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    Summary

    Ten, fifteen years ago, Sam could've never imagined that his rogue search for Steve's friend would develop the way it had, into this strong, unwavering, nebulous thing they carefully skirted.

    But…buddy? Was that all? Sam hadn’t thought so. Sure, they’d never said it explicitly, had never brought it out into the open, so maybe, to Bucky, buddy was it. Best buddy, even.

    It had hurt more than Sam thought it would, to have confirmation that this thing he was so sure of was one-sided. Maybe Sam’s deep-seated belief that they were building a life together, that they were a double-sided arrow pointing unfailingly towards a them, was just his alone, not something shared between him and Bucky like he’d thought.

    No…like he’d hoped.

    Maybe that was what hurt the most: to hope, to believe in something even beyond the point of logic, to give himself over to that quiet desire, the comfort they traded so easily between them, the home they’d built. Sam muffled a sob, though he was—alone. There was no one around to hear him cry, but even the sound was too much to his own ears.

    How could he have let himself get so carried away?

    Language:
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