."

Bucky narrows his eyes at Steve playfully. "I'm sure that's what you meant."

"It is. That doesn't mean there aren't other things about you that are hot, because trust me, there are and I could name them all right now." It's Bucky’s turn to blush. Steve’s smile goes a little serious then, which is something Bucky didn't even know was possible yet Steve does it. "But you're not just a pretty face, Buck. You're insanely smart, which is really sexy and intimidating as hell."

"I think you overestimate me," Bucky answers with a small smile.

Steve shakes his head, so sure of himself. "I think you under estimate yourself."

Bucky shrugs, smoothing down the pages of his notebook. "I just work hard. My parents have always pushed me to excel in school. It's really important to them."

"Is it important to you?"

Bucky’s eyes dart up to Steve’s, freezing in his spot because no one… no one’s ever asked what’s important to him. It stuns him to actually hear the words, to hear that someone actually wants to know. He swallows away the tightness in his throat even though his heart is still pounding in his ears. "I… I like doing well. And I..." Bucky trails off, darting a quick glance at Steve to see if he's actually listening. Bucky tried to talk to Brock about it all once, about the weight of his parents' expectations put on his shoulders, but Brock’s eyes glazed over pretty quickly into the conversation. But Steve is watching him, listening and taking in every word that Bucky puts out there. "I don't know. I feel like… like since I’m their only son I want to be good for them, y’know? They wanted more kids but couldn't have any after Beck, so all of their dreams and hopes for their other kids are on us now. I don't want to disappoint them."

"What do they think of your photography?" Steve asks, but Bucky thinks he already knows. Steve has to.

Bucky shrugs. "They don't really. They want me to focus on academics at school, so classes are out of the question. Carol is kind of the first person to make me feel like I could actually do something with it, like it isn't something unworthy of my time."

He stops talking and looks down at his hands, almost shy again about what he’s just shared with Steve. Bucky feels the bed dip, feel Steve moving beside him, settling so that his head is in Bucky’s lap and Steve's able to look right up at him. Automatically Bucky’s fingers thread into Steve’s short blond locks, massaging against his scalp.

"It's great that Carol made you feel like that. And it's obvious that everyone liked the pictures you took for the paper, too. I mean, that much is clear after Peter Parker asked you to help out again yesterday. He'd probably like you to be on the staff full-time, or whatever." Steve pauses and Bucky can tell he wants to say more.

"But?"

"You like photography and you're good at it. And I bet your parents want you to succeed with whatever you're doing. They're pushing you for all these things that they want. But this is something you want." His eyes twinkle as he looks up at Bucky. "You should go for what you want. I'm learning that."

And huh, isn’t that something? Bucky sits up on his knees, letting Steve’s head fall to the bed. Steve lets out a soft oomph but Bucky knows damn well his bed has enough padding that it feels like a cloud. Bucky picks the books up and deposits them next to his bed in a careless pile. "How is it you get me to tell you all my secrets?" he asks, towering over Steve again and looking down at him.

"It must be because of my handsome looks and boyish charm," Steve answers, his smile showing off his dimples. Steve slides his body so that he's resting his head on Bucky’s pillows. And Bucky will definitely be cuddling with them later tonight. One hand is under Steve’s head and the other is expanded across the bed, like he's waiting for Bucky. Steve raises a brow and nods his chin at the empty space.

For some reason, Bucky is slightly freaking at the prospect of being horizontal with him. That's just ridiculous, right? But there Steve is, lying on Bucky’s bed with his head on Bucky’s pillow. It's the stuff that Bucky’s dreams are made of. Literally.

So with the invitation, Bucky pounces. He lies down right beside Steve, molding his torso into Steve’s side, with his head resting on Steve’s bicep. Bucky musters the courage to wrap his right arm across Steve’s waist, holding him tight and breathing him in.

"They aren't secrets," Steve explains quietly. The arm that Bucky’s laying on begins to play with a few strands of his hair, and Steve is looking at him with this look that feels more important than anything Bucky has ever seen before.

"They're not?” Bucky asks. Because what they’re talking about sure does feel like whispered confessions. “I don't tell anyone else this stuff. Not Mattie, not Sharon, no one. Just you."

"Nah. They're what make up who you are. And it sounds like you're really just figuring it out yourself, so it's okay that not everyone else knows yet." Steve brings his face close to Bucky’s, letting their noses touch. Bucky closes his eyes, basking in the feeling of Steve being so close. "I like that you tell me, though."

Their foreheads are touching now too. Bucky anticipates the feel of Steve’s lips on his, so he’s a little surprised when Steve pulls away instead. Bucky’s eyes open slowly, and he find himself looking into Steve’s. "My parents... aren't really in my life. So yeah, the fact that you have yours and they're so supportive, you know? I..." Steve trails off thoughtfully.

Bucky ventures a guess. "You're figuring out things, too?"

Steve gives a small shrug. "I pretty much know where I stand. I think we're at opposite ends of the field, though. Whereas people want to see you succeed and are pushing you in that direction, I think they're just waiting for me to fuck up. Not everyone, but the teachers and administrators probably think it's in the cards. The odds aren't good for someone like me."

"Someone like you?" Bucky asks, confusingly searching his face.

Steve takes a deep breath, sighing softly. "I don't have a fireplace in my house, let alone my room, Buck. My dad died when I was two and my mom passed before I turned thirteen. I don’t have… ."

Bucky’s heart drops at his admission. Steve must see the shock on Bucky’s face, because he stops suddenly. They're quiet for a minute, but Bucky gets the feeling Steve needs to know he’s there, so Bucky scoots up slightly to lean against the headboard, moving his arms to cradle Steve’s head against his chest but still at an angle so that they can look into each other’s eyes . "I'm so sorry, Stevie. What happened?"

"My dad was a soldier and my mom..." he says around a deep breath. "My mom got really sick. I had to watch when she… I couldn’t remember my dad but my mom was everything to me. I remember her like she was here yesterday, I remember the good we had, but then I also remember the bad stuff in the end."

Bucky’s mind flashes to the pictures on his Gram's walls. He remembers the couple with the baby, he remembers the young woman with the toddler Steve, the one with his eyes. "Gram's your mom's mom, right?"

"Yeah. When my mom died, I went to live with her. She was grieving too with the loss of her daughter but she’s a saint, you know? I mean, I'd always been close with her, had always gone to visit her with my mom but she took on a pre-teen punk who hated the world when she should have been finally able to relax."

"I bet she doesn't see it that way," Bucky mutters softly, moving his hand to cradle along Steve’s jaw.

"She's never made me feel that way, no. But as I've gotten older, I've thought it. And then when I hit Sophomore year, she started getting sick." Bucky doesn’t let go of Steve’s face but he uses his other hand to reach down for Steve’s. They weave their fingers together as Steve tells him about how it wasn't too bad at first, but he knew that she wasn't feeling well, how little things that seemed so easy before started to wear on her.

“I wasn’t with her at first,” Steve continues on. “I think even as the twelve year old that I was, I knew she wasn’t really capable of watching over me. I left our eighth grade year and moved in with my aunt, my dad’s sister, in New York. It was okay in the beginning but she’s a business woman and I could tell taking on a kid really put an obstacle in her way. She’s great and all but deep down I knew I wanted to stay with Gram so I came back.” 

Bucky’s mind is racing, trying to process all of the information Steve is giving him. Steve keeps talking and Bucky keeps listening, takes it all in, every word and every breath. Steve’s fingers move over Bucky’s knuckles when Steve tells him how he never felt at home with his aunt and that he never really fit in at his new school either. He tells Bucky about the trouble he got into there, getting into fights with practically every person he could. Steve’s eyes cloud with worry when he says it was nothing crazy, just him acting out when no one else would and really just his mouth getting him in trouble for being a smartass.

Steve looks at him like that would make Bucky walk away. Bucky doesn't think anything would, even when they were in the beginning stages of whatever it was between them. He’s not gonna walk away that easily.

Steve stares at the ceiling with his hands tight around Bucky, a faraway look on his face when he talks about coming back to Hampton and his Gram. Bucky almost feels Steve’s relief talking about it. Steve’s body sinks closer to his and Bucky holds on tighter too, until he throws his leg between Steve’s.

"I'm glad I came home," Steve says. Their eyes meet and hold. Bucky has never felt close to someone like how he is with Steve right then and there. “I don't talk about this much, about my mom and my dad and stuff. I mean, the group knows the mechanics of it, mainly Sam, but you're the first one to know all of it, Buck. Okay?"

Steve gives him something with that statement and Bucky doesn't know if it's Steve’s trust or another piece of himself, but whatever it is, it's so much that Bucky doesn't even know what to say. So he doesn't say anything at all, he lets his actions speak for him. Steve’s eyes are still open, gazing up at Bucky, when Bucky moves his head to the side slightly and presses a kiss against Steve’s temple. Steve’s eyes flutter shut at the contact and Bucky suddenly becomes overwhelmed with the need for more . Bucky presses another kiss against Steve’s ear, then another at the beginning of his jaw, before he shuffles his body to have more access to Steve’s face. Once he does, he leans forward and uses his hands cup both sides of Steve’s face, letting his lips trail against the side of Steve’s jaw, lingering right by his lips.

It’s Steve that moves his hand to the back of Bucky’s neck, holding him close when Steve captures his lips. The press of their lips together feels more intimate than everything else they’ve ever shared and soon, it turns into a needy, wet mingling of tongue, lips, and teeth.

For once Bucky is okay with how quiet his house is right then because it means they're alone and he can hear every little sound that Steve makes - that little rolling groan when he feels Bucky’s tongue, the rustle of his jeans when he pulls Bucky closer, the gasp they both make when their hips pull together. Bucky feels like he’s on fire on the inside.

And he knows that Steve is the only one who can help him. Steve is the only one who can put it out.

Bucky doesn’t break their contact when he moves his body to straddle over Steve’s lap. Their chests are pressed together and one of Steve’s arms move to hook under Bucky’s arm and cradle up his neck and skull, and the other moves to wrap around Bucky’s waist.

There’s no space left between them. Bucky pushes against Steve, rolling his hips a bit, and Steve moans again, whispering Bucky’s name like an omen. It’s all so overwhelming but in a really good way. Steve pushes back and it's a beautiful movement of give and take of hips and hands and that fire gets white hot where Steve’s touching him. Steve’s fingers drift to the small of Bucky’s back and playfully dip beneath the hem of Bucky’s shirt, pushing up the fabric so he can feel skin. 

Bucky doesn't know how many different ways it's possible to want and need someone, but however many there are, he wants and needs Steve in all of them.

Bucky sits up, letting his hands slide down Steve’s torso before he grabs the hem of his shirt and pulls it over his head, not caring for once that it toussels his hair. With the garment aside, Steve’s gaze trains on him like a hawk and Bucky watches as Steve’s mouth drops open slightly, his large hands suddenly super tight as they hold on to Bucky’s waist. Being the eager little shit that he is, Bucky wiggles his hips just right and Steve’s head falls back in rapture, releasing an absolute sinful groan that lights Bucky up like a match.

He does it again, breathless as he watches Steve’s reaction to him, and he doesn’t want to stop. His pace is slow but their hips are right over one another and Bucky can feel the effect that they have on each other. Bucky grabs Steve’s right hand and slowly presses it against his abdomen, guiding it further up until it brushes against his throat. As he does, one of Bucky’s hands glide over Steve’s torso, feeling the dips of the muscles there, and the other continues to pull Steve’s hand up to his face. When Steve’s fingers trail over Bucky’s jaw, Bucky turns his head slightly to pepper short kisses against them.

Bucky has no clue why he does it, but with Steve’s fingers so close to his mouth, Bucky parts his lips and positions Steve’s hand so that two of his fingers dip between Bucky’s lips. He sweeps his tongue against them, still rolling his hips, and when he opens his eyes to take a peak at Steve, Steve’s eyes are glassy and his chest his heaving up and down.

Holy fuck. He wants to fucking explode. Actually, Bucky is pretty sure he’s seconds away from doing so.

Bucky pulls away from Steve’s fingers, pressing another kiss to them before he leans forward and captures Steve’s lips in a sloppy kiss. It’s just tongue against tongue and usually that type of display would have Bucky cringing away but with the blond beneath him, it feels like the best wet dream come to fucking life.

“Stevie,” he whispers, letting his breath fan between them. His hands roam over Steve’s body and his fingers are quick to find the buttons of Steve’s shirt, beginning to take them apart one by one. Bit by bit, Steve’s chest gets uncovered until Bucky is shown the most beautiful sight he’s ever seen-- Steve, shirtless, with glorious tanned skin that has more muscle than Bucky’s ever seen before. Steve is a literal Adonis right now, with his hair disheveled and eyes unfocused and his body right there for Bucky to take.

Bucky has to lean back up so that Steve can shrug his shirt off his shoulders. Like Bucky’s, Steve’s shirt is thrown to the side and then they’re on each other again in a haze of breaths, and wet kisses, and roaming hands. There’s so much of Steve that Bucky doesn’t actually know where to begin. So he goes everywhere at once, letting his hands roam to try and memorize the feeling of Steve beneath his palms.

Bucky loses track of how long they stay like that, in their array of pressed together limbs. All he knows is that when they do pull away, both of their chests are heaving as they try to catch their breaths.

"Buck, I want to touch you more," Steve murmurs, shifting his hips up to meet Bucky’s. It’s Bucky’s turn to moan at the feeling, feeling Steve’s cock press against his. And shit does Bucky feel it. Even with Steve’s cock still in his pants, Bucky can feel how large he is, how thick too.

This is how Bucky’s going to die-- in sweet, sweet rapture caused by Steve. 

" Please ." Bucky says it once but he wants to say it a million times so that Steve knows just how much he wants it. When Steve moves his hips again, this time with more purpose and pressure, Bucky arches into him, letting Steve feel how much he wants this too.

Then Steve hooks his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and he practically squeaks in delight when Steve flips them over. 

They continue to kiss, slow and deep and then sometimes faster, sloppier yet just as good. They laugh when their teeth knock together but there’s nothing really funny about how they react to each other, how their hearts pound. Every move that Steve makes, Bucky feels the breath leave his lungs, getting robbed right from him and sucked straight into the blond over him. It’s a first for him. He doesn’t feel like Steve is racing for the finish line, like Steve is only doing this to get off. It’s so much unlike Brock that Bucky actually feels at a loss of what to do. It’s different than what he’s used to. Steve is touching him like he’s really exploring, taking in every inch of Bucky’s skin and every sensitive spot that makes him squirm or gasp.

It’s like Steve wants to find every part of him and take it all apart-- to take Bucky apart.

Steve’s fingers trace the slight curve of Bucky’s side until they’re at the waistband of his jeans. They both stop, just for a second, and look at each other with wide eyes. Bucky is literally throbbing when Steve’s mouth goes to his ear, his fingers continuing to rub small patterns against the exposed skin above Bucky’s jeans.

"Is this okay?" Steve whispers.

Bucky doesn't think he can form a word, much less a complete sentence. He just takes Steve’s hand and they unbutton and then unzip Bucky’s jeans together. Steve’s breath gets short and Bucky knows Steve's watching what they're doing just like he is, knowing that quite soon the lines between them will be re-drawn and set in stone.

"I think you should just take these off," Steve says, his heart thumping so heavily that Bucky can feel it beneath his fingertips. Bucky laughs as he picks up his hips, arching further into Steve as the blond uses his hands to pull down Bucky’s jeans at an agonizingly slow pace.  

Steve's right there, smiling as his hands work, and Bucky leans up to take Steve’s bottom lip between his, just to taste and savor, before his jeans get plucked off of his legs. Steve tosses them to the side and in less than a second, he moves back to hover over Bucky’s body, his hands skimming along Bucky’s legs. One broad palm slides up Bucky’s thigh as Steve presses a kiss to his abdomen and Bucky can only shudder at the sensation. It feels like he’s been electrocuted. It feels like he’s high as a kite, soaring above the clouds and nothing or no one could ever bring him down. He wants to stay floating, stay with Steve’s arms around him and their chests pressed together, their lips sliding together. It’s all so perfect. It’s all so right .

"Fuck..." Steve trails off, his voice thick with emotions that Bucky is more than sure he returns. Bucky feels more naked than he is for a second, completely uncovered apart for the tight elastic boxer briefs that hug against his skin. Rain starts to fall, hitting Bucky’s window softly, and he feels the cool breeze roll in from where it's cracked open. "You're so beautiful, Buck,” Steve’s breath is warm against Bucky’s stomach, where Steve continues to press short kisses.

"You make me feel beautiful," Bucky whispers back.

Steve looks down at him with an intensity that leaves him breathless, but Steve’s smile is playful nonetheless. "I want to make you feel good."

Again, Bucky finds himself loss at what to say, so he kisses Steve instead. Brock was always so quiet when they hooked up. They never talked like how Steve and him are. Bock was fast, too. Brock touched, but he never teased like Steve’s doing now, with Steve’s hands moving back up Bucky’s thigh, fingers circling Bucky’s hipbone and then moving down to trace the edge of  underwear. Bucky never made the kind of noises with Brock that come out of his mouth when Steve palms against him through his briefs.

And Bucky never, ever took Brock's hand and guided it to where he needed it to be, but Bucky’s doing that now with Steve because he needs Steve to touch him or he’s going to die. They watch together as Steve’s palm slides down Bucky’s stomach until his fingers disappear beneath the elastic and find him. He’s more than ready for Steve. Bucky only sees the blond’s face for a second before his eyes close, but he’ll remember it forever. Steve's looking at him like he's getting as much pleasure out of this as Bucky is, although Bucky doesn't know how that's possible. Steve's looking at him like Bucky’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen, like Bucky’s something he's never seen before, and Bucky feels drunk from it.

"Oh, my god," Steve whispers, almost to himself, and his fingers move to grasp around Bucky’s length. Bucky rocks his hips upward and Steve uses his other hand to pull down his boxers. He can hardly see straight as it is, but when Steve starts to move his hand up and down along Bucky’s cock, Bucky sees white. Steve’s so good at this. Bucky’s more than positive that Steve’s done this before, because Bucky’s thighs are shaking, tense with how close he is already. "You feel so fucking amazing, Buck."

"Don't stop, Stevie, please don't stop." Bucky doesn't even recognize his own voice. He opens his eyes to see Steve looking down at me, his lips parted and eyes so dark that Bucky can feel himself getting lost in them.

And Steve doesn't stop. Steve keeps talking, murmuring how beautiful Bucky is and how good Bucky feels and does he like this? And all Bucky can do is remember to breathe and say Steve’s name and when Bucky’s so, so close, he tells Steve and Steve’s mouth crashes against Bucky’s. The blond is rubbing and stroking with his fingers and Bucky’s panting and crying out into his mouth. And then, then Bucky’s silent because he’s falling apart and it's all so intense. Bucky’s fingers curl into the soft blond hair and Steve’s fist slows it stroking and he uses his other hand to hold Bucky close. The pace allows Bucky to ride wave after wave until he’s nothing but a shaking, gasping mess in Steve’s arms. They stay that way for a few minutes while Bucky waits for his breath to get normal again, for my heart to slow down. He’s aware of the sticky mess on his abdomen and he would normally scrabble to clean it up before it got onto his sheets, but for once, he doesn’t give a damn. He’s much too occupied with getting his thoughts back in order-- his thoughts about Steve.

"That was incredible," Steve says finally, his voice soft and breathless too. Bucky’s pretty sure that's what he should be saying to Steve, but he’s still coming down from his high, and somewhere along the way, he’s lost his voice. So instead, Bucky pushes Steve onto his back and climbs on top of him, straddling Steve’s body with his legs, kissing him until it finds its way back.

"Thank you." The words are on Bucky’s lips, on Steve’s lips, as Bucky whispers them between their kisses, in the middle of them too.

Steve presses his head back into the pillow, looking at Bucky through half-closed lids. "Anytime," he replies, trying to sound jokingly nonchalant, but his voice is strained. Bucky can tell Steve would be okay ending things right there, with him having gotten off while Steve didn’t. Steve doesn't expect more, doesn't push, and it’s not something Bucky is used to-- being with someone who isn't after their own agenda.

This is the first time in a situation like this that Bucky wants to give more. Bucky wants to make Steve happy, wants to make him feel as good as he's made Bucky feel. This is how it's supposed to be. And Bucky can feel Steve’s want, his need as he's pressed up against Bucky. Every time Bucky moves, Steve’s hips involuntarily seek to follow that movement.

Scooting backwards, Bucky make his way down Steve’s body. The muscles in Steve’s abdomen contract as he braces himself on his arms and Bucky’s hands trace the lines of those muscles. Dear god . Bucky has definitely died and gone to heaven.  "Hey, where are you going?" Steve asks.

Bucky leans back so that his ass rests on Steve’s thighs. His fingers move to the waistband of Steve’s jeans and Bucky’s voice doesn't sound like his own when he asks in return, "Is this okay?" It's deep and husky and... sexy, even. It sounds pornographic, enough to cause goosebumps to erupt across Steve’s flesh.

"That's more than okay." Steve’s eyes are still dark. Bucky can hear the rain growing more intense as Bucky undoes the buttons of Steve’s own pants. The blond raises his hips off the bed, assisting Bucky as he pulls them and his boxers down and off his legs. They fall to the floor at the foot of Bucky’s bed and all Bucky can hear is the sound of Steve’s breath and his and the thud of his heart that's surely expanded in his chest after Steve’s made him feel so good, made Bucky want him even more than he ever thought possible.

And Steve is… fucking glorious . His cock is beautiful, just like him. Large and thick-- bigger than Bucky’s ever taken before, even though Bucky only has one candidate to go off of. Still, it’s beautiful and Bucky’s mouth automatically waters at the possibilities, knowing what he’s about to do.

Steve's watching him, still, his arms propping him up. Bucky glances at him one more time before he lowers his lips to kiss Steve’s inner thigh. "Wait. Are you-"

Bucky doesn't wait, because he knows that Steve doesn't really mean that. Bucky’s hand finds him and then his lips do and he hears Steve utter a string of words that sound like prayers and curses one after the other. The noises he's making mirror the ones that Bucky made not long ago and he knows that he’s making Steve happy, that he’s making Steve feel good. The corners of Bucky’s lips pull upward with that knowledge.

If there's anything that Bucky has learned from being with Steve, it's that there’s something beautiful in a good give and take. Reciprocity . With Steve, the giving is just as rewarding as the taking, and every once in a while Bucky looks up to find Steve watching him, Steve’s jaw tight and teeth clamped down on his bottom lip. One of his hands is threaded through Bucky’s hair, the other gripped on the sheets next to him, but he says Bucky’s name again and again and it feels like he's touching Bucky all over.

It’s magical, is what it is between them. They’re soft and sweet yet hard and hot, completing each other like two sides of a coin. They get lost in each other only to find themselves in one another moments later, completely blissed out and their minds. 

Afterwards they stay in bed, wrapped up and tangled and mostly quiet, as the room gets darker and darker. It's nice just being with Steve like that, not feeling like they need to go any further or fill the comfortable silence between them.

Yet still, Bucky can’t help it as his words tumble out. “Stevie?” he breathes out against Steve’s collarbone.

The fingers trailing through Bucky’s hair don’t stop. "Hm?"

Bucky’s arms tighten around Steve’s torso. There’s so much going on in his head, so many feelings and emotions that he doesn’t think words can equal to. He feels like Steve has made him come alive more than anything or anyone ever has before. And if Steve can do that in only a few short weeks, what else could he do? If their time together lasted for months or even years, just how happy could Bucky be? It makes him giddy. It makes him want to grab onto Steve and never let go, just like he is now.

Bucky smiles against Steve’s chest. "I think I'm gonna keep you now,” he whispers before picking his head up and licking a kiss against Steve’s lips.

Steve is more than eager to return the kiss and for a few short minutes, they start to get lost again. When the blond pulls away, he’s out of breath and his hair looks bedridden in goofy yet sexy kind of way. Steve leans forward to press their foreheads together, smiling as he says, "I think I'm gonna keep you too."

Bucky smiles, mirroring Steve, and even though they may be alone in a big, empty house, Bucky has never felt more complete than in that moment. Nothing has ever sounded better. More importantly, nothing has ever felt as right as it does then and there in Steve’s arms.

By the time Bucky’s parents get home later that night, with Becca in tow, Steve is long gone and Bucky’s sprawled out on the bed in his pajamas. His mom pokes her head in, her face flushed from too much wine and laughter. She and Agatha turn into schoolgirls when they get together.

"Hey, honey, how are you doing in here?" She's smiling, leaning up against the doorframe. Under the soft light, the flashy diamonds around her neck and ears sparkle like stars, almost as blinding as the flash of Bucky’s camera.

"Fine,” he answers, returning her smile. “Just finishing up my homework."

"Quiet afternoon?"

Bucky looks down at his notebook, letting the strands of his hair fall over my face so she doesn't see how it blooms with color. Apparently Bucky got that trait from her.

"Yep," he replies, as if nothing is different. He can smell Steve on the pillow jammed underneath his chest, though. He can still feel Steve’s breath on his skin and Steve’s touch and what he said to Bucky and Bucky knows the truth now. The truth that everything is different now, in a good, beautiful way.

Chapter Text

Now, Bucky has a dilemma.

Because now that he knows what it’s like to feel Steve and knows what it's like to taste Steve’s skin, Bucky can’t keep himself away. Which, considering their contact is limited as it is, he has a pretty big problem.

Therefore, insert said dilemma.

It’s a normal school day, or as normal as one should be, but the very second that Bucky turns around with the plastic lunch tray clutched in his hands, he is hit with the sudden need for Steve all over again. The urge was strong in the morning when Bucky spotted him in the hallway, leaned up against it and talking away with Nat and Sam. It was only for a few seconds but Bucky saw him and for the rest of the day, he was practically vibrating in his skin, like an itch he couldn’t scratch.

Naturally lunchtime is no different.

He’s standing there like a dork, with his salad all crisp and green in it’s plastic container and his iced bottled water on his tray, and he darts a look towards the table where he’s expected at only a few steps away. He sees Mattie there with his arm draped across Bucky’s empty chair and there’s Brock, ignoring Danny Rand like always, but his body is open towards Bucky’s chair like he’s just waiting for him.

Bucky swallows uncomfortably. He’s pretty sure he visibly grimaces too considering how a group of students nearby starts to beeline away from him. He spares them an apologetic glance that none of them see and looks back at his table. They’re chatting about something animatedly, with Sharon throwing her head back and laughing obnoxiously as if she’s trying to draw the attention of the whole goddamn cafeteria. Which, knowing her, she probably is. Then there’s Phil, Brock, Jack, and Tony that are huddled together probably talking about throwing another party on the weekend, discussing whose house they’re going to ‘blow up’.

And usually Bucky can handle it all. He’s mastered dealing with them all for years now but today, after having Steve last night, he just can’t.

Bucky turns his head, finding Steve at his usual table, and before Bucky can think twice, he turns his shoulders and marches forward. He walks right past his own group and vaguely hears Matt call his name along with Sharon’s ‘where the hell is he going?’, but he just keeps going. And going. And going until he approaches Steve and Nat’s table, still holding his tray in his hands when they all turn towards him. Everyone looks surprised. Steve and Nat probably the most, with Nat’s brows raised high on her forehead and Steve’s jaw actually slack. There’s no denying the sheer happiness on Steve’s features either. His blue eyes are all but sparkling under the poor cafeteria lighting and when Bucky meets his gaze, they share a smile that says more things than words could ever tell.   

“Mind if I join you all?” he asks to no one in particular, just to be polite, even though he already knows the answer. Steve starts scooting over before Bucky even finishes asking and Nat reaches over and pulls up a chair from an empty table near them, sliding it between them.

Bucky gives them all a soft smile before he puts his tray down and slides into his chair. His chair. Somehow it feels more like it belongs to him than the seat at his own table, the one that Brock and Matt crowd around. Strangely enough, the one between Steve and Nat feels more welcoming like it’s the one Bucky is supposed to be at.

And isn't that something?

“Are they looking?” he leans forward and whispers to Nat. Under the table, he runs his hand over Steve’s thigh, capturing the blond’s fingers for a split second and squeezing. They’re close enough that no one will be able to see the movement and Bucky gets a thrill knowing it’s another thing that belongs just to him and Steve and no one else.

Nat snorts. “Buddy, the whole damn cafeteria is watching.”

Well… he kinda figured that. It’s honestly pretty damn annoying that something as simple as switching tables for a day can cause such a commotion within the cafeteria, but hey, that’s shitty high school politics. 

Of course it isn't long at all until Nat’s eyes glance over his shoulder, focusing on someone approaching. Bucky tenses up and shoots Steve a look when the blond releases him, Bucky’s body immediately aching at the loss.  

He prays that it's not Sharon. She'll make too big of a scene with her loud voice and her bitchy attitude. Bucky would never admit it to Nat, but deep down and for quite some time too, Sharon has harbored a hatred toward the redhead, something Bucky could never understand even when he really, really tried to.

Perhaps it was because for the longest time, Nat and Sharon had been inseparable; practically joined at the hip just as Bucky and Matt had been. But then Nat had abandoned Sharon and went skipping off into the sunset with Barton's hand in hers and she's just never looked back. Nat never cared that Sharon lost someone when Nat had actually found someone instead, and it left the blonde seeking refuge wherever she could. Coincidentally, she didn't have to look far because Bucky and Matt we're always less than an arm's length away.

Then again, perhaps it's a jealousy thing? Bucky's always heard of those eye rolling womanly gossip columns that say females only have love-hate relationships with one another, meaning they love to hate one another just for the hell of it. In all, he has no fucking clue. It's pretty unimportant as it is anyways. Nat’s in her own world and so is Sharon.

But there could be someone worse coming too. Bucky pleads with whatever higher power that exists that it won't be Brock. Because Brock storming over to him, while Bucky currently sits next to the guy he's absolutely head over heels for-- the guy who Bucky has seen and tasted, and who has done so many unmentionable things to Bucky in return-- seems like it can possibly get nasty. Not because Steve or Bucky himself would say anything, but because Brock would be able to recognize the absolute goo-goo eyes that Bucky has going on for Steve. Even though Brock has Danny now (although he's not kidding anyone with that clown show, ha fucking ha), Bucky knows damn well that Brock would throw a bitch fit over any new potential relationship that Bucky would dip his toes into. After all, Brock has a reputation to uphold and if everyone sees Bucky happy with someone else that's not Brock… yikes. Like, big yikes.

Anyone beside the two of them would be more easier to handle (and way less of a headache to deal with too).

Bucky can smell Matt before he actually appears. Ever since eighth grade, Matt’s always sprayed that Versace Blue on himself, eluding his wealth as much as possible so of course Bucky isn’t surprised when Matt pulls a chair up, letting the legs scratch noisily against the floor. Bucky looks up at him and he can see that Matt is trying his damn hardest to act cool about it but Bucky can see the slight wildness in his eyes, like he’s totally and completely lost.

Nat must see it too. "Matt, what brings you to our side of the park?"

Matt laughs, although it's completely forced to Bucky's ears. "Oh, I was just wondering the same actually." As he speaks, his arm loops over Bucky's shoulder pulling him close for a hug and shaking him slightly in his chair. The strained smile is still on Matt’s face when he turns his head away from Nat abruptly, dismissing her as he raises a brow at Bucky that clearly says what the fuck are you doing?

It’s rude, is what it is. Everyone around the table can see it for what it is.

“I’m doing a project with Carol that I needed to talk to her about,” he lies through his teeth but still manages to be totally at ease with it all. Matt has always had the ability to look right through him, unlike Sharon. If he pretends like none of this is a big deal, then maybe Matt will act the same.

"Who the hell is Carol?" Matt asks, his face turning incredulous.

Bucky glances pointedly at Carol across the table and Matt’s gaze trails after, landing on the blond with the vivid blue streak. There isn’t a look of recognition on Matt’s behalf. Then again, why would there be? Matt's in designer jeans that cost more than a couple hundred dollars and Carol's wearing a t-shirt covered in paint stains and has two mismatched earrings dangling from her lobes. It doesn't matter that they've been classmates since middle school, not to Mattie of coarse. All he sees is the differences and how much she isn't like him. Instead of greeting her or saying anything at all, he gives her that strained, bitchy smile and looks away just as quickly as he looked at her. “Well are you done now?”

Bucky's eyes widen in disbelief at how incredibly rude Matt's being. They both know that he just sat down. The entire fucking cafeteria knows that he just got there.

He sends a fleeting glance around the table, trying to silently apologize to the others. Steve is looking at Sam, having some silent conversation with the guy while Carol, Clint, and Nat all stare blankly at whatever is transpiring between Matt and him. At least Carol meets Bucky's gaze, shooting him a small smile in return.

"I literally just sat down.” Bucky shoots out, resisting the urge to fidget. Matt’s never really known how to act around people that isn’t part of their group. Matt doesn’t mind his manners with strangers, or doesn’t care about them enough to show them the decency of being polite so every second that Matt continues to sit there, obviously bothered, Bucky is just waiting for him to say or do something downright offensive.

Matt opens his mouth to speak and Bucky gets ready to cringe when suddenly Nat cuts back in. "Love the sweater, Mattie. Givenchy?"

Clever, clever girl. She knows Matt well enough to drive the topic of conversation onto something Matt-centered. Mentioning how good he looks, especially either his hair or his clothes, will have Matt's mood flipping a complete one-eighty degrees and turning him into a preening ball of fucking sunshine.

"Valentino," he grins. "B.B and Shar got it for my birthday last month."

Bucky darts a glance at Clint hoping he doesn't take offence. Matt is literally bragging about a twelve hundred dollar sweater that Bucky split-bought and all Bucky got Clint for his birthday was a few t-shirts that Bucky thought were funny. It makes him feel like a dick now because maybe Clint would've wanted a sweater like that too. Maybe Clint wanted something pricy and grand just like the other individuals of Bucky's group. God, Bucky’s such a fuck up.

"Oh?" Nat sends him a mock look of impressment, even going as far to pretending to look intrigued.

Matt darts a look in Bucky's direction, and Bucky somehow already knows what he's gonna say. "It was just us-- not like a party or anything--" Matt informs her with a shrug. Of course it's the lie of the century, and Nat knows it too. The whole damn neighborhood had heard that party and just thinking about that night makes Bucky feel dizzy, remembering that one too many jello shot that had resulted in him being half naked in the fountain in Matt's backyard.

"Well, your more than welcome to come to mine in February," Nat informs him. Which actually throws Bucky for a second because now that he thinks about it, he hasn't been invited to a Natasha Romanov birthday party since middle school. It makes him wonder how many parties he's missed or more importantly, how many parties Nat hadn't invited him to. And ouch does that hurt.

"Hope I can make it," Matt returns, but it's too rushed and he doesn't even look at Nat when he says it. Bucky's ears may be pulling tricks on him because he also swears that Mattie says it with a load of sarcasm too but maybe he's just being paranoid. But, one quick glance around the table again and he can physically feel the tension rolling off the others even as they quietly talk amongst themselves. So maybe he hadn’t imagined it.

Bucky presses his knee against Steve's, hoping to release some of that discomfort, as well as calm himself too. Immediately feeling the contact, one side of Steve's mouth starts to lift upward when Matt starts speaking again. "B.B if this is about Bro--"

Shit . Bucky’s spine snaps straight and he’s quick to kick at Matt’s ankle under the table.

"Mattie, remember what we talked about?" he frantically scrambles to cut Matt off. The last thing he wants to discuss in front of Steve is Brock especially when it's things that have been dealt with in the past and fucking handled . His words towards Matt are a kind reminder but Bucky lifts his brow to punctuate his point. Like always, his bitch brow gets shit done.  

Matt has the decency to look slightly ashamed but barely. He sighs dramatically, drumming his fingers on the table as he darts a look over his shoulder, back to the table he came from. At least he seems to relax a bit because he slumps back into the chair he's sitting in before he turns his head back towards Bucky. "Well he was literally going to walk over here before I got my ass up, which, I may add, was pretty damn fast. I don't think I've moved that fast since Elektra's parents came home early that first time we tried to fuck."

Sam splutters across the table and Matt looks briefly, eyebrows raised as if Sam's the one to be concerned about.

"T.M.I Mattie,” Bucky mumbles under his breath but Matt just rolls his eyes.

"Oh like you're one to talk?” Matt throws back at him. “Remember when you and--"

No. No, Bucky doesn't want to remember whatever the hell Matt is about to say.

" Matt ,” Bucky urgently stops him. Matt pauses and just stares at him. “I'm just gonna sit here today and talk to her about the project, okay?"

Matt makes a face, looking around the table like it's the last place Bucky should want to be. It's… dear fuck it’s so rude. It’s something posh assholes do. And yeah Matt is rich and is used to the ‘good life’ but he’s acting like-- someone else.

Matt picks himself up from the chair he planted himself in and stands up, running a hand down his abdomen to smooth out his shirt and making sure it’s still tucked perfectly in place. "Okaayyy….” he drags out. He leans down and sends a quick peck against Bucky’s cheek, lingering as he continues to speak. “But dinner at my house after school. And Shar said we're picture pouncing tonight. Gotta get you some dick, remember?"

Bucky buries his face inside his hands to hide the the overwhelming blush that heats up his cheeks. He's also pretty positive he squeaked. Fucking squeaked in mortification. He doesn’t have to look at Mattie to see the shit eating grin on his face. Matt did it on purpose in order to embarrass him but that doesn’t mean what he said wasn’t true. Because what Matt said is actually what they had discussed that very morning in the hall.

"Love you, nerd. Have fun with your project,” Matt says before spins on his heel and glides away, his designer loafers clicking as he does so.  

Following Matt’s departure, there’s a long beat of silence where no one actually speaks. Maybe they’re just too stunned to say anything. Bucky can’t see them, but he would be willing to bet that they’re looking at each other as if questioning whether or not that all actually took place. In their world of calm, Matt would be like a firecracker.

"I swear he's not usually that bad," Bucky mutters from behind his hands.

He still can't see, while he wills his blush away, but he knows that Nat rolls her eyes. "Sure, go ahead and tell yourself that."

Finally Bucky picks his head up and shoots her a look but doesn't bother saying anything back. Bucky takes a deep breath before he runs a hand through his hair, smoothing everything back into place. It actually takes him a few seconds to recalibrate himself after Matt and when he finally does, he scoots his chair closer to Steve and glances up to see the faint blush on Steve’s own cheeks.

Sam, of course, is sniggering and Carol's trying to hold in her own laughter but her shoulders give her away. It’s good to know that some people enjoy his misery.

"What's picture pouncing?" Barton asks, breaking the silence as if after all that, that’s what he chooses to pick up on. Bucky looks toward him, finding himself at a loss for what to say in return but also finding himself wanting to burst out laughing at how ridiculous the words actually sound coming from an outsider.  

Nat is frowning down at her food, pushing the macaroni on her plate around with a fork, as she answers without looking up."They dig out yearbooks and social media profiles and find people they want to pounce."

Bucky glances in her direction, frowning slightly at how her words sound hollow, and Steve must sense it too because he follows Bucky’s gaze.

"So what picture are you going to pounce on Barnes?" Sam teases, capturing the attention of the table. It's a good distraction from Nat so Bucky's grateful for it before he actually processes what Sam actually said. When he does, he huffs out a laugh. 

Bucky reaches out and grabs his water bottle, twisting off the cap as he shoots Sam a grin. "As if I would tell you my secrets."

Sam grins like he already knows the answer then he goes back to putting his attention on Carol. Bucky presses his leg flush against Steve’s and sends a glance up at blond. Their smile is for no one but each other, just as it’s supposed to be.

It’s easy to get embedded into their conversations. He fits in, strangely enough, even though it’s hard to ignore the several pairs of eyes that he can feel trained on him. He counts at least ten. But with Steve next to him, no one else matters.

Bucky wants it no other way.

"Okay, Steve," Bucky murmurs, playing with the settings on his camera to adjust to the afternoon light filtering through the trees in Nat’s backyard. "Why don't you change into the blue shirt and then put on the grey and blue knit hat? Nat, you're good in what you're wearing now."

Nat gives him the thumbs up from her spot a few feet away and then hip-checks Steve into motion. Steve winks at him, giving Bucky’s waist a squeeze as he passes to go to what Carol has dubbed the wardrobe station, also known as one of the chairs next to the fire pit. Bucky has to force himself not to turn around and watch Steve change, focusing on his camera instead.

It's close to the end of Carol's shoot on Sunday. They’ve been in Nat's backyard all afternoon, making their way through all of Carol’s. creations. Steve and Nat are set to wear one of the last things they have to shoot, knitted "his and hers" beanies. Originally Bucky had figured Clint would want to be in Steve’s place but he had been adamant on not wanting to break Bucky’s camera. So, the hero that Steve is, he stepped in more than eager.

It feels strange being there with the group, but at the same time it doesn’t. The past few days have been surreal. Bucky’s still doing the careful balancing act of friends, drifting back from where he wants to be to where he’s always belonged. No matter where he goes or with who, Bucky’s mind is always on Steve.

Friday had probably been the best school day that Bucky had ever experienced. After lunch, Bucky was practically gliding through the halls and when he stepped into English later in the afternoon, he was ecstatic to hear the teacher announce group work.

He didn’t join Steve and Nat and Clint, but when he moved toward Matt and Sharon, the back of his chair rested against the front of Steve’s desk. Bucky’s group had to repeat themselves multiple times because he wasn't paying any attention to them, too busy listening to the low murmur of Steve’s voice. How could Bucky honestly concentrate when Steve was so close? And to make matters even worse for his concentration skills, Steve had ran his fingers against Bucky’s spine every few minutes, before trailing up to dip under Bucky’s collar and skim against the back of his neck. Bucky had to bite into his bottom lip to smother the groans that wanted to tumble from his throat.

Bucky thought about those touches and all of the others while he was watching Steve from the stands at the football game later that night. Mattie was beside him, and they talked about everything and nothing, and cheered randomly when there was a touchdown or Shar and Elektra did some tumbling stunt on the sidelines all while Matt (once again) gorged himself on nachos.

Hello, life on repeat.

But after the game, as they were all making their way to their respective cars, Bucky got a text from Steve asking if Bucky wanted to meet him at his house to watch a movie. Bucky begged off going to the diner with his crew, ignoring their taunts of him being a "lame ass" (thanks for that, Sharon), and before long, Bucky found himself parked in front of Steve's house.

In Bucky’s eagerness to be close to Steve again, he actually made it there a few minutes before Steve did. When Steve got out of his jeep, he grabbed his pads from the back and Bucky could see that his ribbon was still tied firmly in place. Bucky had moved to kiss him and got the no-i’m-disgusting-and-sweaty-head-shake, but Bucky didn't care. His lips found Steve’s and Steve’s hands found Bucky’s hips and they leaned against the far side of the Jeep for a few minutes, until his Gram flickered the porch light.

She sat with Bucky while Steve showered, asking him about the game and if she'd be seeing him at the Lion’s Club for bingo the following day. When Steve came into the room, it was obvious from his grin that he liked finding the two of them sitting together. He even made a comment about his "two favorite people together."

They all chatted for a few more minutes before Steve’s Gram claimed exhaustion, although Bucky was pretty sure he caught her winking at Steve. The blond had helped her get settled in her room before rejoining Bucky in the living room for the movie. And they really just watched a movie. Steve’s arm were draped around Bucky and Bucky was tucked into his side and it felt good and right. Complete.

Naturally once the movie was over Bucky slid onto Steve’s lap and they turned into that haze of tongue and lips and hands roaming stage all over again.

The balancing act continued on Saturday, although it wasn't nearly as pressure-filled as the week had been. At noon Bucky found himself at the Lion’s Club, watching the door anxiously for Gram. She made her way in a few minutes before starting time and looked thoroughly peeved when she found someone already sitting in "her" seat. Steve had escorted her in and made mock scared faces behind her back. Bucky found out later that they were late because of his Saturday morning detention, which Gram was less than thrilled about.

But there's no balancing act right then in Nat’s backyard, no pressure to be anywhere else but there. Bucky hasn't heard from Matt or Sharon all day, which means they're probably with Phil and Elektra. And Bucky’s in his element there, with his camera in his hand, directing everyone while he snaps off picture after picture. Bucky laughs a lot, exchanges long looks and touches with Steve that everyone else catches every time. Not that it matters; him and Steve can be exactly what they are there, whatever that may be. They haven't talked about it, haven't even come close to labeling it, but it's not questioned in Nat’s backyard.

Somewhere along the way, Clint appointed himself as Bucky’s assistant. Bucky’s still not entirely sure what that means, other than Clint being directly behind him and providing a constant running commentary.

"I think Bucky just wants to see Steve with his shirt off," Sam stage-whispers to Clint and Carol, both of whom are standing off to the side. Carol, bless her heart, has been trying her best to wrangle Sam and Clint; she's caught Bucky’s eye more than once and mouthed, "I'm so sorry." Bucky isn’t sure who gave those two Pixie Stix for breakfast but they've been downright punchy the entire time.

"Wouldn't be the first time," Bucky shoots back, not really thinking of the implications. Eyebrows shoot up all around. Steve smirks like the utter boy he is and even straightens out his shoulders looking so damn proud. Bucky rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

Clint scoffs. "I didn't even say -"

"But you were going to," Bucky calls over his shoulder, shooting Clint a look.

"Oh, I was so going to," Clint says back, walking over and slinging an arm around Bucky’s shoulder. He's got his "Spooning leads to Forking" shirt on again. Carol had tried to make him change it earlier for pictures but then he had refused and well, now Bucky’s stuck with him. And everytime Bucky let’s his gaze linger on Steve for a beat too long, Clint points down at his shirt before raising his eyebrows like he’s making some type of point. It’s hard to tell what that point actually is with Clint.

"Nice shirt," Bucky says, finally commenting on it now. Steve and him had both caught sight of the shirt at the same time when they walked into the yard hand in hand; Steve gave Bucky’s a little squeeze and grinned when they both snorted under their breaths.

Clint does a move like he brushes off his shoulders. "Nat picked it. She says the dark purple makes my eyes pop. What do you think? Are my eyes... popping?"

Bucky pauses and looks at Clint’s eyes, exaggerating a head tilt and squaring his fingers to squint through them. "Oh yes, the popping-est."

Steve clears his throat and Bucky turns back around, finding Steve staring at the two of them bemusedly. "We're at your disposal, Barnes. This good?" He and Nat start posing, pouting and making faces that make no absolute sense.

But then Carol gets into position and then it’s all down to business. They straighten out, smiling at Bucky, all mouths and eyes. The colors look great against their hair and clothes and Bucky takes shots from a few different angles to show off Carol's handiwork, figuring she can pick the best ones that she likes.

Once Bucky has finished, he calls Carol over. "I brought my laptop with me so you can look at the pictures and get an idea of whether I got everything you need."

He pulls out his computer from his bag and places it on the table, uploading the pictures that he’s taken throughout the day and then quickly transferring to a slide show.

"How professional--," Carol comments, settling into the chair next to Bucky. Then, she runs her mismatched painted fingernails across the sleek edges of the laptop and adds, “-- and fancy.”

Bucky just nudges the computer in front of her rather than commenting on how fancy the laptop really is. "Hope you have the same opinion once you see the pictures," he mutters under his breath, irrationally nervous. There's always a bit of self-doubt that creeps in when he shares his work, even if he knows the pictures are good. Then again, it’s not like he really ever shared his photos like how he is with Carol.

"Oh, don't worry, Carol loves your photo skills, Yasha," Nat says from right behind him. Bucky jumps a little, looking up at her, and she winks. She’s always had an unbelievably ability to sneak up on people when she wants. "She told us at least five hundred damn times before you got here."

"What Nat meant to say is that Carol has been very excited about this," Clint says, flopping down into one of the chairs across the table. Nat moves to his side immediately, perching on the arm. Clint's hand goes to her knee and Bucky watches her fingers slide in between Clint’s. It's a choreographed dance of touch and familiarity. Bucky wishes he could capture it, but his camera's hooked up to his MacBook Pro and Carol is tentatively touching the arrow keys, starting to scroll through the pictures as if she might press too hard and break something.

"I think Bucko gets someone else here a little excited, too," Sam announces out loud, sidestepping Steve's arm when Steve reaches out to shove him. "Dude, come on,” Sam laughs. “You were twitching Friday. I've never seen you disappear faster after a game."

Steve’s eyes slide to his and Bucky cradles his chin in his hand, sucking in his bottom lip to stop a smile that will definitely give him away. Bucky can feel Nat’s gaze on him, but he keeps his focus on Steve and the way Steve’s not even trying to hide his grin.

"Did you hear that, Wilson?" Clint calls.

"Why yes, yes I did. I believe it was the distinct sound of a whip." Sam makes the sound effect for good measure and Bucky can only roll his eyes.

Steve scoffs but there’s still a smile on his face. "Of all people, you two are giving me shit?"

"We're not giving you shit, man." Clint pauses, pressing his lips together as if overcome with emotion. "It's beautiful."

Sam crosses his arms and covers his own mouth with his hand. "Our little boy is growing up."

Carol looks from Sam and Clint and back again. "Keep it up, you two. Bucky is never going to hang out with us again."

Bucky knows she's teasing, but really, it's moments like this that make him want to spend more time with them all. It's so easy to see the real friendship between them, to feel it, and Bucky basks in the warmth of it. It feels so different with his own crew. There's no posturing here; there's a depth, a trueness to all of them and how they interact with each other that Bucky never knew he always craved.

Carol nudges him with her elbow and Bucky look over at her, returning her soft smile. "You look happy right now," she whispers, low enough that no one else hears.

Coming from anyone else, the statement would sound insane or at the very least completely cheeseball-ish. But Carol is so like that, just telling her truth and not caring otherwise. And Bucky suppose it's his truth too. "I am happy right now," he whispers back.

She smiles wider and squeezes his arm, then turns back to the computer. "Okay, so these are amazing," she says in a louder voice. Steve and Sam are rough-housing and shit-talking, but in his periphery he sees them pause. Steve shoves Sam until they're hovering behind Bucky and Carol. Clint and Nat hop up too, and they all crowd around and murmur their agreement. Steve’s palm comes to rest at the base of Bucky’s neck, making him shiver.

"Hey look, you got my good side every time," he says, leaning down so that his forearms are resting on the back of Bucky’s chair. His cheek brushes Bucky’s; Bucky can feel his heat and the faint smell of grass and cool air and spice on his skin, and Bucky’s heart skips a beat.

The moment is perfect. Bucky feels like he’s living inside of a picture, like he’s captured something that he wants to tuck into a picture frame next to his bed so he can forever remember what it’s like.

"That, in and of itself, is a win, Yasha," Nat says, sending a teasing glance towards Steve.

Steve flicks her off but his hand is quick to reconnect with Bucky’s neck, letting his fingers trail up along Bucky’s skull.

Carol continues clicking through the pictures and there’s several times when they do their oo’s and ahh’s but when a certain picture pops up of Nat and Clint, Carol pauses. In it, the two of them are standing at the perimeter of Nat's yard, holding hands and looking at each other. It was before Clint vowed off pictures so he’s in a knit cap with a pompom on top and she’s wrapped up in a scarf. The sun is filtering in between them softly and Bucky isn’t usually one to toot his own horn (okay, that may be a huge lie) but it is a pretty nice picture.

Somewhere behind him, he can hear Nat and Clint fooling around but he doesn’t get to look because Carol leans over a second later, her dark eyes wide. "How do you do it?"

"Do what?"

She points to the screen, careful not to touch it. "This. It's like you took a picture of how they feel about one another or something." Bucky stares at her for a second, his mouth opening and closing, and her cheeks go pink. "That sounded dumb, but I just -"

"No, sorry, no,” he finally finds his voice, clearing his throat. He looks at the computer screen, at all of the moments frozen in time there, at these people that he’s starting to realize could be so important to him. "It’s not dumb. That's, uh...thank you."

Carol sways, nudging Nat’s shoulder first and then his. "Well, all I can say is I'm glad you work for cheap now, because I'm pretty sure that won't always be the case. Oh, which reminds me!"

She hops up from the table and scoots over to her huge plaid tote bag on the bench. She practically disappears inside of it, rummaging around and muttering to herself. Bucky looks over his shoulder, noticing the boys have gone quiet. Steve had released him a while ago and now they're not far away, standing in a circle with their arms folded. Bucky can't hear what they're saying, but Steve is nodding at whatever Sam’s telling him. And he’s also looking at Bucky with a small smile.

There’s no denying that Steve looks happy right now, too.

Carol whirls back over, dropping a small knit thing into his lap. "Here you go."

Bucky picks it up and unfolds it. It's a beautiful hat made of the softest grey yarn, with the edge done in black. There’s a red star pattern that circles fully around, right above the black. "Oh my god, Carol," he breathes out, running his fingers over it.

"I told you I'd make you something." Her voice is casual, but Bucky can tell she's pleased by his response. Maybe like him and his pictures, she was feeling some kind of way giving him something personal like that. "And now you can model it for me."

Bucky places the hat at the crown of his head, pulling it down gently, then turns toward her. "Does it look okay?"

Carol grins before yanking down on the front. "No need to be delicate with it. It's not going to break; it's more resilient than it looks." She leans back and plays with a few strands of his hair. "So handsome. I knew that color would work for you. But you’re so hot that you could probably wear anything and make it work.”

Bucky blushes. It’s not the first time he’s ever been told that he looks good and it more than likely won’t be the last, but hearing it from Carol makes it seem more genuine, like she’s taking in his inside self in consideration too.

"So, will you model it for the site, Bucky?"

Of course he nods. He stands up from his chair and is about to soothe down his pants when he remembers that he doesn’t actually need to, and instead, puts his fingers against the yarn of the hat. "Yeah, sure. Let me just get the camera ready for you. You're going to take the pictures, right?" He reaches for his camera, pausing when Carol’s eyes go a little wide.

"Only if that's cool with you. I mean, I took a class, so I know the mechanics. But I also know your camera is your baby, so...I don't want to hurt it or anything."

"Carol, you do realize it's an inanimate object, right? You can't really hurt it,” he reassures her. Still, she looks unsure and Bucky points to the hat on his head, justifying himself. "More resilient than it looks, right?" Bucky gives a look at the camera that he’s holding out to her. "Same deal."

Sure, his camera is his baby but it's Carol. Somehow Bucky knows she's not going to treat it with anything but respect.

She takes it from him, balancing it in her hands before looking across the yard to the guys, who are still standing around talking. "Steve, I need you."

Steve smacks Sam in the chest. "Your girl needs me,” he jokes, loud enough that his voice travels to Bucky and the others. "Guess you're not providing enough." Sam flips him the bird, laughing, as Steve saunters over to where Bucky’s standing.

As he gets closer his gaze sweeps over Bucky, taking in the new hat on top of his head, and he grins. When he reaches them, his hand cups Bucky’s side, the warmth of his palm bleeding into the thin material of Bucky’s shirt. “I believe my assistance is needed?" he says, eyeing Carol in question.

Carol nods her head, holding up Bucky’s camera as she does. "You're going to model one more thing. This time with Bucky."

He wrinkles his nose. "Ew, him? He's gross," he says, jokingly just as he buries his head in Bucky’s neck and presses a quick kiss to the underside of Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky leans into the touch, rolling his eyes. "Thanks Stevie, lo -" he cuts himself off suddenly, mortified at what almost slipped through.

And holy fucking shit. He can’t believe he actually almost said that. Love you, too . One second later and they would have been spoken, ringing out into the air around them. It would have been in a kidding manner but still . Bucky hasn't even said it in a non-kidding manner yet. Saying it in the capacity they’re currently in would be totally weird.

Steve caught it though. His eyes soften and he’s still lingering over Bucky’s shoulder, looking down at him. "You what?" He's grinning and gently poking Bucky in the ribs. Yeah, Steve’s totally fucking with him now. Bucky grins and softly jabs his elbow back into Steve’s abdomen, which doesn’t even move thanks to his impressive build. Bucky would curse those tight muscles for protecting Steve and making him invulnerable but Bucky really really loves those muscles too and his mouth has all but memorized them from Thursday night.

Which, it might not be the smartest thing to think about when their in front of so many other individuals.

Thankfully Carol cuts in. "Over here, kids."

She starts directing them on where to stand and how. Although Bucky’s tall, Steve's much taller and even though he’s never been one to be knit-picky about height, it does feel pretty good to get enveloped in strong arms by someone who can make him feel so secure and safe. He never felt that way with Brock. With Steve, Bucky just fits.

Carol takes some shots and then stops to fiddle with the camera settings. Bucky giggles as he and Steve watch Clint attempt a really weak cartwheel toward Sam and Nat. The redhead shakes her head before showing him how ‘it's really done’. Leave it to Nat to do about a dozen back handsprings and land perfectly on her feet. She has over a decade’s worth of gymnastic training to thank.

Steve’s hands move to fully circle Bucky’s waist and Bucky tip toes upward to wrap his arms around the blond’s neck. His mind is still lingering on his almost-blunder. It's completely premature considering they haven't been hanging out that long, and that no one beyond this group of people even knows they’re hanging out. But Bucky still can't help but wonder if...when he might say those words to Steve, and if Steve would say them back. Bucky doesn't know if what they have is what love feels like, but whatever it is, it's more than anything he ever felt with Brock the entire time they were together.

And whatever it is, their moments together and being there in Steve’s arms, feels picture perfect. Maybe that's all that matters right then anyways.

"They love you, you know,” Steve murmurs, turning him around in his arms and leaning his forehead against Bucky’s.

Bucky pauses, thinking about his answer. "Well, I love you guys, too," he finally says, hoping Steve will get what he mean. He does love this group of people. In the few short weeks that he has been hanging out with them, they've made him feel more like himself than Bucky even knew existed. It's like he was searching for this but didn't even know until he drunkenly stumbled upon it.

Still, he isn’t dumb and he knows that what he feels for Steve can’t possibly be normal. Is it too soon to be feeling as he does for Steve? Is it too soon into hanging out with him, too soon after Brock? Maybe Bucky is head over heels about the blond because Steve has somehow turned into his rebound. It would be cruel but could it be possible? They haven't even established what they are to each other. Hell, Bucky has barely managed to muster up the courage to sit at Steve’s table at lunch under the claim he’s working on a project (which, just how long until that will be up?). Bucky doesn't know how his friends would react, and he can’t imagine how uncontrollable Brock will become, but he knows that it wouldn’t be positive. Judge or be judged, as it goes in his group. Or at least that's what it feels like most of the time.

It doesn't feel that way here, though, and for now Bucky likes it with blinders on, hiding from the outside world when it can be just him and Steve instead. Added in with the rest of the individuals surrounding him.

Clint’s voice pulls Bucky out of his musings. "Hey guys, Scotty just texted me. Small shindig at Wythe Beach on Saturday. Just the Northrop kids and us if we want to go." He raises his eyebrows questioningly, holding his phone up in the air.

Nat kind of grimaces and shrugs. The other two are all for it though.

"You wanna?" Steve says quietly in Bucky’s ear. He shivers as Steve’s breath dances down his jaw.

Bucky bites at his lip, unsure. Wythe is the proverbial outside world, and Bucky doesn’t know any of the Northrop kids. He’s heard about the parties there, but his crew never goes. Brock, Jack, and Phil always make a face when it comes up, muttering about the shitty beer and how the road to get to Wythe fucks up their tires and dings their rims. Tony wouldn’t be caught dead in a part of the world like Wythe, and Mattie and Sharon are just about the same. The town of Northrop isn’t exactly a prime location for touring or well, anything else.  

So what does Bucky have to be nervous about? None of his friends will be there. He won't have to answer to anyone, won't have to explain why he’s suddenly showing up somewhere with Steve when no one knows Bucky’s been hanging out with him. And more importantly, when five weeks ago, Bucky was with Brock.

Bucky knows that he’ll have to tell Sharon and Matt about Steve soon, especially at the rate they’re going. Especially after what they did in Bucky’s room a few nights ago, then on Steve’s couch a day later. There’s a  little nagging part of his brain that whispers he’s just scared, that he should just say it because he doesn't owe Sharon or Matt or Brock or even his parents any explanation about who he chooses to be with. But the other part of him, the one that's used to doing what he’s supposed to do, still hesitates.

Bucky just wants it to be Steve and him just for a little bit longer. But he also knows that he wants to get there soon, like really, really soon.

Steve’s looking down at him, eyebrow raised, a small smile on his lips. Bucky feels warm all over.

"As long as you’re there," Bucky answers finally. He picks himself up again on his tiptoes and sneaks a kiss against Steve’s cheek, pulling away to smile gently at him.

If he’s trying to find his way, he thinks this might be a good start.

Monday goes like this: wake up in the morning thinking of the previous night's phone call with Steve. Get ready while thinking of seeing Steve at school. Get to school and see Steve's Jeep in the parking lot. Heart starts racing. See Steve in the hallway. Heart stops, re-starts and then begins racing again. Exchange looks over the shoulders of our friends. Get caught by Steve’s friends, but not by his. Bucky doesn’t hesitate striding to the table during lunch but he does stop and greet his own group before gliding away just as quickly as he stopped. Matt doesn’t approach again but Nat says Brock had looked in Bucky’s direction more than a dozen times. In English, Bucky feels Steve’s gaze and smile on him all throughout. Bucky bites at his lips to let Steve know he’s thinking about Sunday night when Steve walked him home from Nat's, when it took Bucky twenty minutes to get from the bottom of his driveway to his front door. Bucky can still feel Steve’s hands and he’s sure Steve’s eyes are tracing the soft sides of Bucky’s body that he touched.

Football practice goes late, but when they talk later, Steve makes him promise he’ll go over Tuesday for dinner.

"You don't want to disappoint Gram, Buck," Steve says solemnly. Bucky can hear the grin in his voice nonetheless.

"Well, I guess I can do it for Gram," Bucky sighs, playing along.

Steve laughs, low and sleepy. "Whatever it takes to get you over here."

Bucky thinks they both know it wouldn't take much at all.

On Tuesday morning, they pass by each other in the hall between third and fourth period. It's crowded, just crowded enough that Bucky grabs his hand, even though Sharon is on the other side of him, clutching at his arm. Steve’s fingers wrap around his and squeeze and then they separate, moving in opposite directions.

They follow a pattern: look but rarely touch. Watch but don't talk. The only place that they get is lunch but that’s only for an hour at max. It isn’t until they're outside the walls of the school, where what they have is just theirs. Where they don't have to explain anything. Where it's easy and feels right.

Bucky thinks about what it would be like to call Steve his boyfriend though, to have Steve walk him to class and drop a kiss on his forehead like Phil does with Sharon. Bucky thinks about it a lot. A lot, a lot. He rehearses what he’d say to Matt and Sharon, how he’d broach the subject, how they'd react.

And then Bucky thinks about the fact that it's been five weeks since Brock and him broke up, how Bucky’s already so much deeper in with Steve than he ever was with Brock, and they’re not even dating. Bucky thinks about how scary that is and how Steve and him haven't talked about what they're doing now or what they're going to do in the future. Bucky thinks about Sharon and Matt making snide comments under their breath about Danny and Brock, about the way they look at Carol and Clint when they breeze by in their Star Wars t-shirts, like they're from a different world. Bucky guesses in a way they are but it doesn’t hurt to see the judgemental stares coming from his own friends against his… other friends.

Bucky is being pulled in a million different directions. It feels so good with Steve - everything with him does - and when Bucky’s with him and his friends, it's cool and chill. There are no expectations. That's all there is with Bucky’s friends. He feels trapped by it. He knows he’s breaking out of the mold, but it's one thing to take pictures for the newspaper. It's another thing to maybe-kind of-probably fall in love with a guy who Bucky knows won't mesh with his own friends and probably wouldn't want to anyway. If they take what they have further, Bucky knows it's going to change a lot of things. Hell, Sharon’s relationship with Phil and Matt's with Elektra had changed things between them all and they were a part of their core group.

Bucky realizes somewhere along the way, through all of his obsessive thinking, that as much as Bucky wants change, he’s scared of it too. He’s scared of what it means to break away from the life he’s always led. He just wonders if part of him just isn't ready to let it go.

That thought stays with him for the rest of the day.

Later that night, at Steve's house, Bucky’s still recalibrating from his day as B.B. They're sitting at the small dining room table in the equally small dining room, eating dinner with Gram. The cannolis that Bucky picked up are in the middle of the table on a plate that looks as delicate and paper-thin as the skin on Gram's hands and wrists. Steve keeps eyeing them and automatically reaches for them once his plate is empty, but she smacks his hand away, telling him he has to wait.

She looks so tiny next to him. Steve watches her while she eats (when he's not watching Bucky), smiles when she waves her hands around talking about how Stan Lee cheats at bingo, and Bucku can see that, to Steve, she's larger than life.

They talk all through dinner, which feels weird considering the dinner table at Bucky’s own home is usually quiet apart from Becca’s mindless chatter. Maybe that's why Bucky hates the sound of chewing so much. Gram has to remind Steve about twenty times not to talk with his mouth full and although any sane person might think it’s a bit ridiculous, Bucky finds it so adorable and oddly enough, hot.

But then she asks Bucky about his college plans, and he feels Steve’s eyes on him when Bucky tells her that he’s applying to the Universities of Virginia and Richmond and literally anywhere else his friends are. What he isn’t saying is that he honestly doesn’t care where he goes or what he does there because it’s expected of him to take over his family’s real estate company. He could go and get an art degree and come home and literally none of it would matter. He doesn’t even need to go to college as it is but his parents are adamant that it’s a stage of life he needs to experience, whatever that means.

Gram turns to Steve, her gaze almost defiant. "Steven, you need to get started on your applications too."

"Come on, Gram," Steve groans, cutting into the cannoli he finally managed to snag.

"He doesn't want to leave me," she says, turning to Bucky. He looks over at Steve, but he won't look back. Steve’s cheeks are flushed. "He keeps making other excuses for not going, but I know. He's a terrible liar."

"Please drop it," Steve mumbles around a mouthful of dessert.

Gram raises her eyebrows and pushes her plate away, folding her hands in front of her. She's got a glint in her eyes that Bucky recognizes from Steve - it's mischievous and playful. "You don't want to talk about it in front of your boyfriend, honey?"

Bucky doesn't know who's redder, Steve or him. Bucky stays silent and Steve does too, for a few seconds that feel like hours. Bucky doesn't know whether to confirm or deny what she's saying, so he waits for Steve instead.

"Gram, Bucky and I are hanging out, okay?" he says finally, sounding almost unsure and definitely embarrassed.

"Oh, is that what they call going steady these days?" Gram throws Bucky a wink for good measure, and Bucky can't help laughing a little bit, even though he is totally uncomfortable. Steve sighs sharply and she tsks. "Oh, let me have my fun. I'm sixty one years old. My entertainment these days is torturing you and beating Stan Lee at bingo."

Steve shakes his head and looks down at his watch. "Yeah, speaking of entertainment, time for you to go watch your show. Too bad we can't sit around and talk all night, huh?"

Later, they're tangled up on Steve’s bed, their lips just a few millimeters away from each other. They make out and touch, and somehow Bucky’s shirt gets taken off along the way, then Steve’s, and they talk in between that. Steve tells Bucky about his mom, what he remembers, and then moves on to stories about Gram that make Bucky press his face into Steve’s pillow to muffle his laughter. Somehow they end up talking about Brock too. At first Bucky isn’t entirely sure he wants to talk about his ex with Steve because Steve is no fool and has seen the alerts pop up on Bucky’s phone when Brock sends him texts or calls him up. Steve sees when Brock approaches Bucky in the hall, when he steps up real close and tries to pry Bucky away from their friends so that they can ‘talk’ in private. Steve also sees when Bucky refuses, even when Brock manages to walk out of the school building side by side with him, insistent as always until Bucky finally hops into his G-Wagon and effectively closes the door in Brock’s face. But once Bucky starts talking, he let’s it all out, feeling secure within Steve’s arms. He tells Steve things he’s never told Matt or Sharon, how it never really felt right with Brock and that sometimes, Bucky didn’t even want to be with Brock. He tells Steve about the almost good times and then the really bad times -- how it was like Bucky was supposed to be with Brock, and so he was. Most importantly, he tells Steve how fake he felt in the end.

At some point, Steve stops Bucky’s words with his mouth and they kiss for an achingly long time after that. He thinks that Steve hears what Bucky isn’t saying - that Steve’s different. That Bucky feels real with him. So damn real.

When they finally take a break, Bucky lets his eyes wander around Steve’s room as the blond nuzzles his nose against Bucky’s cheek, breathing Bucky in. It's small and kind of messy; Steve had adorably ran ahead of Bucky and pushed clothes into piles with his foot when they first came in. Bucky can tell all of the furniture is Steve’s gram's because it's a little old-school, ornate in a way that Bucky’s mom would hate. There are football trophies scattered haphazardly on top of the dresser and his desk is stacked with school books and battered spiral notebooks, with a laptop that’s definitely seen better days. Bucky’s gaze goes back to the University of Virginia sweatshirt draped over the chair. Bucky had asked him about it earlier, secretly hoping that Steve was thinking about going there too, but he just said it was where his dad went and changed the subject.

Bucky thinks he loves Steve’s bed. It takes up nearly the whole room and is ridiculously comfortable, covered in soft, navy blue flannel sheets and a thick down comforter that's scrunched up at their feet right now. For a few seconds Bucky thinks it’s perfect how their beds are similar in color, as if it’s just another sign that depicts just how right they are for each other.

"Sorry if Gram made you uncomfortable with that talk earlier," Steve says in a low voice, pulling back a little bit after he drags his lips on the underside of Bucky’s jaw.

Bucky can hear the television in the next room over. The walls are thin and even though Bucky knows Gram’s hearing isn't that great, he’s been working extraordinarily hard not to make too much noise. It's not easy, not when Steve kisses like he does. Not when they've been touching like they have, their warm skin pressed together.

"So, is that what we're doing? Hanging out?" Bucky asks, almost afraid to hear the answer.

"I don't know," Steve whispers back. Although the way Steve's looking at him makes Bucky think Steve actually does know. Bucky can only wonder if it's written on his face, too.

He’s fairly certain it is.

He can feel it.

Steve doesn't say it though, and neither does he. Bucky guesses he’s not the only one who's scared. They just don't have the courage to say the things they both feel.

Not yet.

Still, Bucky can't stop himself from thinking, But when?

Thursday morning Bucky’s getting ready for school, going back and forth about wanting to wear the hat that Carol made him. He wants to wear it. It's a small nod to the changes Bucky has been moving toward. At the same time, it's just a hat. It's not a neon sign that says where Bucky’s been or who he’s been hanging out with.

Plus, it looks really cute with his grey sweater. His black skinny jeans being the cherry on top.

Matt and Sharon raise their eyebrows at the hat when he meets up with them at his locker, but they don’t say anything. Bucky sees Carol before first period and she beams when she sees that he’s wearing it. After that, Bucky doesn't care what his friends think; he knows he’s made the right choice.

"I feel like we never see each other anymore," Sharon complains as they walk towards English.

"We see each other every day," Bucky points out. Matt is walking with them, but not; he and Elektra are having a moment in the middle of the hallway, their heads bent together. She's whispering something in his ear and Bucky feels a swell of jealousy, wanting nothing more than to seek out Steve.

"Yeah, but we used to hang out together like every day after school. And now, it's like I have to schedule an appointment to see my two besties. I feel like I don't even know what's going on in your life. I mean, whatever, I know you're busy with the honor society and you're doing the whole picture thing with the paper," she says, waving her hand in the air.

It's true; Bucky started going to more of the newspaper meetings, helping Peter and the rest of the staff where he can. It makes him feel special. Important. And he’s even able to talk to people without breaking out into a cold sweat. The paper gives him something to talk about, and the rest has come easier than expected. Peter is actually a pretty cool kid and he’s made Bucky laugh more than he can remember anyone else ever doing.

She continues on, not stopping to apologize when she not-so-subtly shoves an underclassman out of the way, "And Mattie and I are busy with our others, of course, but that doesn't mean that we need to ditch each other."

Bucky rolls his eyes at her pointing out his ‘singleness’. What she’s really trying to do, is jump back into the conversation of finding Bucky a new man. If she only knew the truth, because then she’d know that he was in no need for someone to meet his needs. He was in perfectly capable hands, more than ever before. "Well then, come over after school today. I'll pencil you in."

Matt pulls away from Elektra as she heads to her class and he overhears Bucky’s invite. "Sounds good to me. That way I can see my adorable little girlfriend, FeFe. Plus, we have to discuss your Homecoming attire, you know, since you ditched our mall date the other day." He pauses dramatically before intoning, " And the lucky guy who gets to bring our B.B to the dance."

Suddenly Steve, Clint, and Nat appear and Bucky’s eyes automatically shift to take in the boy that he’d like to be his date, headed to the same classroom that they are. Sharon had been talking loudly enough that Bucky has a strong feeling Steve heard their topic of discussion, but he’s also talking outloud with Nat and Clint, discussing the party on Saturday at Wythe.

Bucky automatically slows his steps so that he can stand right beside Steve but unfortunately, Clint and Sharon reach down for the door at the same time and bump together when they notice a second too late. Bucky’s fingers are already gliding up Steve’s forearms but his head shoots up when he hears Clint’s murmur of an apology (said with a carefree laugh, of course) that is almost drowned out by Sharon’s reaction. 

"Hello? Watch where you're going," Sharon huffs out, shooting Bucky and Matt a look like, can you believe this guy? Bucky glances at Matt with his eyebrows furrowed, and his expression almost mirrors Matt. The two of them don’t see the problem, it’s just a careless collison and it’s not like anyone is hurt or anything.

Clint stares at Sharon like she’s gone insane. “Uh… my bad?” he repeats as if she hadn’t heard him the first time.

“Your bad?” Sharon echos, shaking her head. “Don’t apologize, just watch where the hell you’re walking.”

Nat steps forward just as Bucky frantically tries to diffuse the tension. “Shar, is this really necessary?,” he tries to push her forward into the classroom. He recognized that look in Nat’s eyes and he wasn’t about to witness a brawl right there in the hallway. “Class is about to start.”  

Bucky reaches for Matt to follow after them but when he glances toward the last member of his trio, Matt’s looking at Steve with an intrigued look. Bucky feels his throat get tight suddenly and he frantically calls Matt’s name, getting his attention so they can further usher Sharon into the room. Matt goes but he darts another look over his shoulder in Steve’s direction before he brushes past them and follows after Bucky.

Sharon continues to shake her head like Clint has personally cursed her entire family and she keeps muttering under her breath just how unbelievable that was. Matt keeps sharing a look with Bucky like they’re trying to decide if their friend has finally lost it or not, but after a few seconds, Matt just slides into his chair and then, they just start gossiping as if none of that shitshow just happend. Bucky stares at them like maybe they’ve both lost it but he doesn’t look long because Steve comes in, followed by Nat and Clint. Naturally, Nat looks pissed and when she passes, she doesn’t even glance in Sharon’s direction. Clint looks unbothered and Steve… Steve walks past Bucky and his fingers brush over Bucky’s arm trying to tell him that he understands and that it’s okay.

But it's not. Not really. And for the rest of the day, Bucky is unsettled thinking that maybe his best friend is a rightful bitch too. He also wonders just how many times he’s been the rightful bitch and was too much of an asshole to even notice.

After school, Matt and Sharon race up the stairs to Bucky’s room with FeFe at their heels, while he slowly meanders behind. He’s still bothered by what happened outside of English class and he’s less than enthusiastic about spending time with someone who identifies themself as his best friend when he’s not exactly feeling the love for them.

Matt throws himself on the bed, while Sharon sits herself on the floor. Bucky settles in next to Matt and draws his knees up to his chest, silently pleading that Matt won’t ruin Steve’s lingering smell with that Versace Blue he likes to pour on himself. They immediately start talking about their newly planned shopping trip to the mall on Sunday, discussing the different shops they have to go to, what kind of dress would look best on Shar and what color suits that Bucky and Matt are going to get.

"Maybe I'll just wear one I already have," Bucky says after two full minutes of strategy, absentmindedly drumming his fingers over his crossed forearms. When he looks up, Sharon is blinking at him.  

“Riiiight," she finally draws out with a little laugh, like he’s totally joking. Matt rolls his eyes with a patented ‘silly B.B’ smile on his face.

Bucky wonders if they'd think it's a joke if he told them what Steve and him did on that very bed not even a week ago. He can only imagine their reactions. And for the next five minutes, he actually does imagine their reactions. It makes his palms sweaty and more importantly, makes him stay silent.

They prattle on, talking about the outfit that Danny was wearing today, how completely attention-seeking it was that he had the top two buttons undone when the weather outside was a bit too chilly.

"It was still a nice shirt," Bucky finally says after they've been going and on for what feels like hours. Those two can beat a dead horse for days and more often than not, Bucky is that dead horse.

Sharon throws him a playful glare, but moves on. "Ugh, could you believe Nat’s boyfriend in English? Going on and on about that lame Wythe party and then nearly walking into me. And then the whole, ‘my bad’ thing. Like, could he be any more passive aggressive?"

Bucky can't hold his annoyance back any longer. "Or, you know, could he be any more nice? Christ, Carter, the guy apologized more than once. Cut him some slack. He didn't mean anything by it."

They're all quiet for a moment. Matt’s mouth has drawn into a surprised "o" and Sharon is staring at Bucky like he has suddenly sprouted two heads. She rolls her eyes, shrugging and says, "He's just weird, that's all."

"What are you talking about, he's weird? You don't even know him. What's so weird about him?" Bucky shoots back, give her a pointed look. He expects her to backpedal or at least give him an answer, but she just stares back at him blankly. "What, so he's weird because he's not part of our group? Or is he weird because he’s the one that made Nat turn away from us?"

Sharon balks, shooting Matt a look that he turns his head to avoid, so she turns back to Bucky. "Um, did I say that?"

"Well, you didn't say anything else, did you? I can't think of any other possible reason."

Sharon’s eyes narrow into mean looking slits. She’s always had the ability to appear like a stone-cold killer. "What's your deal, B.B? Why are you getting up my ass about this? You don't even know him."

"Yes, I do," Bucky says before he can stop himself. Matt shifts on the bed and pulls FeFe into his lap. Bucky can feel Matt looking at him.

Sharon’s expression turns dubious, mocking. "How?"

"We -" Bucky stops, his anger deflating slightly at the look on Sharon’s face. She's looking for something to get pissed about. Bucky doesn't want it to be Clint even though he knows that no matter what he says, she’ll somehow find a way to blame it on Barton anyways. "We've talked, which is more than I can say for you. I mean, we've gone to the same school since seventh grade, and it's not that big of a deal. Plus, he's Nat’s boyfriend."

"Well it's not like Natasha Romanov hangs out with us that much anymore anyways. We barely see her." Sharon says dismissively, complete with a hand wave as if she’s physically trying to shoo the idea of Nat away.

But that's how she always is, and normally it doesn’t take long until she gets Matt on board too. She dismisses anyone and anything that doesn't fit into their little world. And it is little. It's so small that barely anything will fit. Bucky’s not sure he fits. Now anymore.

Bucky wonders if they'll do that to him. It's that thought that stalls him momentarily, that brings the fear creeping back in like slow-moving fog. As pissed as Bucky is at Sharon right now, as much as he wants to say fuck it and tell the both of them everything, Bucky is stupidly worried about losing them too. No matter what, they've been his best friends since Bucky can remember, and even before that. Bucky can't get past the fear.

It’s too overwhelming.

"I see Nat all the time and..." Bucky trails off. They're both staring at him. It feels like they're judging him and he shifts uncomfortably, hating that he’s on the opposite side of their fence at the moment. It's different when he watches them do it to someone else. But he can't not defend Steve. Sharon’s attitude towards Clint is wrong, so misguided and fueled by something that is out of Clint’s power entirely. "You just didn't have to say what you said to Clint earlier, okay? He was being nice and you were totally rude."

"Who cares?" Sharon raises her voice slightly and it’s enough to get FeFe growling even with Matt’s hands around her, petting her.

"Jesus, Sharon -" Bucky begins, exasperated as he waves his hand to calm down the dog.

Matt holds his hands up. "Okay, stop . That's enough. Why are you guys fighting over Clint Barton of all people? Let's move on." He rolls over, raking his hand through Bucky’s hair affectionately, but Bucky’s burning from Matt’s words. Of all people? "Where's your yearbook?"

"Where it always is, Matt. Bottom shelf." Bucky’s voice is thick with irritation and he takes a deep breath, reminding himself that they don't know. They don't get it. "Hold on, I'll grab it." He picks himself up from the bed and moves across the floor, reaching down to grab the yearbook before he makes his way back over. He already knows why Matt wants it, but he still asks. "Why do you need it?"

"We've got to figure out your date for Homecoming, of course."

"I don't want -"

Sharon’s head snaps toward him so fast that Bucky’s surprised it doesn't fly off. "You have to go with someone, James Buchanan Barnes." Awesome, she full-named him. "Brock’s taking Danny, you know, and this is our senior year. We're making memories here. Plus, you know you're going to be King and the Homecoming King can't go stag."

Bucky has a sudden vision of how Homecoming would go down if he just told them right then and there that he wants to go with Steve. That not only has he had a few conversations with Clint Barton, but Steve Rogers too-- and the conversations with Steve have not revolved around just talking, but kissing and touching and that Bucky feels things for Steve that could be really, really important someday.

And then he thinks about what it would be like sharing a limo with Sharon and Mattie and everyone else and hanging out with them. Bucky thinks about Brock, who would probably spend the entire time glowering at him and Steve. God, it would be so awkward. Bucky wouldn't want to put Steve through that, or himself for that matter.

So he won't.

"Whatever," Bucky says with a sigh.

"Atta boy," Sharon replies, choosing to ignore his less than enthusiastic response. "Now. Who should our B.B take to the Homecoming?"

Sharon lifts herself up onto the bed and sits right next to Matt. They start pointing out guys and mentioning acquaintances from Coliseum Central Prep. The acceptable ones, according to them.

And with each name they suggest, Bucky declines. He doesn't want to go to Homecoming with any of them. He doesn't want to go to Homecoming at all anymore. But he has to, and if he wants them to leave him alone about going with anyone else, he’ll need to come up with a solution fast. Him and Steve may not be official and they haven't talked about going together, but Bucky doubts he'd be excited about Bucky going with some random guy. Bucky knows damn well that he would hate it if Steve went with someone else. Hell, Bucky doesn't even know if Steve is even going or if he would even want to. Given the fact that Bucky’s only seen him at two other dances, always with a date and looking like he was being slowly tortured, Bucky’s guess is no.

That thought spurs another one, reminding Bucky of a conversation that he had with an old friend in her driveway. Clint will be in Chesapeake and Nat has to go since she's on the court too. It might still be awkward since she hasn't really been a part of Bucky’s group for years, but it'll be more bearable. They'll go, get their shit done, and then ditch as soon as they can. It'll be easy. Painless. No explanation needed.

Bucky justifies it so quickly that he doesn’t think otherwise. Maybe he’s being to quick because before he knows exactly what he’s doing, he says it out loud. "I'll go with Nat."

Chapter Text

He barely sees Steve at school on Friday. Steve walks into English late, which must mean he was with Gram during lunch. Bucky wishes he could have snuck away with him. Instead, he was  at his usual table after Matt had grabbed his arm and all but dragged him over, insisting that he was missing out on crucial Bucky-Bear time. It was odd being there again, listening to the conversations going on that were all about who was wearing what, and how expensive it was, or dishing on about their weekend plans (which, no surprise, was yet another party, this time only at Tony’s) while Bucky sat there silently wishing he was across the cafe with people that seemed just a bit more genuine.

Sitting back at the old table meant Bucky had to ignore Brock make out with Danny, which was so bad that even Sharon had made a comment about toning it done. Bucky’s no idiot and could obviously tell The Brock and Danny Show was being put on specifically for him, because everytime Bucky happened to glance in their direction to the left, he saw Brock watching him out of the corner of his brown eyes.

So classy.

In English, when Steve walks past their desks, he throws the three of them a smile that's quick and casual. Bucky doesn't look at Matt or Sharon, but he can tell by the little shake of Steve’s head that Bucky is probably the only one who smiles back. And from then on, Bucky gives them the cold shoulder for the rest of the day.

Bucky doesn’t get to hear Steve’s voice until much later. The team had an away game at Montesano, and even though Steve texted him before the game saying he would be home late, Bucky’s going crazy by eleven. Bucky needs to hear Steve’s voice. He’s been in his room all night, staring at the ceiling while old episodes of The Office play in the background, thinking about Steve and Homecoming and what exactly he’s going to say to Steve about asking Nat to go with him.

Bucky doesn't know what Steve’s expectations are. The fact that they haven't talked about it when it's only a couple weeks away makes Bucky think Steve doesn't have any.

A thought suddenly hits him, practically punching Bucky in the gut while he lays on his bed-- what if someone else asks Steve? What if Steve says yes, since Bucky’s now tethered himself to Nat? Bucky covers his eyes with the crook of his arm, groaning and cursing his lack of forethought.

Honestly, Bucky’s going to make himself sick over this.

Bucky picks up the phone and goes to his recent call log, tapping on Steve’s name. It rings for what feels like forever, but finally Bucky hears the click of a connection and then rustling. Steve’s voice is rough and low, sounding exhausted as he tells Bucky that he just got home. Apparently it was a bad game; they lost and then got ripped apart by Coach Phillips because it should've been an easy win.

"So, basically now he's all freaked about the Homecoming game next week," Steve says with a sigh. "Rainier's a pretty easy team, but after the way we fell apart tonight, we've got to get our shit together. And Coach said we all have to make an appearance at the dance on Saturday whether we win or not."

Bucky’s heart jumps at the mention of the dance and how put out Steve sounds about having to attend. He has to lick his lips before he continues on, "Were you not going to go?"

"Dances aren't usually my thing. Or our thing, I guess. Clint has two left feet when it comes to dancing, so Nat usually gets an automatic out and Sam and Carol don't really care about them." Steve pauses. "And I never really had a reason before. So I guess I just haven't thought about it, you know?"

"Yeah," Bucky replies lamely, his voice a quiet mumble, and then swallows. He has no idea how Steve is going to receive the news that Bucky’s about to give him or if Steve care or not. Then again... it's not like he’s going with a random guy or even worse, Brock. Nat’s one of Steve’s best friends and it obviously won't mean anything romantic. Steve will know that. So, instead of beating around the bush, Bucky figures he might as well spit it out. "So, uh...I was thinking about asking Nat if she wanted to drop by there with me for a while, since we're both on the court and have to make an appearance. It would be really quick, you know. No big deal. I don't even want to go, but..."

Bucky’s heart is racing now as he sits there, waiting for Steve to say something. Anything .

Steve’s not saying a word. And Bucky’s are just hanging there like an incomplete thought.

"Stevie? Did I lose you?"

Steve clears his throat and when he speaks, his voice is no longer low. If anything, it's sharp, which is new and instantly makes Bucky’s skin tingle and not in a good way. "Um, no, I'm here. Just processing. Right, no big deal. One of my closest friends is going to take you to the dance while I stand there with my thumb up my ass. That sounds like a great time."

Whoa .

Bucky’s heart sinks. It sounded okay in his head, but when Steve puts it that way, in that tone, it sounds… idiotic. God he’s so fucking stupid. "N-no, I just-- I just thought it would be easier all around. Go, do the court thing and then get out of there."

"Okay, well, do what you've gotta do, Barnes," Steve replies shortly. There's a rustling noise, like he's pulling the covers over his head. "I'm tired. Let's talk tomorrow, okay?"

Bucky rolls over onto his side, sandwiching the phone between his ear and the pillow. There’s a heavy feeling deep within Bucky’s chest and it physically hurts, even when he tries to rub it away. "You're upset."

"I'm more tired than upset. The Homecoming dance really doesn't mean that much to me in the way of big life events."

"Obviously not, since this is the first time we're talking about it," Bucky remind him. Yeah, the idea of Nat and him going to Homecoming together is new, but so is this entire subject. Still, the quiet between them is tense. Bucky lets out a soft sigh. "The dance is a week away, Steve, and we're not really..." Bucky stops, unsure of how to say it. "Matt and Sharon don’t even know we talk, not really, I mean, they saw when I was sitting at the lunch table but they don’t know how deep this really is. I think it'd be a little out of left field if that was how we announced...this."

"Right. This." Steve’s voice is softer now, quieter.

"And honestly, do you really want to go with Matt and Sharon and everyone?" Bucky continues on, gaining steam. It feels like he’s trying to talk the both of them into it, instead of just Steve. "I mean, they're going to make it really awkward for us. Brock’s going to be there with Danny, and he's been kind of an ass since we broke up and -"

"Bucky, I get it," Steve interrupts, but he doesn't sound angry anymore. "I don't particularly like it, but I get it. Like I said, I don't care about the dance. I'll be there, alone," he emphasizes that and Bucky feels his own heart squeeze, "because I have to be. I just don't want it to be like we're hiding, you know?"

"I know," Bucky says quietly. He really fucking knows. It eats him up on a daily basis, makes him long for what he has but hasn’t shown to the rest of the world yet. He wants people to know, he just doesn’t want those other people to ruin what has become so sacred and special to him. "Let me just get Homecoming over with, okay? I don't want to deal with the weirdness of it, but after that..."

"After that?"

"I want to be with you, Stevie." The words slip out so easily and it feels more like a declaration, a promise. Even if Bucky hadn't said the words to anyone else, Bucky knows now after this conversation that he needed to say it to Steve. They’ve shared so much of themselves, have danced around the subject of what they are, or what they will be, but now it's out there. Now Steve knows that what they have is so much more than two kids just hanging out.

There's a slow exhalation of breath on the other end of the line and then Steve says, "Well, we're on the same page there, then."

They're quiet for a minute and Bucky stares at the shelves lining the far side of his wall, looking at all the photographs of all the important people in his life and frowning when he doesn’t see Steve in any of them. If he hadn’t turned them into a secret, then Steve’s pictures would be all over his room, probably even right there on the nightstand beside Bucky’s bed. But how would he explain pictures of Steve Rogers to Matt and Sharon, let alone his parents or Becca? He hadn’t meant to turn them into something to be hidden, but that’s what they have become. Secrets are created when someone is ashamed. Only it's not Steve that Bucky is ashamed of, it's his friends' reactions. It's himself that he’s ashamed of, because for how badly he wants to change, Bucky is also terrified of it. Sure he’s making small strides, but is that enough anymore?

He doesn’t know what he would do if it weren’t. Or what he would do if he were to lose to Steve to something so stupid like how he’s being. It scares the living fuck out of him, more than any fear of how Sharon or Matt or anyone else will react.

"Are we okay?" Bucky asks finally, because Steve is still not talking and Bucky is tired of thinking so damn much.

"We're okay," Steve says, and Bucky can hear the truth in his deep voice. "Go to sleep, Buck. We've got the beach tomorrow night. At least you can be all mine there." Bucky can recognize the tone of Steve’s voice; it's still tired, but more playful now, teasing.

Bucky smiles and closes his eyes. "I'm all yours anyway, Rogers."

"You will be," he murmurs back. Steve sounds close to sleep and Bucky wishes he were there with him, lying in Steve’s bed while they whispered to each other.

Bucky wants that all the time.

He knows he can have it. He just has to get there.

The house is quiet as it always is, although more recently it doesn't feel as lonely for some reason. Bucky’s bedroom door is closed, locking in the music wafting out of his phone. For the last hour and a half he has gone digging through his closets and drawers, trying to figure out what to wear for the beach party. For some reason, he’s more nervous about fitting in there than he’s ever been about fitting in at the parties that Phil throws, which seems backwards. Bucky is probably completely overthinking everything, but that's what he tend to do, always.

Still, he’s carded through every pair of pants and shirts and sweaters that he owns, trying to find something that doesn’t scream money but even his goddamn t-shirts are name brands.  He wants an outfit that says he doesn’t care even when he really does fucking care and it seems impossible and now he’s overthinking again and Bucky groans for what has to be the thousandth time since he started this whole process.

Bucky finally decides on a pair of old skinny jeans that he’s kept tucked away in the corner of his closet and a t-shirt that doesn’t look too pristine. Then, to top it all off, Bucky has Steve’s hoodie laid on on his bed, ready to get swiped up when Bucky eventually leaves the house.

He’s a second away from unlacing his shoes so that he can put them on, when there’s a soft knock at his door, then a creak.

"Sweetie?"

"Yes?" Bucky calls toward the door, his voice muffled as he sits on the floor of his closet, sliding one of his shoes on.

His mom and FeFe appear in the doorway, her free hand resting on her hip. "Where are you off to?"

Bucky pauses for a moment, thinking about what he should tell her. He thinks about lying and saying he’s going somewhere in the neighborhood but he might as well say the truth because knowing his luck, it will probably result in the truth coming out either way. "I'm going to a party at Wythe Beach, with Nat and a couple of friends." Bucky throws Nat’s name in there, knowing that will soften whatever reaction his mom might have.

She arches a brow at Bucky’s mention of the beach but says nothing in regards to that. "Is Natasha still with her boyfriend? Collin, or Conor, right?"

Her tone is curious, probably because Bucky dropped the news that he’s going to Homecoming with Nat at dinner when the topic came up. Actually, after Bucky informed them that he’d be going to the mall in search of a suit with Matt and Sharon tomorrow, the conversation naturally turned toward Bucky’s date. He didn't go into too much detail then, but it appears that his mom wants the goods now.

"Clint,” Bucky carefully reminds her. “And yes, they’re still dating but he’s going to be visiting his mom in Chesapeake over Homecoming weekend, so rather than us going stag-"

She interrupts him with an amused laugh. "Please, Bucky. We both know that you can't go to the dance stag. How would that look?"

God , he wishes she were kidding with that comment, but by the earnest frown pulling on her lips, Bucky knows she's not.

"Right," he says, hoping to stop her from talking because her comments are annoying him. "So since Clint isn’t going to be around and rather than us go stag," he repeats his words, emphasizing them so she realizes how silly she's being, "We're going together. No big deal."

No big deal. Bucky has repeated that phrase so many times now, most recently to Nat when he called in the morning about going to Homecoming together. After what seemed like a fifty-minute pause, she asked why the hell Bucky would want to go with her and not Steve. In return, Bucky gave her the same spiel he had gave Steve, hoping she'd understand on a more intuitive level what Bucky didn't want to deal with, especially with Brock. She's been friends with the crew for as long as Bucky has, so she knows what they can be like - cliquey in the worst way, especially with people who aren't a part of said clique.

Nat had sighed and told him how stupid of an idea it was, and that Bucky could have easily just not gone with them at all. But she finally broke down and agreed when Bucky told her that Steve already knew.

The shortness of Bucky’s answer must have an impact because his Mom switches gears to yet another annoying topic. "I don't know if I like the idea of you going to Wythe, sweetheart. Don't they do drugs there?"

Jesus Christ, mother! They do drugs down the street in Phil’s backyard.

Bucky chooses the less abrasive, more complimentary route instead. "You raised me to make good choices, remember?."

A second later, Bucky hears a quick horn honk and Bucky holds his breath, giving her his best please, please, please pout until she nods once. Bucky hastily shoves his other foot into the shoe without touching the laces, and hops up, lunging out of the closet and snatching up his phone and Steve’s hoodie.

"You've got your phone, right?" his mom asks as she follows after him. He waves his device in the air before pocketing it. She glances out the window and immediately a hand is up in the air, the light glinting off her diamond engagement ring. "Hold up. I thought you said you were going with Natasha? That is not Natasha’s car."

Somehow, Becca apparated right beside their mom, copying her movements. Bucky hadn’t even heard her come into the room but now, there she stands, one hand on her hip and the other over her brows, peering out the window. Her face scrunches up. “Is that thing even a car?”

Bucky scoffs, widening his eyes at her. “Can you be any more rude? It’s an antique and my friend happens to love it very much, thank you.”

Becca rolls her eyes like she doesn’t believe what he’s saying and more than likely, she doesn’t. Because she sees that old beetle with faded paint and doesn’t see how anyone would want that when they can have Range Rovers, G-Wagons, and Corvett’s instead.

Bucky walks to stand next to the both of them, peering out the window to see Carol’s car in their driveway. It's old and out of place and his mom is looking at it quite dubiously. Shrugging, Bucky acts like it's not a big deal, hoping that she won't say anything more. So instead, he leans in, placing a quick kiss on her cheek, then ruffling Becca’s hair. "I guess Carol is driving tonight."

He goes to leave his room, hoping their conversations are over with, but nope, his mom and Becca are right on his heels.

"Have I met Carol?" his mom asks while Becca murmurs about most definitely never hearing about someone named Carol. Bucky not so subtly uses his elbow her side as she zooms past him, racing down the stairs even though their mom has told them several times not to.

"Um, I don't know if you have." Bucky pretends to actually think about it, going as far to pursing his lips in contemplation. “But she’s one of Nat’s best friends, so Agatha and Dimitri know her well.”

His mom murmurs behind him, but Bucky doesn't hear any arguments, so as soon as he reaches the bottom floor, he darts straight for the front door. Bucky waves his hand out the door, signaling the others he’ll be there in one short second, before turning back to look at his mom. She’s standing there, at the bottom of the steps with FeFe still pressed against her side, and her eyes dart from Bucky to Becca who’s not being sly as she full out stares out the window by the door.

“Don’t you think it would be better to just stay in the neighborhood?” she tries one last time. There’s so much worry in her light eyes that for a second-- for a split second-- Bucky actually hesitates about stepping out that door. But just as quickly as that apprehension emerges, he shoves it back away because he’ll have Steve there. And somehow, he doesn’t think he could ever be scared as long as Steve is by his side.

Bucky just gives her a look instead of saying otherwise. "I'll call you when I get there, okay?"

She takes a deep breath, nodding, but the hesitance is still clouding around her. "You know, if you feel uncomfortable, you can call me to come get you," she says. Then she tacks on, "No questions asked."

Bucky raises an eyebrow at the adder and at the window, Becca snorts loudly.

"Okay, fine,” his mom heaves another sigh. “You know I'd ask questions. But Bucky, be safe, okay? You're the only son I've got."

Bucky opens his mouth to tell her not to worry so much, but before he gets to, Becca’s voice fills the air instead. “Holy moly,” she gasps.

Their mom's gaze slips past Bucky as footsteps softly approach from behind. Her expression turns guarded, intimidating, but Bucky sees a glimmer of curiosity there. And when he turns around, he knows why.

Steve’s coming up the walkway, dressed in dark jeans and a gray hoodie. His blond hair is wild, like he was wearing a hat, but took it off. The thought makes Bucky smile, even as his heart pounds. Ever the gentleman, his Stevie is.

But oh god , then Bucky realizes that his mom and sister and Steve are going to meet. They're going to talk. Bucky wants to grab Steve’s hand and run to Carol’s car before anything can really happen. Bucky can see Sam and Carol in the front seats, waiting. They're both grinning. Sam wiggles his fingers at Bucky, his mouth opening in silent laughter.

Bucky sways toward Steve when the blond gets close, and automatically, Bucky’s pulse picks up its pace as it always does when Steve is nearby. He doesn't want things to be weird with them after their conversation last night. But when Steve smiles at him, sweet and determined, Bucky knows that things are okay. And then he directs that smile at the two females nearby. His mom blinks when Steve says hello. Becca's mouth is all but hanging open and instead of words, she silently waves her hand like the awkward pre-teen that she is.

"Oh," his mom says, darting a glance at Bucky before looking up at Steve. The guarded expression falls away. Curiosity has completely replaced it. "Are you Clint?"

"No, I'm Steve Rogers. I'm a friend of Bucky’s." And then, oh, Steve holds out his hand to her. Bucky wants to take it for himself. He want to grab Steve and kiss him for getting out of the car, for making an effort. Bucky knows most guys wouldn't bother.

Then again, Steve isn't most guys.

Bucky holds his breath, watching silently as their hands clasp briefly. "Oh," she repeats. Bucky looks at her, trying to gauge her mood, when Steve offers his hand to Becca next, introducing himself to her too. His mom’s earrings sparkle underneath the porch lights. Her hair looks as icy as her diamonds, but her expression is slightly warmer when she sees Steve greet her youngest child.

"Well, you kids be careful tonight. Bucky usually stays in the neighborhood, so I'm a little nervous about him going that far out."

"Mom, it's okay," Bucky says, exasperated, and fights to control the blush that floods his cheeks.

Steve nudges him gently. Bucky can tell by the way his mom’s eyes crinkle at the corners, thoughtfully, that she catches it. Becca certainly does, and a grins larger than Bucky has ever seen, larger than when she got first place at a piano recital a few months back .

"Absolutely, we'll be careful. I wouldn't let anything happen to him, Mrs. Barnes,” Steve nods.

Warmth floods throughout Bucky’s ribcage at Steve’s words, and he reaches out to brush his pinky against Steve’s. Dear lord, he wants to touch Steve. Kiss him so hard.

His mom looks at Steve appraisingly and Bucky swears he sees one corner of her mouth twitch before she turns to Bucky with an arched eyebrow. "Remember that your curfew is midnight."

"One," Bucky counters. Or pleads, really.

"Only in the neighborhood."

The statement leaves no room for debate. Bucky knows he shouldn't press his luck. If his dad was there, he'd order Bucky back home by ten. He works so much that Bucky rarely sees him, though, which means his dad rarely has any say in Bucky’s comings and goings.

"Midnight it is," Steve says instead. "That's no problem."

"How come he gets to stay out till midnight?" Becca shoots out, crossing her arms over her chest and pouting. “ And Bucky gets to stay out with a pretty boy? I thought you don’t have favorites, mom."

Their mom’s lips part in muted surprise and her gaze flicks back to Bucky, darting a questioning glance between the almost non-existent space between him and Steve. Bucky can see the calculations shooting through her head and before either his mom or Becca can say another word, he reaches up and tugs at Steve’s sleeve, starting to pull the both of them back down the driveway.

“We have to go,” Bucky says, exasperatedly. “See you guys later.”

His mom nods, adjusting FeFe on her hip. The dog stares at Bucky, it’s wet black nose twitching in the evening air. “Uh huh, at midnight, James Buchanan.”

Steve smiles, all dimples and white teeth, so boyish . Bucky doesn't know how anyone could resist that smile. His mom's a pretty tough customer, and yet, Steve seems to be holding his own with her. "It was really nice meeting you, Mrs. Barnes."

"You, too, Steve," she replies, nodding as they dart down the steps together. But before they get too far, his mom is calling after them again. "Oh, here, before you all head off." She turns to grab her purse off the side table just a few steps away. Bucky darts a look towards Becca as their mom fiddles around, and he’s not surprised to see Becca still grinning at him like she’s just discovered something major that she plans to hold against him (and yeah right if she thinks she can intimidate him).

His mom unclicks her wallet before walking back toward them, her heels clicking loudly against the granite floor. Then, to Bucky's bewilderment, she hands him money. "That's for… whatever it is you will all need. Make sure you get dinner before you come back home."

Bucky just nods his head and takes them from her. "Thanks Mom, but we really do gotta go."

She nods and waves the two of them off so they hurry down the steps and take to the sidewalk that leads to the driveway. Before he gets to the bottom of the steps, however, he sees her hand go to her pocket, but Bucky doesn't stick around to see what she's doing.

It isn’t until they breeze past Bucky’s car that Steve breaks the silence. "Hi," he murmurs, his lips pulled up softly. Their hands brush against one another and for a split second, their fingers intertwine. Goosebumps erupt everywhere, spread across Bucky’s skin like wildfire.

"Am I okay wearing this?"

Steve’s eyes are as dark as the evening sky above them and he lets his gaze linger a little bit, probably longer than is safe. Bucky doesn't care; he loves the way Steve looks at him, the way he feels when Steve’s eyes are on him like that. "You're perfect."

The night is so quiet that Bucky’s sure both his mom and sister hear Steve say that and probably also hears when Bucky’s breath hitches, too. Bucky doesn't turn around to see either of their reaction.

Then, he just has a moment when he thinks fuck it and reaches out and takes Steve’s hand in his own. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise at the contact but when he realizes that Bucky isn’t going to pull away and that he wants his mom and Becca to see, the grin that slides onto his face is the most beautifulest thing Bucky has ever seen.

It’s the beginning stages of them finally becoming Steve and Bucky to everyone else, to the ones they have hid from. And really, Bucky knows that he’s going to tell his parents (and yes, his meddling sister too) before he decides to let anyone else in on his relationship, apart from the ones who already know.

Bucky’s hand tightest a fraction more around Steve’s as they approach Carol’s buggie. He goes to wrap his other hand around Steve’s forearm to pull more of Steve towards him, but then he remembers the handful of bills his mom handed him and frowns at what exactly he’s supposed to do with it.

"Hey Stevie," he looks up at the blond before they fully reach the beetle. Steve is still smiling when he hums out a response. "Do you have your wallet on you?"

Steve’s brows furrow slightly in confusion. "Yes. Why?"

“Cause I need it,” Bucky answers back.

Steve manages to look even more confused. “Don’t you have yours?”

Bucky leans his head into Steve’s upper arm (which, no matter how many times he stands next to Steve, he’ll never get over their height difference, it’s hot as fuck is what it is). He smiles into the fabric of Steve’s jacket. "You want the should-be right answer or the truth?"

“Truth, obviously.”

"I never need my wallet. I either pay through my phone when I need to, and my licence always stays in my car,” he explains.

Steve gives him an incredulous look. "Still, Buck. What if you get in trouble and the cops get you?"

"My dad's friends with the Sheriff." Yeah, that might actually be an understatement. Sheriff Summers (or, Scott, as Bucky is used to calling him) and his dad actually went to high school together and played on the same football team ever since they were toddlers. Which coincidentally then led to-- “And he’s also my godfather.”

"Of course he is," Steve playfully rolls his eyes.

"So can you do me a favor?" Steve hums again but his gaze darts to Bucky, searching and ready. "Can you hold onto the money my mom gave me."

Steve’s free hand moves automatically to his back pocket. "Sure. How much did she give you?" he says as he pulls it out.

"No clue," Bucky answers, handing it over without counting. Strangely enough, he feels so much relief when it’s no longer in his hand. He doesn’t like being responsible for small stuff like that, stuff that can get easily lost in a split second flat if he doesn’t pay attention to it non-stop. He’s more than eager to see it disappear into Steve’s wallet.

Even though Bucky didn’t count the cash, Steve does, and when he finds not one, but two one-hundred dollar bills, and three twenties, his brows lift up. "Did she mean to give you this much?"

Bucky grimaces. He knows it’s probably not necessary to be given that much but for him, it is what’s normal, even if only for a few hours out. "So do you want the should-be right answer or the truth?" he repeats again.

Steve snorts, shaking his head lightly back and forth as if in disbelief. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds until they approach Carol’s buggie and Steve opens the door, waiting as Bucky slides in first into the backseat. It smells like hardcore pine and when Bucky darts a glance towards the front of the car, there’s a pine tree freshener hanging from the rearview mirror, right over a wobbling plastic cactus. There’s some catchy indie song that’s wafting out from the speakers that Bucky doesn’t recognize but it’s totally Carol-ish. If that makes sense?

"Hey, Buck," Carol says, swiveling around in her chair and reaching back to squeeze Bucky’s knee. She's wearing a knit hat with little mouse ears, her lips painted bright red.

"Hey, Carol," Bucky replies, trying it out. He’s rewarded with a brilliant smile.

"Did you win the missus over, Beaver Cleaver?" Sam asks, as soon as Steve settles himself next to Bucky in the backseat. It isn’t anywhere near the size of Bucky’s own back seats in his G-Wagon but the crammed space means him and Steve are sitting knee to knee, shoulder to shoulder. Bucky likes it even more when Steve’s arm stretches along the seat behind them. Bucky presses back into him and let’s his hand curl around his upper thigh thigh, his fingers brushing inward against the rough material of Steve’s jeans.

"They're called manners," Steve replies easily, pulling his hat off Carol’s headrest and putting it back on but also using the movement to cover Bucky’s hand, before throwing him a playful warning glance. Sam chuckles under his breath as Carol pulls out of the driveway. When Bucky  turns his head to look out the back window, he sees that his mom is still standing just outside the door, silhouetted by the soft light streaming out from the inside. Becca is nowhere to be found, probably watching some reality show, but that means that Bucky get’s to focus on his mom and his mom alone. Which is how he sees something illuminated in her hand. Her phone.

"Oh, Jesus," Bucky groans.

Steve twists in his seat too follow Bucky’s look, then raises his eyebrows. "Why 'oh, Jesus?' What's she doing?"

"I'm pretty sure she's calling Agatha." Bucky reaches for the seat belt, only to find that it won't budge.

"Seat belts are optional, Buck," Carol says, watching him in the rear view mirror.

Steve chuckles and adds, "Yeah, mainly because the majority of them don't work." Steve’s arm hold tightens around him and Bucky relaxes into his side, forgetting just how unsafe he actually feels without the life saving device across his chest. "Don't worry. I'll keep you safe." His voice is low, meant for Bucky’s ears only, but he’s pretty sure that Carol and Sam can hear Steve anyway, gauging by the look they exchange.

Steve raises his voice. "And hey, no worries about your mom calling Aggie, either. She's a fan."

"That is true," Sam chimes in, turning in his seat to look back at them. "In fact, if it weren't for Doc Dim..."

"Sam, stop," Steve grumbles beside him, but Bucky can hear the smile in his voice.

"What?" Sam pretends to look all innocent, giving them a cheeky grin. "All I'm saying is that Agatha totally loves you."

“Duh,” Steve rolls his eyes. "What's not to love?"

"I could name a few things," Sam jabs back, giving Steve an exaggerated look. Steve just shoots him the finger. The conversation continues, an easy back and forth within the car. There's no tension left between them from last night and Bucky leans against Steve, acutely aware of every place they're touching, along with where Bucky wishes they were and aren't. Bucky watches the shadows of the trees whizzing past the car, his fingers threaded through Steve’s. There are few streetlights along the main road and even fewer cars. Not much traffic in this part of the state, Bucky guesses. It’s not like he has a lot of experience in Wythe, or well, any place that isn’t Hampton or one of the country stamps in his passport. Basically, he’s in uncharted territory.

"Nearly there," Carol comments, and Sam starts flipping through the CDs in the console. Honestly Bucky has to blink in surprise at seeing the collection, because he hasn't seen an actual CD in a really long time, like in so long that he thought they were a thing of the past. His wagon has the app Spotify imbedded into the front screen of his car, and his house has smart home devices that play music for whenever he asks it to.

They pass by a faded sign that reads ‘Wythe’ and Bucky suddenly feels nervous all over again, knowing they have less than minutes until they get there. Wythe isn’t that big of a town, smaller than Hampton, so it’s only a matter of-- suddenly Carol turns left and they drive onto a gravel road, that’s more dirt and sand than actual rock. Bucky turns his gaze out the window and instantly sees people milling around, hearing laughter and music that he doesn’t entirely recognize. He takes a deep breath, forcing the panic down, trying to tap into calm, cool and collected. But fuck , it’s really, really hard to.

Carol noses the car into a spot between two similar-looking cars, both in similar conditions to her beetle. Bucky looks around, noticing Nat’s car at the far end of the makeshift lot, facing the tree line. It looks out of place with the rest of the cars there, too shiny and new which is saying something since Nats always had a sensible, nice but not too flashy type of vehicle so Bucky can only cringe at the image of his G-Wagon there on the beach, shiny rims and all. It’s an even bigger cringe when he thinks about Brock’s Corvette or Jack’s Jaguar or Tony’s 570GT.

He doesn’t get to linger long because then, they all move to climb out, and to his bewilderment, Carol leaves her keys on the floor.

"About time you showed," Nat calls out as she makes her way toward them. She's impressively holding six red Solo cups, three in each hand, and she passes them out. Carol shakes her head, nodding back to the car and seeing her decline makes Bucky feel okay that he does too. He doesn’t want anything. He doesn’t know these people well enough that he’s just going to take something that doesn’t entirely belong to him. These aren’t his friends. That’s not alcohol that he can safely say he’ll know what he’s downing and if he really gets that desperate, he can just snag a water or a coke. Truthfully, he’s not comfortable enough to let loose when out of of fifty people, all he knows is five. Yeah, hard pass.

"Where's Clint?" Carol asks, standing on her tiptoes and craning her neck, attempting to spot Clint over the throngs of kids. There are more people than Bucky expected but he guesses that the area has quite a few residents despite appearing nearly rundown.

"He’s talking to Morse," Nat shrugs and looks down at the ground, balancing the remaining three beers between her hands. There’s definitely something on her face that makes her look different than what Bucky is used to. She looks coiled in on herself, like she’s ready to strike at the first sign and it makes Bucky nervous. If Natasha Romanov has something to be worried about, Bucky doesn’t stand a damn chance.

“You okay?” he leans in and whispers against her ear, quiet enough that the others don’t hear. Steve, Sam, and Carol are looking in the direction of where there’s a bonfire being constructed, towards the beach, and for a few moments, it’s just Bucky and Nat.

She nods her head, trying to grin, but Bucky can tell that she's uncomfortable. Maybe she feels the same way about being there as Bucky does. They're both a little out of our element and so far, no one's come to welcome them with open arms. Although honestly, Bucky doesn’t know how he would react if someone suddenly came running up to him, trying to touch. In his nervousness, he’d probably push them away. Literally, more than figuratively.

The group scatters a bit, walking onto the beach and toward the fire. Sam and Carol wander over to a kid sitting on a piece of driftwood with a guitar. He stands, exchanging a complicated handshake with Carol. Nat makes a beeline for Clint, who's standing with a blonde girl and brunet guy who has a really silly looking smile on his face. The blonde one stops grinning as soon as Clint catches sight of Nat. Bucky can feel the tension from where he stands with Steve. And damn, if looks could kill. Then again, Nat would be a hard bitch to take down.

Steve has his arm over Bucky’s shoulders when Bucky gently nudges his elbow into Steve’s side, nodding his chin toward Nat and Clint.

"What's up with that?"

Steve looks over and lets out a little chuckle as he twists his hat backwards. "Oh yeah, Bobbi's not a fan of Natasha."

Bucky snorts and buries his head into Steve’s chest, reaching up with his hand to interlock his fingers with Steve’s arm on his shoulder. "I can see that, thank you." Steve grins widely, flashing Bucky those sinful little indents in his cheeks. Bucky rolls his eyes, even as his heart skips a beat. "And that's because..."

"Because Nat has Clint, for one, and Bobbi has a thing for him." Steve stops walking and slides his arm off of Bucky’s shoulder, bringing it down to slide down Bucky’s rib cage and holding him close. Steve leans his head down and presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s lips before pulling back and continuing on, "And Bobbi is kinda sensitive about money, too, you know?”

"But, Nat wouldn’t like, brag, or anything," he argues, frowning up at Steve slightly. "She would never rub the fact that she has money in anyone's face."

Steve gives him a pointed look. "I know she wouldn't, ands he never has, but that doesn't matter to Bobbi and the rest of these guys. They've have had a lot of run-ins with the kids in your neighborhood over the years. They used to get a lot of grief for not having the money to get the right equipment when we were all in peewee football -"

"From who?" Bucky asks, although he has a sinking feeling that he knows exactly whose name Steve is going to say.

"Rumlow and Rollins, mainly. Sometimes Coulson too. All those guys that still play on the team." Steve stops, running his hands over Bucky’s rib cage again, his thumbs settling right against the lowest ones. Steve looks deep in thought for a second before he shakes his head, his gaze going back to Bobbi. "Hell, they did it to me, too. We were young and kids can be assholes when someone else is 'different.' And the guy next to her, Scott Lang, told me stories about how they used to throw parties that were more for everyone. Kids from our high school - kids from your neighborhood - would show up and act like total dicks. They'd trash the place, drink all the beer, and then bail. One of the older guys put a stop to it a few years ago. That's why it's so chill now. They're careful about who they let hang out."

Bucky turns his head to look around. Despite all the people there, the only ones from Hampton are the ones that Bucky arrived with, and Clint and Nat. The vibe is pretty mellow, still celebratory, but it’s a major change from the parties that Bucky goes to with loud, thumping music coming from expensive speakers. Bucky wants to say he doesn’t stand out, but the majority of the people there have pants with holes in them and t-shirts that are beyond faded, with shoes that are just over a few years old. Nothing in Bucky’s closet would bring him close to them. Part of him wants to just reach down and grab a rock and rip into his jeans but even if his jeans are old, they’re still Fendi’s and worth a couple hundred dollars.

"Great, well, they’re going to love me then," Bucky says dryly, focusing back on Steve and desperately placing his hands against the blond’s sides. Steve is the only thing keeping him from running. Steve keeps him grounded even against the roaring tide of anxiety that threatens to take him under.

Steve shakes his head, pulling Bucky against his chest and wrapping his thick arms around Bucky’s back. Everything about his movements feels protective, like Steve’s caging him in against the world. Bucky holds onto him just a bit tighter, breathing Steve in as his ear presses against the skin and muscle over Steve’s heart. "Don't worry about it, okay? Let's just have fun,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear the rumble of his voice inside his chest, smiling to himself at how sensual and intimate it feels.

Right, fun. Bucky takes a deep breath and pushes away his discomfort. Bucky focuses instead on the fact that Steve and him are there together, that they have the whole night.

Feeling immensely better with Steve’s reassurance, Bucky tip toes and meets Steve’s lips again. It starts off as a peck, nothing more than lips against lips, but Bucky wants more and he quickly turns it up a notch, opening his mouth and licking against Steve’s lips. Whatever beer the party has, Bucky can taste it on Steve’s tongue. It’s strong, and it brings back memories of the first night Steve and him were together, when Bucky was too shy and almost too nervous to talk.

Nat makes her way back to them with another cup of beer for Steve, maybe just looking for something to do, and she clears her throat loudly once she steps up to them. The two of them pull away, grinning at each other, before they pull apart and look toward their redheaded friend. Bucky can only wonder if she and him naturally gravitate toward each other because they're both interlopers there on the beach. Clint keeps looking over his shoulder, like he wants to follow her, be with her, but Bobbi is talking loudly, her hands waving animatedly in the air. The blonde keeps reeling Clint back in.

The three of them start talking and the topic of Homecoming comes up, and Nat jokes about bringing Bucky as her date. Steve gives her a look before his eyes slide towards Bucky. "Oh. You asked her already?"

"Uh, yeah," Bucky nods, shifting uncomfortably and darting a look at Nat. "I called her earlier today."

Nat shoots him a disapproving look before turning back to Steve. "Steve, if you're not -"

Steve cuts her off. "No, no, it's fine. We talked about it already."

Nat looks from Steve to Bucky and back again, then shrugs. "All right, if you say so. I'll be the stand-in. Just don't ask me to bust out any crazy dance moves and especially don’t think that if Jack says one wrong thing to me, I won’t kick his ass into next year." Bucky nods in understanding. He hadn’t really planned on dancing and he would never dare pretend that Nat and Jack were ever best friends; Jack had pursued Nat for years, sometimes doing things for her attention that were completely unorthodox and borderlining psycho (like the time he tried to get Brock, Phil, and Tony to pretend to kidnap her so that Jack could come in and save the day, leading to Bucky having to quickly talk Brock into his senses and making Sharon do the same with Phil). It was never anything harmful though, and if it ever were, Bucky and the others would have shut that shit down and he would have never pulled Nat into possibly being put into that situation. The relationship between Nat and Jack is hostile yet still friendly, so when she says she’d kick Jack’s ass, she obviously means it.

"I'm hoping to be there for as short a time as possible, so hopefully that won't be necessary," Bucky replies, looking sideways at Steve as he leans further into his muscular chest, letting his fingers skim up Steve’s sides.

"Okay, well, I'll leave you guys to it. I saw you both swallowing tongue and it looks like your a second away from going back to that and I definitely don’t want to part of that so...," Nat replies, throwing them a wave before making her way back toward the bonfire.

"Are you sure you're not mad about this?" Bucky asks when Nat's out of earshot and they're alone again. He looks up and lets his hands move under Steve’s armpits, snaking their way along Steve’s back. Steve squeezes him, and the corners of his mouth pull up, just a little bit.

"Like I said, you do what you need to do. I just wish..." Steve stops talking and Bucky bites into his bottom lip, waiting for Steve to continue, but he doesn't.

"You wish what?" he prompts, feeling his heart threatening to plummet into his stomach.

One of Steve’s hands goes to curve along Bucky’s jaw, and he presses his face close, whispering, "I wish you could see yourself like I do."

Gently, Bucky puts his arms around Steve’s neck and the blond slowly wraps his fully around Bucky’s body. Tilting his head back, Bucky stares at the stars above even though his eyes threaten to flutter shut when Steve presses a wet kiss to his neck. "How do you see me?" he whispers.

"You're smart," Steve begins, moving upward to place a kiss on Bucky’s forehead, "And funny, even when you don't mean to be." Another kiss, this time at Bucky’s temple. Now he closes his eyes, feeling the way Steve’s mouth curls up as he continues, "Actually, especially when you don't mean to be. You're handsome and so so beautiful, especially when you blush." His lips travel down to Bucky’s cheek. "You're talented. I wish you could see your face when you pick up a camera. When you know what you want, you go for it. And you can have anything you want, Bucky."

Bucky inhales sharply, opening his eyes and pulling back to look up at Steve. Those words sound so different coming from Steve than they have from anyone else. And for a few seconds, Bucky can’t breathe. Hearing it from Steve makes it sound freeing rather than constricting.

Hearing it from Steve makes Bucky think that what he and Steve is so much more than anything he could have ever expected. He doesn’t want to let go of any of it; the feelings, the intimacy, Steve . The heaviness of what Bucky feels for Steve is heavy and hard, but light and gentle too.

He knows what emotion it is, even though it scares him shitless that he could feel it this soon.

Bucky takes a deep breath, softly smiling as he peers up at Steve. "Can I return the favor?" he requests, brushing a kiss across Steve’s lips.

Steve grins. "You know how I feel about reciprocity, Barnes."

He has to take another deep breath to find the confidence to go forward. It's kind of a daunting task, because Bucky could probably go on for hours. Instead, he resolves to keep it to a top five list. He pulls himself close to Steve’s face, so close that their lips brush against each other with breath that Bucky takes. "You're beautiful on the outside, but even more on the inside,” he whispers, letting his gaze focus on Steve, his eyes open and crystal clear. “You accept people for who they are. You're loyal and love your friends, but you're nice to everyone, even when they're assholes," Bucky says, thinking of Sharon and Matt the other day and every day before that.

Steve laughs, probably thinking the same. "It’s a Gram thing." His voice goes high in a spot-on impression of her. "'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Steven Grant.'"

"I very much like your honey," Bucky murmurs, giving him a sheepish grin. There’s no doubt in his mind that Steve thinks back to the night in Bucky’s bed, when Bucky swallowed him down, which is exactly what Bucky is referencing to. Steve’s grin is downright sinful and Bucky presses his thumb against Steve’s lips, running it along his bottom one. It's so warm. "And the way you take care of Gram is unbelievable. I bet your mom would be so proud of you."

Steve is wearing his soft smile now, with a gaze to match it. "I hope so." Bucky opens his mouth to continue and Steve quirks an eyebrow. "There's more?"

"Oh yes, and this is the biggest one."

"Hell yeah, it is."

Bucky has to pick himself up so that he can use both of his hands to press against the sides of Steve’s face, his eyes darting between the blond’s lips and eyes. "Even before I knew you like this, I really envied how comfortable you are in your skin. You make no apologies for what you want or what you do, Stevie, and especially for who you are. I wish I could be like that."

Steve’s hand goes to Bucky’s head, cradling it there, and there’s an emotion in his eyes that leaves Bucky feeling lightheaded. "You can."

"I want to," he whispers back. "But it's scary."

"It's worth it." Steve’s mouth goes to his ear. "I promise."

Bucky nods, then whispers, "I'm sorry, Stevie."

"For?"

Bucky sighs and presses his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, pressing as close as he can and letting his voice show the vulnerability that he doesn't want Steve to see painted across his face, or in his burning eyes. "Making you feel shitty about all of this. Making it way more complicated than it needs to be."

"I just don't want to be a secret, and that's what it feels like now."

"It's not you, though, it's me."

"Wow, really?" Steve says with a laugh as Bucky lets out a frustrated growl.

"That came out completely wrong." Bucky clenches his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, trying again. "I just mean that I'm the secret, not you. I've been hiding all of these parts of me because I'm afraid people won't understand. And it's not just what's going on between us. It was hiding how bad my relationship with Brock was and not being open about how important my photography is and feeling like I didn't belong anymore. And I know I shouldn't be afraid to show anyone who I really am, and I know it doesn't make any sense to you because you're you, but that's where I'm at. That's where I've been."

"It makes sense," Steve murmurs with a sigh, playing with the strands of his brunet hair and tucking the locks behind Bucky’s ear. Steve’s lips brush against Bucky’s temple again, lingering to whisper, "You drive me a little crazy, Barnes, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just crazy about me," Bucky suggests, wanting to take them back to lightness.

It does the job because then, Steve laughs, a sound that is soft and tickles against Bucky’s ears. "I'm definitely that."

They stand like that for a few minutes, quiet, just breathing and holding onto each other, before Steve pulls back. Bucky does too, but just his head, keeping the rest of himself pressed against the rest of Steve. It's gotten pretty dark out, but Bucky can still see everything in Steve’s eyes, the flames flickering in the short distance, the waves crashing against the shore.

Steve’s gaze dips down to his mouth. All of the things that were pushed to the back of Bucky’s mind during their conversation disappear completely-- homecoming, his friends, the beach and how convoluted everything is, it's all gone. It's just Steve and him.

Like it should be.

Like Bucky wants it to be.

"Let's go somewhere else," Bucky murmur. Suddenly he wishes that he brought his car, knowing the back seats are more than large enough to encompass both him and Steve… in various positions. And he knows damn well that he isn’t going to do anything in Carol’s car because that would just be flat out rude. It is dark out and if they venture out a little bit more ways away, they could get privacy.

"Where?" Steve asks, and Bucky can hear the faint urgency in his voice like maybe he too is seconds away from exploding with the desperation for more .

Bucky nods his head to the left, where the crowd is nonexistent and the tree line merges into the shore, where it's even darker and more secluded. Bucky feels a little exposed here, even though he’s sure no one's paying attention to them.

They make their way up a small incline and Bucky stumbles a little on the pebbly sand beneath them, but Steve still has his hands around Bucky’s sides and keeps him upright even when Bucky falls back into his chest. Laughter and loud music wafts up from the fire and shoreline, but as the two of them get further away, it gets quieter until it's only a gentle hum.

As soon as they're hidden by trees, Steve turns him around and pulls Bucky close until their hips press together, just as he gently eases Bucky up against a tree. Bucky’s arms instantly go around Steve’s neck and the blond brings his mouth down to Bucky’s. One of his large hands goes on Bucky’s hip, the other winds around his waist to cushion some of the weight against the tree. Bucky’s legs automatically fall open, with Steve stepping in between, and next thing Bucky knows, strong arms are hoisting him up. He almost panics, really, because never before has he been lifted that effortlessly. Brock may have been bigger than Bucky, but Steve was practically a giant compared to his ex-- a giant with hard, bulging muscles in all the right places.

Instead, Bucky’s lips part as a gasp escapes his throat at the sudden height increase. Steve lifts him up high enough that they’re eye level, and god, the angle that they find themselves in is Steve’s groin pressing right into Bucky’s. And fuck, Bucky can feel the outline of Steve’s cock, just like he knows Steve can feel his. He’s never had sex outside but damn, he’s seriously contemplating it right then and there.

Especially once Steve’s hand goes beneath his shirt and slides upward, catching against Bucky’s nipple. Steve so hot against Bucky’s cold skin. He can feel Steve smile, his lips parting, and so do Bucky’s, and then Bucky can feel Steve’s tongue and taste him too. He can hear the ocean hissing against the shoreline, and can feel the breeze but all he can focus on is Steve’s fingers running through his hair. All of Bucky’s senses are heightened, yet at the same time, they all disappear.

Steve presses both of them further into the tree and further into each other, and being unable to help himself, Bucky grinds his hips against Steve. Their kisses turn more heated from there. Steve angles Bucky’s head so that the kisses they swap become more deeper, becoming a smooth sliding of tongue on tongue and turning more urgent the more they linger with each other.

Bucky turns into a throbbing, scrabbling mess not too long after. He knows his hair is beyond disheveled and his clothes probably look a mess, but he just doesn’t give a damn. He can’t find himself to care, truthfully, because all he wants is Steve.

Who he is currently getting lost with.

Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders and hikes himself up, making sure he grinds hard into Steve’s hips as he positions himself higher in Steve’s grasp. At Bucky’s movements, Steve’s lips fall open in a broken gasp.

“Want more of that?” Bucky whispers into Steve’s mouth, staring right into Steve’s eyes that have turned black in the night. Steve’s cheeks are flushed and his bottom lip glistens in the faint moonlight, and his hair looks so messy but still so fucking good. He’s practically the definition of sex on legs and Bucky feels a surge of pride knowing that he made Steve like that.

"Want more of you," Steve murmurs back, hastily moving to reclaim Bucky’s bottom lip between his teeth gently.

Bucky inhales sharply as Steve moves his mouth to cover over his once again. His hands continue to play along Bucky’s chest, moving over Bucky’s ribs, over his niples, before sliding along his back. Steve’s playfulness is something that Bucky learned from their night together. The blond loves to do it, taking his time touching Bucky everywhere. It's amazing and at the same time almost painful, because it makes Bucky want too much. It makes him want it all .

He wants it either in one of their beds, or in one of their cars, or on one of their couches-- somewhere, anywhere where they are totally and completely alone.

But they're not right now, even though they are far away and hidden in the dark. Raucous laughter, along with someone calling out Steve’s name, reminds both of them that there are others nearby, and they break apart, Bucky’s back pressing into the tree and further from Steve’s chest.

"Shit," Steve breathes. He hauls Bucky close again and rests his forehead against Bucky’s, closing his eyes for a second before opening them up again. They're hazy and dilated and full of the same things that Bucky is feeling.

"Dude, where the hell is Rogers?" a loud, humorous voice calls out from somewhere not that far away. Steve’s hand is up Bucky’s shirt still and Bucky tries to wiggle off of him, which only makes Steve spin them around and positions Bucky directly in front of him.

"I would really announce yourself loudly before you walk too far up there, Scottie," Bucky hears Carol call out. He appreciates the warning, really. Bucky knows damn well that if it were Matt or Sharon, they would’ve snuck up on him just to get a peak. At least these people know how to respect some private time between lo-- uh, Bucky and Steve.

"Incoming cockblock," the unfamiliar voice booms, even closer this time. Steve curses under his breath with a laugh, dropping his hand from under Bucky’s shirt and putting it on Bucky’s waist instead.

There are heavy footsteps and Bucky takes a step to extricate himself from Steve’s arms reluctantly. However, before Bucky can even take a step, Steve grabs his wrist and pulls him right back into where he was standing prior, his back molded into Steve’s chest. "Don't go anywhere, Barnes. I've got a bit of a situation here."

A bit of a situation is an understatement, considering Bucky can feel Steve’s erection poking into his lower spine. Bucky has a hard on too but thankfully Steve’s hoodie is big enough that it hangs down to his mid-thigh, hiding the obvious strain in his pants. Steve on the other hand… is SOL.  

"So I feel," Bucky replies, craning to look over his shoulder and smirking. Steve’s exhaled chuckle fans out against his hair and Steve takes a breath like he's going to say something, but then a guy comes into view. Bucky vaguely recognizes him as the guy the blonde girl was talking to earlier, the one that had seemed so easy-go-lucky with Clint. The grin he's wearing dims a bit when the stranger catches sight of them.

"What's up, man? You can't say hi?" he says. Then, the guy’s gaze hops onto Bucky and oddly enough, there’s a flash of recognition that runs through. “Hey--” his eyes shoot back onto Steve and he points his finger right at Bucky, “--isn’t that--”

Just as Bucky starts to frown in confusion, Steve cuts the guy off with a grin. "We were just hanging out here for a minute. Scottie, this is Bucky. Buck, Scott."

The guy’s eyes widen and strangely enough, he looks so damn gleeful like he’s a second away from exploding. “ No shit ,” he exclaims, a weird smile sliding onto his face. “You actually-- oh wow--” Scott’s gaze jumps back onto Bucky so quickly, that Bucky actually jumps. “I thought you have a boyfriend?”

Now Bucky is full out confused. How the hell does this guy know him? He doesn’t ponder on the idea long because Scott just keeps staring at him with that wide smile, obviously expecting Bucky to answer sooner rather than later.

Bucky shakes his head and he has to clear his throat in order to speak, “No,” he answers, a bit tightly. But he doesn’t know this guy so it’s not like he’s going to start chatting him up like they’re long lost friends. Bucky can’t even talk to classmates at school that he’s known for years without having a small anxiety attack, so trying to say something to a stranger? Ha.

But to Bucky’s bewilderment (and honestly, horror too) Scott takes another few steps until he’s right in front of Bucky, and claps him on the shoulder like they’re good pals. Bucky’s shoulder dips at the contact and even though he wants to shy away, he figures it would be rude to run away. Steve must sense his discomfort though, so he snakes his arm loosely around Bucky and comes to the rescue.

“Let’s go back to the fire. It’s getting kinda cold out here,” Steve says casually, trying to be unphased with the whole thing. But Bucky has slowly started to get to know who this boy is, the one who makes his heart stutter and his breath turn shallow, and he can recognize the faint urgency in his gaze. Bucky wants to peak down at Steve’s crotch to see if he is still affected , but Steve has Bucky pulled tight into his side, resulting in Bucky’s vision being limited.

They start to walk toward the bonfire and along the way, Scott talks loudly and about the weirdest shit that Bucky’s ever heard, even jumping from one conversation to the next without making any damn sense, and honestly, Bucky is beginning to question if the guy has shot himself up with something. It’s highly likely. And when he darts a bewildered glance towards Steve, Steve just shakes his head, silently laughing about the whole thing.

Once they reach the rest of the crowd, Bucky goes straight for Nat, who of course is standing with Clint, who just happens to still be in a conversation with the blonde girl from earlier. When Bucky slides up to Nat, however, the movement jostles the girl’s attention and her gaze shoots straight in their direction. Her gaze narrows and Bucky watches as she makes a head-to-toe sweep of him, checking him out, but not in the way that Bucky is used to.

Somehow, her eyes narrow even further when they make it back up to Bucky’s face, before she turns to Steve, dismissing Bucky entirely.

Huh. Interesting.

The look is familiar but usually, Bucky is on the other side of it. He recognizes that look; he’s seen Matt and Sharon and Brock and Jack and Tony and Phil and Elektra and his parents and his sister wear it countless times. Bucky is sure even he himself has worn it countless times. And if that’s how it feels to be on the other side of it,  it make Bucky feel like a downright, utter asshole.

Steve steps out from behind Bucky and reaches down to take his hand. Steve gives the blonde a smile, and although Bucky would at least try to be somewhat friendly, he’s a bit on edge so he just looks at her, blankly.

For the first time that night, there's a tension in the air and it’s not unlike what Bucky had noticed with the blonde and Nat. When Bucky finally looks over at Steve, he can tell Steve has noticed it too. The corners of Steve’s mouth are pulled more out than up and just to reassure him a bit, Bucky squeezes his hand.

“Hey Steve,” the blonde gives Steve a tight smile that doesn’t meet her eyes. She looks constipated more than anything but Bucky is no fool, and he can see her outrage blazing in those eyes of hers. He’s just waiting for what he knows is coming.

Then, like Bucky predicted, her gaze focuses on him and her face turns cold. "What, one rich kid at the party wasn't enough?" she finally replies. Her eyes might be on Bucky, but she’s asking the group as a whole. She’s also grinning like she’s in on a big joke and for a split second, Bucky actually wishes that Sharon was here because she would’ve said oh hell no and gone off. Sharon’s always had a rule that she’s set herself to: Always, no matter what, be the baddest bitch in the room. And Bucky isn’t really ready to be a bad bitch. Nowhere near it. He’s more like a bitch on reserve, only pulling out his claws when the time is desperate.

"Bobbi, chill," Steve says jovially, even with a smile, but there's an undercurrent of "or else" in his voice.

“I am chill,” she rolls her eyes and plants her hands on her hips. “I’m just confused. Did we suddenly forget that we don’t like those people? Or are we just going to pretend that there’s nothing wrong with allowing them to party with us?”

Bucky bites the inside of his cheek, looking at this Bobbi girl and trying to decide if any of it’s worth it. Never in his goddamn life, has he been talked to like the way this girl is talking to him. Honestly, with the way she acts-- like she owns this beach and dictates who get’s to come around-- you would think she’s some type of royalty. Bucky almost snorts at that idea and instead, raises his eyebrows as he feels the telltale signs of his patience slipping.

‘ Those people ’. The audacity. Bucky could easily turn the conversation around, and could start pointing and laughing, but he doesn’t because he’s obviously the bigger person (maybe not the baddest bitch, but definitely the bigger person).

She keeps going on about how ‘ those people ’ are all the same, waving her hand in Bucky and Nat’s direction, and suddenly, Bucky just can’t help himself. Steve and Clint, even Carol, are talking back to Bobbi, telling her to calm down and get over it, but Bucky doesn’t want them to fight his battles. If this blonde needs to be taken down a notch, Bucky is all game. Afterall, he has plenty of practice in it.

Bucky raises a hand, cutting off Steve as his knuckles brush against his chest, and he feels all eyes swerve in his direction. “I’m sorry, have we met?” he asks with an innocent tilt of his head. “You do an awfully lot of talking like you know me.”

The girl’s brows raise on her forehead like she wasn’t expecting him to butt in. “More or less,” she mutters, then starts going on again about how people like Bucky are all the same. He recoils for a second, feeling the anger burn in his chest. Bucky is seething over a comment made by someone who he has barely said two sentences to and Bucky realizes that his fears of not fitting in earlier are now obviously valid.

"Excuse me?” he recaptures the girl’s attention and gives her a look of disgust, because that attitude is just gross and she needs a serious reality check if she’s going to start shit with people like him and Nat when they’re probably the two people there that could ruin her life in a few phone calls. “People like me? I'm sorry, refresh my memory here. What the hell did I ever do to you?"

Bobbi crosses his arms over his chest. "Nothing." She turns back to where Clint is standing and starts walking toward the sandy-blond, throwing the comment over her shoulder as she goes. "But there's a reason we don't let you rich kids chill here anymore. I'm sure you know what I mean."