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Chapter Text

Steve knows that something is wrong when he sees Bucky Barnes approaching him from across the field.

Bucky and Steve used to be best friends. They lived next door to one another since the day they were born, and they were pretty much inseparable. They played outside before school, they played together at school, and they played outside when they got back home from school, too. Bucky was the best friend Steve had.

And then Steve's ma died, and Steve had to move away.

The orphanage wasn't as awful as Steve had thought it would be; he had plenty of friends, other kids his age who were parentless like him, but it meant he had to go to a different middle school, all the way across town from Bucky. He got into a foster home when he was thirteen, but it was still out of the catchment area - he still couldn't go to school with Bucky. And it was only a few years, but by the time they started high school together at Shield High, they had grown too far apart to be friends again. Bucky had grown taller and more toned; he was an athelete, and he was smart to boot, a favourite of the teachers as well as the students. Steve... well, he was pretty smart too, but he wasn't an athlete. He was kind of prickly. Bean pole-ish. He started fights, and when he wasn't sitting with Sam, his best and only friend at school, he was drawing, or reading, keeping quietly to himself.

So, anyway. Bucky doesn't much talk to him anymore.

Which is why Steve is curious as Bucky comes closer. Steve thinks he's going to go around him, head further up the bleachers and watch the baseball game, maybe, or maybe there's someone else up there, one of his friends he's going to sit with. But, no. Bucky walks up to the row in front of Steve's, walks along the empty bleacher, and then stops dead in front of Steve.

"You'd make a better door than a window, Barnes." Steve says, for lack of anything else to say.

Bucky cracks a small smile at that. "Funny." He says. "Actually, uh, I just wanted to say that I'm flattered, but - well, I'd appreciate it if you didn't send me stuff like that. Brock's kinda protective over me, and if he thought I was getting love letters from another guy--"

Steve's brain whites out. "What?"

"The letter you sent me," Bucky says, holding up a plain teal envelope with his name and address written in neat script on the back, a stamp pressed into one corner.

Steve's heart stutters, and then stops. "I didn't-- how did you get that?"

Bucky looks at him like he's stupid. "You sent it to me? It arrived at my house this morning."

"Oh, god."

Steve's eyes flick over Bucky's shoulder, and his heart falls into his stomach, sinking like a stone. Peggy Carter is walking towards them now, following the exact same track Bucky had.

"I have to - I can't even deal with that right now." Steve says to Bucky, scrambling to pack his things away so that he can leave, quickly.

But thanks to Bucky standing in his way, Steve hadn't seen the baseball flying towards them, about to sail over their heads in what would have been a very near miss. And because he doesn't see the ball, Steve puts himself right into its path.

And honestly, as it hits him and his vision begins to fade, he's fucking grateful.

~*~

Steve is something of a romantic.

Or at least, that's what Sam tells him. And Clint. And Scott. Steve doesn't think of this as a bad thing. Sam, Clint and Scott do.

So sometimes Steve gets a crush. It isn't very often - it has to be a very specific type of person. In his relatively short 16 years on earth, Steve has had approximately five crushes: Bucky, his next door neighbour and best friend until the age of 11; Natasha Romanoff, one of the girls from the orphanage who had later been adopted; Thor, a foreign exchange student from Steve's third year of middle school; Sharon Carter, Steve's freshman lab partner, and finally, Sharon's cousin Peggy.

Peggy is a senior, like Scott, and way too good for Steve. She's nice, and always good to Steve, but still - he didn't want Peggy knowing that he had a crush on her. Especially considering the content of the letter.

The letters: the letters weren't exactly a common occurence, they were just... something that happened. Steve had written the first one to Bucky when he was 11 years old, and it had been stupid, and dumb, waxing poetic about how Bucky was the first person he had ever liked in a way that wasn't just platonic (though he didn't know the word platonic, back then), how he missed him, how much he meant to him and how he hoped one day he might be able to tell him all that stuff to his face. Steve had signed it, sealed it, and addressed the envelope - and then put it in the little tin lunchbox his ma'd given him when he was little, never to see the light of day.

And so went the rest of the letters; his letter to Natasha, when he was 13, confessing feelings he never would have dared to speak aloud, addressed to her new home. His letter to Thor, which had been addressed to the host family he'd been staying with. The one to Sharon, and last but not least, the one to Peggy, all five letters tucked away in his little tin lunchbox.

And now, apparently, out in the world.

~*~

Steve wakes up to Bucky's face peering over him, looking down at him curiously.

"Give him some room, James," The school nurse tuts, shooing him, but Bucky doesn't actually go anywhere.

"Am I dead?" Steve asks. "Please tell me I'm dead."

"I can see how looking up into my face would make you think you're in heaven, but," Bucky says, and grins, "You're still in the land of the living."

Steve groans, and then closes his eyes again. He doesn't want to wake up just now.

The nurse checks him, warns him about concussions, and sends him home - because apparently, the school day had ended whilst Steve was still unconscious. Why Bucky had stayed Steve really didn't know, but he walks with him along the hall and out into the parking lot.

Steve's foster home isn't too far of a walk from campus, twenty minutes, maybe half an hour if he's aching like he is right now. Bucky's home is a twenty minute drive in the opposite direction; why there isn't another high school in this whole damn town Steve will never understand. "Want a ride?"

"I can walk." Steve says, and promptly stumbles. Bucky catches him by the elbow, rolls his eyes, and begins dragging Steve over to his car.

"It's out of your way," Steve gripes, but he gets in when Bucky lets go of him.

"Yeah, by about five minutes." Bucky says, with another roll of his eyes. "Just get in."

Steve, for once, does as he's told. They drive in silence for a while before Steve shifts, rubs at the lump on his forehead, and sighs. "I wrote that letter when I was like, twelve, y'know."

Bucky makes a face, considering. "It used a lot of grown-up vocabulary for a twelve year old."

"The orphanage had a thesaurus." Steve grumbles. It gets a laugh out of Bucky, despite being the truth. "I'm just saying. I don't - I haven't had a crush on you for a while now."

Bucky is silent, looking a the road.

"So you don't have to worry." Steve adds. Why won't Bucky shut him up? "I'm not trying to cause shit with you and your boyfriend."

Bucky smiles softly, and looks over at him. "I know, Steve. Stop panicking. We're cool."

Steve huffs softly, and decides he's just going to be quiet for the rest of the trip. He has to stay calm, after all. Save his strength. Because when he gets to the home he thanks Bucky (and prays that Bucky will neer try to talk to him again), opens the door, and waits approximately five seconds before screaming: "Who's been going through my stuff!?"

Abraham comes out of the kitchen, a coffee cup in hand, and he arches his eyebrows at Steve. "Why are we yelling, Steven?"

Abraham Erskine is an almost frighteningly calm man. Steve doesn't need calm right now. Steve needs to yell.

"And what happened to your head?"

Steve ignores him, and runs upstairs instead, thumping along the landing before bursting into his room.

He doesn't take the tin out of its hiding place every day; it sits under his mattress, right where his pillow is. He felt like it was safe; like he didn't need to check up on it all the time. But he goes to look now, and the tin is gone.

"Barton!"

Steve knows it was Barton. Barton's a little shithead and he always has been, and as Steve's sort-of little brother, this is exactly the type of shit he would get into. "Barton!? Where are you!?"

"Steve? What--?"

"I'm going to kill you!"

Steve throws himself at Clint, the two of them rolling around the floor. Though Steve is two years his senior, they're pretty evenly matched - Steve is kinda small for a sixteen year old. The two of them roll around until Steve has him pinned, digging his shoulders into the carpet of the hallway.

"How did you find those letters?" He pants. "Why did you send them!?"

"Letters?" Clint frowns, equally as breathless. "What letters?"

"The letters! The love letters! In the little tin lunchbox under my bed!"

"You have love letters under your bed?"

"Don't play dumb, asshole, you--"

"He didn't send them, Steve."

Steve and Clint both look up to see Wanda, her arms folded over her chest. Wanda is one year Steve's junior and, up until about thirty seconds ego, had been Steve's favourite foster sibling.

He sits up, leaning back on his hands so that Clint can scoot backwards a little. "What?" He frowns, eyes on Wanda as Clint slowly makes his retreat. "But why?"

"Because they were just sitting there, Steve. You had five letters there - that's five shots at getting a girlfriend, or a boyfriend, or someone."

"But--"

"You have to start telling people how you feel, Steve, or else you're gonna be alone forever." She says, but then her frown fades, and she sighs. "I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just want you to be happy."

Steve looks at her, turning that over in his mind for a moment, before he scowled. "Well you've made me anything but, so I hope you're happy." He snaps, getting to his feet and slamming his door shut.

~*~

He expects people to be talking the next day, but when he gets to school, the hushed whispers aren't about him at all - they're about Bucky. Bucky and Brock, in fact.

Apparently, they hadn't arrived like they normally did, together in Bucky's car. Brock had driven himself to school, and Bucky had as well, and the two of them hadn't even acknowledged each other. They had broken up, seemingly overnight, and Steve's stomach twists with guilt.

He catches Bucky at his locker, and he bites his lip as he looks up at him. He desn't know when they started officially talking again, but it doesn't feel awkward at all when Steve goes up to him, and asks, "Did I do this?"

Bucky looks at him, and then shakes his head, going back to moving his books around in his locker. "No." he says. "We've had problems for a while. This has been a long time coming, I think."

"Oh." Steve murmurs. "Well. Uh. I'm sorry."

Bucky shrugs one shoulder. "Don't worry about it."

Steve is just about to leave, nodding briefly, when he turns away to see -- Peggy. Peggy Carter. And she isn't just walking down the corridor, is she, she's walking towards him, oh god--

Steve wedges himself in between Bucky and his locker, praying she doesn't see him. Bucky flinches, his muscles tensing and Steve can feel it because they're close, oh so close, how did he not realise--

"Uh, what are you doing?" Bucky asks, looking down at him and frowning. They're very very close. When Steve looks up at him, their noses are almost touching.

"Hiding." Steve says, his cheeks flushing bright red.

"From who?"

"Peggy." Steve says, cringing.

"Ah." Bucky hums. "Did she get a letter too?"

"Maybe."

"Huh. Why you so afraid of her and not of me?"

Steve frowns. "Because I had a crush on her cousin, too." Bucky snorts softly at that, so Steve scowls. "And because she's - she's Peggy. She's gorgeous, she's smart--"

"What are you trying to say?"

"And I didn't write her letter when I was 11!"

Steve stops talking just as Peggy walks past. There are people looking at the two of them, staring, gossiping. Peggy isn't one of them, though, for which Steve is extremely fucking grateful.

Once she's cleared the corridor, Steve slips away, and clears his throat. "Well, uh, thanks. For being my hiding spot."

Bucky grins. "My pleasure." He says, though his voice sounds sort of hollow. "See ya round, Stevie." He adds, closing his locker and walking away.

~*~

Steve thinks nothing of it until lunchtime. Sam had to leave for a doctor's appointment and his siblings have their own friendship groups, so Steve decides to just sit on the bleachers again, reading his history textbook and occasionally sketching in the margin.

Until a shadow falls over his page, and Steve looks up, squinting into the sunlight.

"We need to stop meeting like this."

"I have a proposition for you," Bucky says, ignoring Steve's attempt at a joke completely.

"Alright." Steve murmurs, putting his pencil in the spine of the book to mark his page. "What is it?"

"So apparently Brock has spent all morning flirting with Jack Rollins, 'cause there's a rumor going around that we were flirting next to my locker this morning." Bucky says, and Steve feels his cheeks flush, the tips of his ears too.

"What does that have to do with anything?" Steve asks.

"Well," Bucky says, sitting down on the bench in front of him. "You want to keep Peggy off your back. I want a clean break from Rumlow. I say we fake-date until the heat's off, then go our separate ways."

Steve takes a moment to process that. Fake date. In theory it was a good idea: they would both get something out of it, and pretending to date Bucky wasn't going to be particularly painful. But theory didn't often translate into practice well, did it?

"What is this, a rom-com?" Steve frowns. "It'll never work. No one will believe it."

"Why not?" Bucky frowns.

"Because you're you and I'm me." Steve says, as if it should be obvious - and he really thinks it should. "We haven't even spoken in years, Buck, no one's going to believe it."

"They already do, Steve, if this morning is anything to go by." Bucky shrugs. "What have you got to lose?"

Absolutely nothing.

"Alright." Steve nods. "But I want rules. Things we can and can't do."

Bucky seems bemused by that, but he cocks his head. "Like what?"

"No kissing." Steve says.

Bucky snorts. "I have to kiss you, you're my boyfriend."

Steve thinks about it for a second. "Alright." He says. "But never on the lips. Cheek, forehead, back of my fucking hand, whatever - just not the lips." He says.

"Is there a good reason for this?"

Steve's cheeks colour and he has to look away, swallowing thickly before he says, "I've never been kissed before. I want the first time to be real."

Bucky is silent, and Steve still won't look at him, not until he huffs softly, shifting on the spot. "Fine." He says. "Anything else?"

"We can't tell anyone." Steve says. "Not a soul. Not our best friends, siblings, parents, no one. Everyone has to think it's real, or the deal's off."

"Good idea." Bucky nods. "Oh, I have one - insta posts. We have to put it on social media."

"Okay." Steve nods.

"And you need to come to my football games."

"Fine."

"And I'll drive you to school and back home every morning."

"No deal, it's too far."

"Oh my god, no it's not," Bucky says, rolling his eyes. "It's a car not a rickshaw, Steve, it takes no effort on my part."

Steve glowers at him, but Bucky doesn't seem to be budging. "Okay. But I'm giving you gas money."

"You're ridiculous."

"So I've been told."

Steve pauses, and then sticks out his hand for Bucky to shake. Again Bucky looks sort of bemused, but then he shakes his head and takes Steve's hand, chuckling softly. "So it's a deal."

"It is indeed." Steve agrees.

They're silent for a moment, and then Steve says, "So... when do we start?"

Bucky shrugs. "Right now, I guess."

And even though there's not another soul on the field, Bucky leans down and kisses his temple, grinning as he pulls away. "See you at home-time, Stevie."

Steve watches him go, with the feeling that he's just made something of a mistake.

~*~

Sam collars him before English.

"So you and Barnes? Is that a thing or has everyone here lost their damn mind?"

"Uh--" Steve is about to blow it off, but then he stops himself. He can't deny that it's a rumour, because now it isn't. It's a lie, though, and Steve really hates lying to Sam. Sam is looking at him, one eyebrow raised, and Steve shrugs. "It's a nice story if you think about it. Childhood sweethearts become high school sweethearts."

"It's just a little unexpected, that's all. Like something out of a 90s romcom."

Steve wants to agree; instead, he snorts. "Since when do you watch 90s romcoms?"

"I don't, I just have a basic understanding of pop culture." Sam says, frowning at Steve. "Seriously, though - this is a thing?"

Steve nods, looking up as their teacher enters the room, coffee cup in hand. "Yeah. Yeah, it is. Is that a problem?"

Sam considers it for a moment, lowering his voice as the teacher begins to speak. "Not if it makes you happy, Steve."

It feels wrong, for some reason. Steve doesn't deserve Sam. He decides to just pay attention to the lession.

~*~

It starts off pretty innocuous. Bucky and Steve arrive at school together, shoulders brushing as they walk. Bucky drops Steve off at his locker, kisses him somewhere very PG, and then leaves. Steve still sits with Sam at lunch, unless Sam happens to be at practice or violin or some other committment (which, yeah, he usually is - Steve is used to it), and at the end of every day, Steve meets Bucky at his car and they drive home.

And then Bucky shows up at his house, entirely unannounced.

"What are you doing here?" Steve hisses, stepping outside and closing the door as quietly as he can.

"You left your phone in my car," Bucky says, holding it up and wiggling at Steve. "Which I only realised when I tried to text you about Carol Danvers' Halloween party this saturday."

Okay, so it's not that Steve doesn't go to parties. Steve does go to parties, because Sam goes to parties, and Sam gets pissy if Steve doesn't come along. However, Steve usually goes to parties, hugs the wall, and drinks soda until he can call it a night and slip out unnoticed, which is usually two hours after he arrived.

He has a feeling a party with Bucky won't be the same.

"What about it?" Steve asks, shifting from one foot to another.

"You're coming with me." Bucky says. "Obviously."

"Obviously?"

"That's what boyfriends do."

"Bucky--"

"Steve," Bucky says, eyebrows raised. "How's it gonna look if I go alone? And I'm not missing it - Carol's parties are legendary. Plus, Peggy's gonna be there. If you want to show her that you definitely, absolutely don't have an embarassing crush on her, you need to show her that you're not avoid her, and that you're having a lovely time with your new boyfriend." Bucky concludes, and then promptly grins like an idiot.

Steve closes his eyes for a moment. Bucky has a point. He has several points, actually, and they're good ones.

"Okay. But let's not stay long. Show our faces and then get out of there." Steve says.

"Whatever you want, sweetie," Bucky says, still with that-eating grin. He's about to turn away when the door opens, unveiling Steve's foster-dad, looking at the two of them with arched eyebrows.

"Steven," Abraham says, "Isn't it rude not to invite a guest inside?"

"He's not staying." Steve says. "In fact, he was just leaving, leaving right now," He nods, pushing at Bucky, digging his fingers into his sides when Bucky doesn't move.

"I'm James Barnes, sir, it's very nice to meet you," Bucky grins, holding his hand out for Abraham to shake. "I'm dating Steve."

"Oh?" Abraham asks, eyebrows twitching just a little higher. "And how come I haven't heard about this before now, Steven?"

Steve glares at Bucky. "I didn't think it was noteworthy."

Abraham tuts. "Would you like to come inside, James?"

"No, sir, I really was just leaving. But maybe on saturday - I'll be picking Steve up for a party."

Steve glares a little harder. Maybe if he can melt Bucky's head with his mind he can get out of this whole situation.

"A party, goodness," Abraham says, just as Bucky adds, "If that's alright with you, of course."

Erskine gives a very kind smile that makes Steve want to groan. "Of course it is. We'll see you saturday."

"You will, sir," Bucky grins, hopping down the steps. "Oh, and Steve? Don't worry about your costume. I have it covered."

Steve is definitely going to worry about that costume, but he doesn't say so. He just sighs, watching Bucky get into his car.

"Nice boy," Abraham nods. "I'm surprised you haven't mentioned him before, Steven."

"I have." Steve murmurs. "He's Bucky. From... before."

"Ah," Abraham says, his voice equally as soft. "Well. It's nice that the two of you found each other again."

Steve rubs the back of his neck, nodding just a little. "Yeah. I guess it is."

Chapter Text

Bucky comes over an hour early on saturday because they "need to get ready". He stands on Steve's porch with a box in his arms and a gleeful expression on his face, hurrying inside when Steve opens the door.

"Brock never would've done this costume with me," Bucky says, putting the box on the floor in Steve's room. "He would'a said it was dumb."

"I might've said it was dumb too, if I knew what it was." Steve counters, eyebrow arching.

"You don't have a choice," Bucky says pointedly, and then tosses Steve a gold-yellow shirt and a pair of plain black trousers. Bucky grabs a blue shirt and a similar pair of trousers, and turns to look at him. "Is there somewhere I can get changed? Preferably somewhere with a mirror? I'll do your hair once you're changed."

"If you told me what I was dressing up as I could do my own hair," Steve points out, but Bucky only stares at him. Steve sighs. "Bathroom." He says, pointing to the door coming off his room.

Bucky grins and disappears, and once the door has been locked Steve starts to get changed.

He expects the clothes to be too big (people always underestimate how small he actually is) but they fit him just right, and Steve just has time to glance in the mirror before Bucky comes out of the bathroom, and Steve manages to put two and two together.

"Oh my god," He says, and then breaks into fits of laughter. "You nerd. You absolute fucking nerd. Where did you even get that hair?"

Bucky has emerged from the bathroom in his blue shirt and black trousers, with SFX pointed ears and bangs covering his forehead - how they got there Steve doesn't know, but it is a damn good Spock costume.

Which evidently makes him Captain Kirk, a fact he can't believe but feels sort of good about.

"Clip-on bangs, Steve." Bucky grins. "Amazon. Now come here, I need to do something with that mop."

Bucky takes out a jar of hair gel and sits Steve down on his bed, starting to run his hands through Steve's hair. Even though they've been giving each other the odd little kiss here and there, holding hands every now and then, it still feels so... intimate. No one else watching, no reason to be so close--

It makes Steve's heart stutter in its rhythm for just a second before he closes his eyes and gets a grip on himself.

"Rumlow not into nerdy stuff too?" Steve asks, blinking his eyes open and meeting Bucky's gaze, before it flicks back to its work.

"Nah," Bucky says. "It was the one thing we never had in common. He's all about action stuff - y'know, like Die Hard, the Expendables, shit like that. I like action stuff too, it's just--"

"You also like really nerdy shit." Steve says, and grins. "Yeah, I get it. You always did, y'know."

Bucky's eyes are still on his work but his expression shifts, becoming somewhat... nostalgic. "Yeah." He murmurs. "Yeah, I did."

He pulls back, and when Steve looks in the mirror he blinks. "This is Captain Kirk?" He asks, reaching up to touch his hair.

"Alternate Original Captain Kirk, yeah," Bucky nods, moving to wash his hands.

"What does that even mean?" Steve whispers.

He can't see Bucky's face, but he can feel him roll his eyes. "Chris Pine Captain Kirk, jackass." He says, re-emerging from the bathroom. "Come on, I want your dad to take some photos."

Steve decides not to argue the nature of whether Abraham is or isnt his dad, and instead gives as long-suffering a sigh as he can manage in the face of Bucky’s infectious enthusiasm before he hauls himself downstairs.

Of course by then the entire ragtag Erskine clan has assembled downstairs, Clint, Scott and Wanda snickering as Steve descends with Bucky in tow.

“Barnes,” Scott grins, holding up his hand in a signature Spock salute. “Live long and prosper, man.”

Clint looks the two of them over. “I would’ve said if anyone was Captain Kirk it’d be you, Barnes, but—ow!” Wanda flicks his ear before he can continue and Bucky grins, sliding an arm around Steve’s shoulder, easy as breathing, the weight oddly comforting.

“Nah, anyone’s the Captain round here it’s Steve. Now cmon, we’re fashionability late, any later and it’ll be rude.” Bucky says, handing his phone over to Wanda so she can take some photos of the two of them. Bucky makes them take approximately one thousand different photos - posing dramatically, standing with their arms around each other, all from different angles. Steve's worn out and they haven't even left yet.

On the porch, Abraham stops him. “Have a nice time, Steven,” He says. “Enjoy yourself.”

“Shouldn’t you be telling me to like. Stay safe. Not do drugs. Be back before midnight?”

Abraham's smile is oddly fond. “I know you’ll do all of those things without me telling you to.” He says.

Hm. He has a point. Steve turns around, looking at Bucky’s car, and he steps forward to briefly hug Abraham before he turns on his tail and leaves, slipping into the passengers side.

The party is already in full swing by the time they get there; Carol’s house is very big and very fancy, but Steve recalls that she has like a million brothers or something, so he supposes it has to be big to fit them all in. It’s dark inside, and the music reverberating throughout the house makes his bones rattle in his chest. There’s people laughing, chatting, dancing, drinking out of red solo cups. Steve feels immediately out of his depth, uncomfortable and unwanted.

And like he can read his mind, Bucky slides his arm around Steve’s shoulders and squeezes him against his side. “Cmon,” he smiles. “Drinks. It’s always a little better after a few drinks.”

Steve doesn’t know if he believes him, but he goes along anyway.

He can hear people whispering as Bucky peruses the collection of drinks on the counter; people looking at them, glancing over and then glancing away. Bucky might be used to this kind of attention, but Steve isn’t; it makes his skin crawl. Not that he does anything to make himself look any more inconspicuous. He does the opposite, in fact - he narrows his eyes at every single person who looks, daring them to say something to him.

No one does, so he doesn’t do much besides glare.

“Here,” Bucky says, pressing a drink into his hand.

Steve knows beer when he sees it - and when he smells it, too, cause that malty smell is hanging in the air with how much people are drinking. He looks into Bucky’s cup, and looks back up at him, frowning. It looks just like soda, but there’s a whole collection of drinks on the table; it could be anything. “Is there something in that?”

“Are you accusing me of drinking and driving, Stevie,” He asks, pressing one hand to his chest in faux shock. “I’m appalled.”

“It’s a party. People drink. I just expected--”

“You really thought I’d do that, though? That I’d put you in danger like that?”

Bucky’s looking at Steve in a way that is far too intense, far too serious - it does sort of match his costume, though. Steve blinks; he hadn’t thought that Bucky might take offense. He hadn’t really been thinking at all.

“No.” He says softly. “Of course not.”

Bucky looks at him for a second too long, like he doesn’t believe him; like he’s hurt, maybe. Steve wants to cram the words back into his mouth. Rewind five minutes and make sure it didn’t happen. But then before Steve can properly apologise, Bucky grins, throwing his free arm around Steve’s shoulder.

“Get your phone out, I wanna take a selfie.”

“Bucky, Wanda took like five million pictures--”

“And I thought we had an instagram-based agreement.” Bucky retorts, eyebrows arched. “So c’mon. Smile like you’re having a good time. It won’t kill you, I promise.”

Steve grumbles something along the lines of killing Bucky under his breath, but he fishes his phone out of his pants pocket and holds it up, snapping a photo of the two of them smiling. They look like they’re actually enjoying themselves; Steve’s cheeks are a little flushed from the heat inside, and Bucky’s smile always looks so genuine, lighting up the entire room.

“One more, c’mon,” Bucky whines, so Steve rolls his eyes, putting his best smile back on and holding the phone up again to take another.

Bucky turns at the last second, pressing his lips to Steve’s cheek, and suddenly Steve’s flushing for a whole different reason. Bucky’s kissed him on the cheek before, of course, but somehow it feels different. Bucky lingers for the time it takes Steve to take the photo, his lips soft and a little cooler than Steve’s burning cheeks, the arm around him tightening, probably in a bid to remind him to look like he’s enjoying himself.

He looks at the photo afterward; he looks like he’s enjoying himself a little too much.

“Aw, we’re adorable.” Bucky grins. “C’mon, let’s go dance.”

Bucky drags him off to the darker parts of the house, where people are crowded around dancing to music they can feel more than they can here. “Buck,” Steve says, about five seconds after they mash themselves into the crowd of people. “Bucky, I can’t dance.”

“It’s not really dancing, Steve,” Bucky snorts. “It’s more like-- swaying to the music. And occasionally moving your arms.”

“I can’t even do that.” Steve mumbles, but he takes a long drink from his cup, prays for the alcohol to loosen him up, and starts to move.

And he stands on Bucky’s toes.

“I’m so sorry!” He yelps, looking up at Bucky, still vaguely moving to the music.

Bucky is trying his best not to look too in pain, Steve knows it. “It’s fine - like you’re heavy.” He grins. “Don’t worry about it.”

Steve tries, but he just stands on Bucky’s toes again. And again. And then someone knocks his arm and he nearly sends alcohol flying onto the hardwood floor, and that’s when he looks and Bucky and says, “I’m actually, uh - I’m just gonna sit down.”

“You okay? I’ll come with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Steve says with a shake of his head, ignoring the genuine look of worry on Bucky’s face. “You should enjoy yourself.”

“I’m not having a nice time if you’re not having a nice time, Steve.” Bucky frowns, as if it should be obvious to him. “Go sit down, I’ll get you some water.”

Steve huffs softly, but he goes anyway; there’s a giant, squishy looking L-shaped sofa in the living room that he goes and sits down on, wedging himself into the corner. It’s weirdly nice, just to watch the party go on around him, some people dancing, some talking, the music still making his chest vibrate. Christ - one beer and he’s already buzzed. Maybe he does need the water.

When the sofa dips beside him, Steve assumes it’s Bucky, he turns around, mouth opening to tell him that he’s actually having quite a nice time, when suddenly he’s met with Peggy.

She looks good, too; she must be dressed as a cat, with those painted on whiskers and, y’know, the cat ears, but she’s also wearing a black leotard and Steve is desperately trying not to let his gaze stray anywhere it shouldn’t, not wanting to be a monumental ass--

He doesn’t want to have this conversation now.

“I’ve been looking for you for a while now, you know. You’re a hard man to track down.”

Apparently, Peggy does want to have this conversation now.

“I, um-- I’ve been busy.”

“So I’ve heard.” Peggy says, red-painted lips twisting into a smile. “You and Barnes?”

“He-- I--”

“Did he get a letter too?”

Steve nods mutely. Why isn’t the ground opening up and swallowing him hole?

“Ah.” Peggy nods. “Well then, that makes sense.”

Does it? Steve swallows around a lump in his throat. “Listen, Peg--”

“Did you mean it?” She asks, head tilting a little. “All the lovely things you wrote - did you mean them?”

“I-- yes.” Steve murmurs. “But it’s -- the letter, it’s not, you were never meant to read it, and--”

“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky sits down carefully on the sofa beside him, pressing another red cup into his hand, this time filled with something a lot less intoxicating. “Everything okay here?”

Bucky eyes Peggy like she’s some kind of threat, like she’s the one harassing Steve and not the other way round. Cause that’s what the letter was, right? It was harassment. Like, real harassment, and he never even thought about it, pushing his feelings onto someone like that oh god--

“Everything’s fine.” Peggy nods. “Steve and I were just chatting.”

Bucky nods, looking at her for a moment longer before he turns to Steve. He’s close again; Steve can feel Bucky’s breath on his cheek. “Drink that, Stevie, then we can go if you like.”

“But we only just got here,” Steve frowns softly. “Don’t you wanna stay? Have you seen your friends?”

“I just wanted people to see our kick ass costumes.” Bucky grins. “We can go get fries and milkshakes, if you want.”

“Yes to the fries -- I might pass on the milkshakes.” Steve says, eyebrows arched.

“What, you gonna hurl?” Bucky teases. “If you ruin my good costume, Stevie, it’s all over for us.”

“Well, excuse me for--”

“You two are cute.” Peggy interrupts, and Steve turns; he’d almost forgotten she was there. “I’ll leave you to it.”

She stands up, and Steve can’t help but watch; he hates himself for it, at least. He huffs softly, and Bucky shifts beside him, nudging him with his shoulder. “Everything okay with her?”

“Yeah.” Steve murmurs. “Fine.” Bucky looks at him like he’s studying him, and Steve rolls his eyes. “Better than with you, jackass. She didn’t make me date her.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” Bucky says, his 100-Watt grin coming back full force. “Cause I really wasn’t considering this an open relationship.”

Steve gets a weird fluttery feeling in his stomach, which he assumes is the impending need to throw up, and so he shoves at Bucky and takes a drink from the cup. "C'mon, I'll take this with me - the fries'll help too. Let's go."

"Lead the way, Captain." Bucky grins, standing up and holding his hand out to help Steve up off the couch. Normally Steve wouldn't dare take it, but today he takes a breath, and puts his hand in Bucky's, letting the other haul him to his feet.

"I don't know enough about Star Trek to say something funny." He admits.

Now it's Bucky's turn to rolls his eyes. "Just get in the car," He says, his eyes soft and his voice fond and he ushers Steve out of the house and onto the street.

~*~

They get a weird look at the drive through, but Bucky doesn't seem to care, passing Steve a warm bag of fries and yes, two milkshakes, because apparently Steve hates himself now.

Bucky drives them to the carpark by the river; during the day it's frequented by fisherman and people taking their dogs out for walks, but at night it's eerily silent, and pitch black, save for the lamps that occasionally line the way. It's peaceful, in Steve's opinion. It's probably a good spot to make out in, a good place to get a little hot and heavy on the back seat. Steve wonders if that's how Bucky knows about it; maybe he's been here with Rumlow before.

"Thanks for agreeing to come with me tonight." Bucky says between fries; he doesn't quite meet Steve's eyes. "And dressing up."

"I didn't really have much choise." Steve snorts, sipping his milkshake and looking back out of the windscreen. He can feel Bucky's gaze on him, his skin tingling with the attention.

"Did you hate it?" Bucky asks. His voice is too quiet.

Steve turns, looks at him. He holds Bucky's gaze steadily, and says, "No. I had a really nice time." And then, because what he said was true, "Thank you, Bucky."

Silence again. Steve shifts a little. "I'm sorry I made you leave early. Probably not the epic party you were hoping for, right?"

"I had a good time, Steve." Bucky says with a shake of his head. "Hanging out with you--" He stops, jaw clicking shut audibly. "I had a good time."

Steve wants to look away from him, but he can't, not for a good thirty seconds - he looks back at his fries, fishing the last of them out of the little cardboard carton. "Me too."

Bucky's smile is small, but it's real. It's there. He throws the trash onto the back seat, and says, "C'mon - I'll take you home."

The drive isn't far. When Steve gets out, he can see the living room light is on; Abraham is waiting up for him, then. The whole house is probably awake - it's not even midnight yet. Bucky was true to his word. Steve gets out, and moves round to the driver's side of the car when Bucky rolls his window down. "Thanks again, Buck."

"Don't mention it." Bucky says. "Lean in here. I just saw the curtains twitch."

Steve frowns softly, but he leans in so his face is just an inch from Bucky's. "Shouldn't I... do something?"

"Nah." Bucky murmurs. "It's like the locker; they can't see from this angle." He leans back in his seat, and so Steve does the same, careful not to bump his head on the doorframe as he goes. "I'll see you monday, Stevie." He adds. "Night."

"Night, Buck." Steve replies, his voice just as soft. He lingers a second too long, but then he turns, going up the porch steps and into the house - Bucky doesn't leave until the front door is closed, and once again Steve feels that fluttery feeling. Maybe he shouldn't have had that milkshake.

Abraham is in the living room, the lamp on and a book in his lap. "Did you have a nice time?" He asks, looking at Steve over the rim of his glasses.

"Yeah." Steve murmurs. The smile blossoms slowly on his face. "Yeah, actually, I did."

Chapter Text

Bucky had to leave school early this morning; dentist appointment, or something along those lines, which is probably how it happens: Steve gets in his first fight in three weeks.

It’s not his record - no, his record is two months. 63 days, to be exact, and Steve was being exact - Abraham had threatened to rip him a new one when he’d come in with bruised knuckles and a split lip for the fourth time in six weeks, and told him that he wondered if Steve couldn’t get through an entire month without getting into another fight.

Steve - being Steve, i.e the most stubborn jackass ever to walk the earth - had decided he’d show his foster father exactly what the hell he thought about that; he made it two months. It was entirely a coincidence that those two months happened to be over the summer and thus, Steve had very few people to interact with (read: very few jerks to throw punches at). It was still two months. Then he’d been sent home lunchtime of his first week of sophomore year for getting in a fight with Alexander Lukin (who had been asking for it, by the way, because he was calling America Chavez a dyke again, and he and Steve had already had that conversation, approximately 63 days before that), and even though Abraham had been disappointed, Steve hadn’t regretted the scraped cheek and bruised hands.

(Abraham had seemed sort of proud anyway, once Steve had explained.)

But with Bucky around Steve didn’t get into so many fights, mostly because he didn’t notice anyone out being a jackass. When he was with Sam, or mostly when he was alone, it was a lot easier to pick up on those things; people being bullied, other people being bullies. Bucky kind of… took up Steve’s entire focus. Became his entire world, whenever he was around, whenever he was so much as in the room.

So: Bucky’s at the dentist, and Steve, sitting in the cafeteria with Sam, watches as Jack Rollins walks up to a weedy looking freshman, and spits in his lunch.

Steve isn’t having that.

“Aw hell,” Sam says, when he catches the look in Steve’s eye approximately three seconds before Steve stands up, pushing his shirt sleeves up as his arms he goes. “Steve—“

Steve has learned one thing about these fights (other than the fact that he isn’t very good at them - very shitty, in fact): he has to get the first punch in. Sort of relates to the fact that he’s kind of a shitty boxer - he has to get the first punch in or he won’t get one in at all.

Rollins is just finishing up laughing st the kid, nose scrunched up as he cackles, so Steve balls his hand into a fist (thumb on the outside - so maybe he’s learned two things) and aims for it; hopefully it’ll stay that way.

Rollins careens backwards, falling into his friends, and then immediately turns on Steve, fists flying as he tries to fight back. They somehow end up on the floor; Steve jabs a knee into his ribs and grins at the way Rollins huffs, winded, even as he manages to mash his knuckles into Steve’s jaw.

“That for your boyfriend, Rogers? He jealous of me already?” Rollins spits. 

“You wish." Steve snorts. "That was for being an asshole,” He adds, his ears ringing a little as Rollins knocks him back into the floor, head bouncing off the tile. He should have known he’d get another concussion - he's sure he spends more time concussed than not-concussed. 

But then Rollins is gone, and Steve frowns; he looks up to see Sam holding him by the back of his shirt collar. Sam gets one really good punch in (does he have to be better than Steve in almost every sense?) before the teachers come in to break everything up. Took their time about it, Steve thinks, but he lets someone help him to his feet regardless.

“Rogers, Wilson, Rollins - my office.” Fury snaps, jabbing a finger at each of them.

Steve isn’t inclined to argue, but he feels kinda woozy; maybe he really does have a concussion. Still, he’s about to follow fury like a duckling chasing after its mama when a voice behind him says, “Sir, I think Steve should probably see the nurse first.”

Fury spins back around to look at who had spoken, as does Steve, though he does it a lot more slowly and not as dramatically. Sharon has her arms folded over her chest, looking every bit as authoritative a Fury, despite being about thirty years his junior. “Rollins smacked his head off the floor.”

Fury takes a very slow, very deliberate breath. Steve wonders what his anger management techniques are - he's gotta have some good ones. “Take him to the nurses office, and then bring him to my office, Ms Carter. If I haven’t seen him by the end of the school day, you’ll be in just as much shit as the rest of them.”

A few of the younger students giggle (a teacher said a bad word!) but Sharon just gives a very serious nod, and puts her hand on Steve’s elbow. “C'mon.” She says, steering him in the opposite direction to Sam, Rollins and Fury. Steve thinks he’d rather go with them, but he lets himself he led.

The nurse twists her face at him, the definition of disappointed but not surprised - Steve is so used t it by now that he just smiles back at her, and lies down when the opportunity’s offered. He’d hoped that Sharon would go back to lunch or class or something, but she hangs around. When she looks at Steve after a very long silence, and says, “Steve - you know I’m gay, right?” Steve decides to close his eyes.

He hadn’t known that, for the record. He should have known this conversation was coming, though. Damn Wanda. Damn the letters. Damn them both to hell.

“Well that makes two of us.” Steve says. He’s bisexual, of course, but he’s hoping it’ll get a laugh.

It doesn’t.

“I know it doesn’t really matter, seeing as you’re with Barnes now,” Sharon continues, as if he hadn’t said anything. “But I just thought… well, I thought I’d let you know that we can sort of just forget about the letter.”

“Thanks, Sharon.”

“And I know Peggy got one too, so you can’t be too hung up on me still.”

Steve winces even with his eyes closed, cracking one open to look at Sharon. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be.” Sharon snorts softly. “Like I said; we can forget about it.”

Steve doesn’t really think that’s the best thing to do, even though he really, really wants to. “Okay.” He says. “But, uh. Just so you know? I had like - the biggest crush on you. Those biology classes were the best and worst hours of my life. And I’m not actually that bad at biology, by the way, I was just distracted. By you. If that wasn’t - um. Clear.”

He’s rambled enough, so he shuts his mouth even though it makes his jaw ache a little. He’s glad he said it, though; Sharon’s cheeks are a little pink, and there’s a smile at the corner of her mouth.

“Thanks, Steve,” she says softly.

Steve closes his eyes again, takes a deep breath, and then slowly sits up. “Thanks for me buying me some time,” He says in return, “but I gotta go face the music.”

Bucky would probably make a joke about him being a shitty dancer, but Sharon just nods, standing up and holding out a hand to help Steve to his feet. The world still spins, but it’s not as bad as before.

“Good luck.” Sharon says, giving him a mock salute before she turns away.

Steve huffs softly. He’s going to need a bit of luck.

~*~

Fury chews him out, but he sends Steve back to class with a second warning and the beginnings of the idea of suspension if he tries anything like that again. They both know that he will try it again, though; Steve holds the school (potentially the world) record for picking fights, but Fury has yet to take proper action against him. Whether it’s because he pities Steve or he thinks that there’s some kind of justice to his fighting he doesn’t know, but Steve knows that he’s grateful; Abraham really would be disappointed in him, if he got suspended.

He slips into English fifteen minutes late with a mumbled apology; the teacher just waves him to his seat, so Steve scurries to the free desk beside Sam, throwing himself into the seat.

“Hey.” Steve whispers. Sams eyes flash to him, and away again. “Sorry I got you in trouble.”

“You didn’t,” Sam says.

Steve immediately frowns, “You didn’t get in trouble?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “I got myself in trouble.” He mutters. “Nothing to do with you, Steve.”

Sam's mad at him; he has every right to be, but it still kind of makes Steve’s skin crawl. He looks to the front of the room, tries to listen to the teacher explaining how Scout’s ham costume is a metaphor for The Great Depression, and is grateful when Sam kicks his ankle to get his attention.

“Thanks for giving me an excuse to punch Rollins. You okay?”

“Not dead,” Steve answers.

Sam nods. He gives Steve a gap-toothed grin, and Steve immediately relaxes.

“Barnes is gonna tear you a new one.” He says, almost gleefully, and Steve is immediately back on edge.

~*~

“What happened to you?”

Steve shrugs his shoulders. Bucky, being an idiot, had returned to school after his dentist appointment to pick Steve up; he’d waited in the car park for a whole twenty minutes. Steve had been going to duck straight past him and head home, but of course he should have known better - Bucky grabs him by the wrist, goes to kiss his cheek, and then recoils.

That’s about where the what happened to you came in.

“Nothing. Had a disagreement with someone. ‘s Nothing.”

“Steve,” Bucky frowns, “Your face is five different shades of blue.”

“You wanna see my ribs,” Steve jokes. Wrong thing to say, cause he immediately blushes - does Bucky want to see his ribs? Does Bucky want to see him—

“You fucking punk, I can’t leave you alone for five god damn minutes—“ Bucky glowers at him, shifting him a little so he can get a proper look at Steve’s injuries; thankfully, or maybe sadly, he doesn’t try to get Steve’s shirt off in the process. Regardless, he doesn’t some pleased. “Get in the car.” He snaps, his voice at odds with the gentleness of his hands.

It’s like someone snapping their fingers; Steve goes from being in a relatively good mood to scowling, standing by the car as Bucky opens his door and gets in. Steve stays standing, though, because who does Bucky think he is? What gives him the right to - what? Scold him? Treat him like a child?

“Actually, I think I’m gonna walk.” Steve says, slipping his arm through the other loop of his backpack and turning abruptly.

“Wha--” He hears Bucky start, but he doesn’t turn around to look at him.

“Where are you going?” Bucky asks, exasperated.

“Home.” Steve answers. He’s almost as angry as he was when he’d been faced with Rollins the first time around.

Bucky huffs. “Get in the car, steve.”

“You’re not my ma, Barnes, and you’re not my boyfriend either.” Steve scowls, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Shut up,” Bucky hisses, glancing around them at the car park. There’s no one around, though; no one to hear Steve’s declaration. Bucky grabs him by his forearm, pulling him to a halt. “So that’s how it is? I’m not even allowed to worry about you?”

“You don’t have to be worried.” Steve shakes him off, but doesn’t move. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine. I left for an afternoon and you come out of school like you’ve gone six rounds with hulk hogan.” Bucky swallows, throat bobbing; Steve doesn’t follow the movement at all. “Tell me what happened.”

“Rollins was picking on a freshman and no one was doing anything about it.” Steve says simply, shoulders shrugging.

“So you punched him.”

“I never said I punched him.” Steve snaps, right back to scowling.

“I’m looking at you, Steve, I know that you punched him. Why didn’t you just tell a teacher?” Bucky asks - as if it was so simple. As if Steve hadn’t done that a million time at the start of high school, thinking that it would be different to middle school. It hadn’t; it never was.

“Because they wouldn’t have done anything, they never do anything. None of that group - Rollins, Lukin, your asshole boyfriend Rumlow, none of them ever face any consequences for their actions.”

Steve watches Bucky’s face twist, and he looks away from Steve for a moment, like Steve’s wounded him; good. He hopes he has.

“Rumlow isn’t— why does it have to be you?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “Because no one ever does anything, are you fucking listening to me—“

“I just don’t get why it has to be you.” Bucky argues. So maybe Steve pissed him off more than hurt him - that’s just as good. “Why you’re filled with all this righteous fury.”

“You used to.” Steve mutters, turning away. “You used to get it.”

He pulls his hood up over his head as he walks, shoving his hands back into his pockets. Abraham’s going to have a speech for him when he gets home, probably Wanda too, so why should he have to stand here listening to Bucky? Bucky who doesnt get him anymore. Bucky who thinks he’s oh so fragile. Bucky who was one of them - friends with Rollins and his stupid fucking gang. Just as bad.

“Are you gonna quit being a stubborn asshole and get in the fucking car?” Bucky calls after him. Steve doesn’t reply, doesn’t turn around; he brings his shoulders up around his ears and keeps walking. “Fine! Do what you like, Steve! You always fucking do!”

Steve just keeps walking. He doesn’t want to think about the sadness lurking underneath his anger, clutching at the edges of his chest.

~*~

Abraham sits him at the dining room table (which is really big and grand considering that they only ever eat a home cooked meal about once a week) and delivers a speech about doing the right thing and making decisions and knowing the difference between right and wrong and that’s about where Steve loses it and starts thinking about Bucky.

He should’ve known that nothing good could ever last. His “relationship” with Bucky, their tentative new friendship. Bucky had, once upon a time, been one of the only good things in his life. Steve had lost him once, made sense he would lose him again.

Abraham sends him upstairs, and Steve goes willingly. He does his homework at his desk, and he looks at his phone, waiting for Bucky to text him, to send him something he thinks Steve’ll find funny, or tag him in this post or another. But his phone doesn’t go off; he doesn’t have any messages. There's nothing from Sam either; Steve hopes he didn't get into too much trouble with his parents.

So, then: it’s just like the good old days. Steve is alone, and unhappy, and trying desperately not to think about it.

~*~

He’s late in the morning. Getting a ride in with Bucky meant he didn’t have to get up so early anymore, and his body - which is also still kind of healing after being very recently pummelled - isn’t used to getting up at an unreasonable hour anymore.

But when he rockets downstairs he finds that Wanda and Clint are still there. Wanda rolls her eyes as Steve skids to a halt, and regards her with suspicion. “What are you still doing here?”

“Waiting for you, obviously.” She replies. “Go get your lunch. And take a breath - if you have an asthma attack I’m going to be late for Biology.”

Steve frowns; she’s going to be late anyway, he thinks, but he goes and gets his lunch as instructed. For his younger sister, Wanda does a lot of mothering.

Steve glances out the kitchen window as he goes to grab the bag resting on the counter, and stops dead. Outside is a very familiar looking car - and in the front seat, a very familiar looking Bucky Barnes.

Steve’s stomach does a backflip that he would otherwise deny, and he heads out into the hallway instead, pulling his converse on slowly.

Wanda and Clint pile into the back seat like normal, but Steve is hesitant as he gets in, looking st Bucky as he pulls the door closed. Bucky looks back at him, just as nervous - his bottom lip is red just a little from where he’s worried it, and Steve resolutely does not look when his tongue swipes over the spot.

“I didn’t think you were coming this morning.” He says, meeting Bucky’s eyes.

“Course I was. Am.” Bucky corrects, shaking his head. “Course.”

“But we—“

“We had a fight,” Bucky nods. He glances in the mirror. “But that’s what boyfriends do.”

Steve can’t argue with that; he’s never had a boyfriend before. Bucky doesn’t say anything else as he pulls away, so Steve decides to let it drop. He wants to ask about it, of course - part of him wants to keep arguing, which he knows is dumb, but that's just his nature. Mostly he's just grateful - grateful that Bucky didn't give up on him, like he had every right to. Like a lot of other people had before.

Once they get out of the car, though, Bucky pulls him to a stop, both hands on Steve's upper arms. "I'm always going to worry about you." He says, his brows knitted together in a frown. It's adorable; Steve's stomach does that weird flip-flop thingy. He hates it. "Whoever I am to you. Your boyfriend, or your friend - whoever. Okay?"

Steve gives a little nod. "Okay."

"Good." Bucky says, with a little nod of his own. He goes to walk away, but when he reaches for Steve's hand Steve stops him, holding on to keep Bucky from walking away.

"I'm not going to stop getting into fights." He tells him. "I can't."

"I know." Bucky answers simply, as if it really is so simple. As if they're not going to have this fight again sometime in the near future, which Steve knows that they are.

But Bucky doesn't say anything else. In fact he's smiling a little, lips curved just at the corner of his mouth. "C'mon," He says, a laugh in his voice. "You'll be late for History."

Steve gets the tiniest thrill from Bucky knowing his timetable, which is probably why he doesn't mind when Bucky gives a tug, and starts leading him inside. He doesn't even throw up a complain when Bucky tucks him under his arm - it might be for the benefit of others, but it feels pretty good to Steve.

Chapter Text

By the end of November, Steve is getting pretty used to the whole “fake dating” thing. It wasn’t always easy - he and Bucky had their differences. There were fights, however little, but Bucky was always patient with him - no matter how much reason Steve gave him to walk away. It probably wouldn’t be a surprise to anyone else who knew about it, if anyone did know about it, that he and Bucky were chugging along so remarkably well. But so far it's still their little secret, kept between the two of them, and Steve likes it that way - the less he thinks about the fact that is all of this is pretend, the less nauseous he feels.

It’s been going so well that when Bucky arrives at Steve’s home one morning to pick him up for school, and he looks sort of sheepish, Steve gets suspicious.

“What have you done now?” He asks, eyes narrowing as he gets into the front seat, as if it’s not Bucky normally saying that to him.

Wanda and Clint get into the back of the car, as they have been since they discovered that Bucky was more than willing to drive all of them about like some sort of chauffeur. Bucky leans in to kiss Steve’s cheek in greeting, a move so everyday that it barely registers to Steve (except that flutter in his chest, which he also mostly ignores, because it’s easier not to think about it than to try and find another excuse for it), and then gives him an uneasy smile.

“My mom wants you to come for dinner.” Bucky says, glancing into the mirror to make sure everyone’s buckled in before he even dares to start the car.

Steve doesn’t really understand why Bucky looks like he just asked Steve to rob a bank for him, or face down some mythical creature. He’s surprised, though, and he feels sort of guilty; Steve had forgotten almost all about Winifred Barnes.

Winnie had been like a second mother to Steve, when his own mom had started getting more and more sick, spending more and more time in bed. She had looked after him when Sarah couldn’t, for as long as she could - Steve had missed her just as much as he had missed Bucky when he had first been taken to the home.

But he had been thinking about Bucky as this separate entity; he had removed the Bucky he was with now from the knobbly knee’d kid who’d been pretty much half of his entire world when he was just a kid himself. He hasn’t even thought about their shared past, not really, and he hadn’t really thought about Bucky’s mom either.

“Well - that’s fine. That’s great, actually.” Steve says slowly, trying to stomp down the guilt in his chest. “When does she want me?”

It turns out the Winnie has absolutely no plans to keep him waiting - the next night Steve finds himself wiping his clammy palms on the nicest pair of jeans that he owns, looking at Bucky’s house from the front seat of his car.

It’s the first time Steve’s been back to this part of town since he was taken it from it a long time ago. As for the house, he felt there was no reason to go back to it; there was nothing there for him anymore. And as for the house next to it, well - by the time he was old enough to go anywhere by himself, it had already been too long; he and Bucky were in school together, and not talking, and so there was nothing in that house for him either.

Now, though. Now he looks at it, the lights on and illuminating the garden outside, the same garden he and Bucky used to play fight in, scuffing their elbows and getting grass stains in their knees ‘cause Bucky was the only person ever to treat him like any other kid, regardless of how big or was or wasn’t. It was the garden he’d stood in when the ambulance had come to take his mother to the hospital; he hadn’t known then that she wouldn’t come home.

“This was a bad idea.” Bucky says from the seat next to his. “I’m taking you home. My mom’ll understand—“

“No.” Steve croaks. He clears his throat, and then manages to tear his eyes away from the house to look at Bucky. “No, I want to.”

Bucky’s giving him that oddly intense look again, but then he reaches out to take Steve’s hand, giving it a firm squeeze. “Okay.” He nods.

Steve’s glad he doesn’t argue more; he takes a breath and opens the door, the cold night air hitting him and instantly chilling him to the bone. Now he really does want to go inside - anything to get out of the damn cold.

“I don’t know if you, uh, remember how she can be—“

“She’s nice,” Steve frowns, looking at Bucky reproachfully. He won’t hear a bad word again Winifred Barnes.

“She’s a lot.” Bucky returns. He seems oddly nervous too; good. Steve doesn’t want to be the only one.

They walk up the garden path together, the nostalgia making Steve feel like it's been sixty years instead of six. However long it’s been, it’s been long enough - Bucky opens the front door without giving Steve a second to prepare himself, pulling him into the warmth.

Steve could’ve really done with that second, too; the shock of being brought into the home stuns Steve for a second, hearing a faint gasp that funnily enough, wasn't his.

“Well, would you look at you.”

Steve hears Winifred’s voice, but he doesn’t look at her; he’s looking around the house. It’s changed - it’s different but the same, all at once, and it’s messing with Steve’s head. The dining table is the same but the wallpaper's different, and the floor is wooden now instead of carpet. In the hallway there are photos are hanging up - of Bucky and Becca, like always, but now two new little girls, smiling prettily in their respective kindergarten photos.

It’s familiar and it isn’t; it’s Bucky all over again. It makes Steve’s chest ache, and his eyes are burning, but then he looks at Winifred—

—and everything gets a whole lot worse.

Steve is pretty used to not having a mother - it’s depressing as shit, but it’s the truth. Ironic that he went from having no father to having no mother, as if he’s only allowed one parent at a time,  but he figured he was doing ok without a mom. He’d rather have one, sure, and there were still times he felt like he couldn’t breathe for missing her, couldn’t speak or move or do anything because she was gone, but most of the time… well most of the time, he got on with his life.

Now, though. He wants to cling to Winifred Barnes and never let go.

He can feel Bucky hovering close by his shoulder, his warmth barely there, his fingertips on the small of Steve’s back, like he wants to put an arm around him but can’t bring himself to do it. They probably should, to keep up the whole charade; god knows it’s normally so easy for them.

“Look at how grown up you are,” Winifred beams; it looks a little wobbly at the edges. “Oh, if your mother could see you.”

“Mom,” Bucky hisses. Now he does set his hand on Steve’s back, sliding it round to his hip. Steve’s bottom lip trembles. “Not now.” He warns her.

“Of course.” Winifred nods. She seems to struggle as she swallows; Steve does too. He hasn’t said a single god damn word, but he’s too frightened - he doesn’t want to know how high and reedy his voice will be, wet with tears. “Come on into the dining room - the girls are excited to meet you.”

Steve is led into the dining room by Bucky, arm still wrapped around him. “If you want to leave, tell me. If you need a break—“

“I’m fine.” Steve assures him. It’s only half the truth. “But I will.” He adds, knowing it’s the only thing that’ll get Bucky to chill out for a minute.

In the dining room, the table's been set for seven (awkward number, three plates crowded on one side, which Steve feels weirdly guilty about - his ma was catholic, though, so he supposes it’s in his nature), and there’s a small assembly of girls - Becca, and two others that Steve doesn’t recognise, but that share the Barnes resemblance so strongly he wonders if he’s forgotten about them somehow.

“Steve Rogers - it’s good to see you, kiddo.” George says, coming out of the kitchen with a towel thrown over his shoulder. He holds his hand out, and Steve tries to shake it as firmly as he can. “We didn’t think we’d see you around here anymore.”

“Dad!” Bucky cries. His hand momentarily tightens in Steve’s hip.

George holds his hands up, face apologetic. “Sorry. Just saying. It’s nice to have you back.”

Winifred turns to the lin3 of girls, arranged in height-order. “You’ll remember Rebecca, Steve,” she says. “And Margot, though you may not recognise her. She was how old when you left, dear?”

“I, um. I can’t really—“

“A lot smaller, I bet.” Winifred smiles. “And this is Rosie - say hello, Rosie.”

The girl looks to be about four, and she gives Steve a gap-toothed grin. “Hello Rosie.” She beams, earning a snort from Steve, startling him out of the weird teary-eyes state he’d found himself in.

“She thinks she’s funny.” Bucky interjects.

“Funnier than you.” Becca retorts, sticking her tongue out momentarily at Bucky, before looking to Steve. “Nice to see you.” She says. Steve gives her the ghost of a smile - he’s trying his best, okay?

“Dinner won’t be ready for another fifteen minutes or so - why don’t you give him a tour of the place, Bucky?” George suggests.

“He probably remembers, dad, it was only like five years ago—“

“I wouldn’t mind a tour." Steve says softly, looking up st Bucky.

“If you make it upstairs fast enough you can get in a whole ten minutes of making out.” Becca smirks.

Steve knows he’s blushing, but he’s horrified when he looks up and finds Bucky blushing too - the two younger girls give a chorus of ew! , Winifred and George tittering softly.

“And what would you know about that, huh Rebecca?”

“More than you two, apparently.”

“Cmon Steve.” Bucky huffs, giving Steve’s hip a gentle squeeze before he leads him out of the dining room. “Sorry about her.”

“No, uh. I guess it’s good. Means they’re buying it.” He says, even though his cheeks are still burning and unlikely to stop any time soon.

Bucky makes a strange face, but he drops his arm from around Steve’s waist. “Sure.” He agrees. “Uh, this is the living room, and the downstairs bathroom, my moms office is down the hall,” Bucky says, pointing at doors in turn. Steve looks into each of them, nostalgia making his stomach twist again. Bucky leads him upstairs, “that’s Becca’s room, and that’s Margot and Rosie’s - they’re sharing, for now, but I bet when I go to college Margot’s gonna try to take my room.”

They come to a stop outside one very familiar door in particular; it’s still covered in Pokemon and power ranger stickers, stickers that he and Steve put there, approximately seventy years ago.

“And, uh. This is my room.” Bucky says, pushing the door open and standing back to let Steve inside.

Steve takes a little breath before he steps inside, holding it as he does so. Not cause he thinks Bucky’s room is gonna smell, or anything - as a teenage boy he was immune to the smell of teenage boys - but because he’s… frightened. He doesn’t trust himself to be able to breathe again once he gets in there.

His memory of Bucky’s room is just as bright and vibrant as it was five or six years ago, but he should’ve known not to hold onto it too much. Bucky’s walls, which were once a light sky blue, are now a very mature navy, his toy chest has been replaced with a desk, and the dinosaur curtains have been replaced with - well. Y’know. Regular curtains.

It’s nothing like the room Steve remembers, and for some reason it makes his chest ache, something clenching in his ribcage. He’s glad he held onto the breath; it startles out of him, and he struggles for another one.

“You, uh-- it’s different.” Steve says, and swallows. The bookshelf on the wall is in the same place, but now it’s filled with different books; Fahrenheit 451, The Iliad, Animal Farm. It does kind of make Steve wants to snort - how many of those pretentious ass books has Bucky actually read? But then he looks at Bucky, standing nervously just inside the doorway, and the atmosphere settles again.

“Yeah, well. Dinosaurs are a little immature.”

Steve gives a small smile; he knows it was a joke, but neither of them are laughing.

His attention turns towards a cabinet; the cabinet is new, too, but it’s more what’s on it that grabs Steve’s attention. Trophies and photographs, certificates, all from a life that Steve has missed. He looks at the photo of Bucky’s middle school soccer team; Bucky’s grinning wide at the camera, hair falling into his eyes and grass stains on his knees.

“Can I ask a question?” Bucky says, suddenly too close; he’s standing just behind Steve, only a few inches between them. “Why didn’t you talk to me? That first day, in high school… you could have found me.”

Steve knows that his answering smile is sad, devoid of any kind of positive sentiment. He was wondering when this would come up. “Cause you had friends. You were popular. I saw you, in the gym on the first day, but… you didn’t need me.” He shrugs. He’s always needed Bucky more than Bucky had ever needed him. He’s well aware of that. “And besides, why didn’t you talk to me? Takes two to tango, Buck.”

Bucky gives a soft laugh, but again it rings strangely hollow. “I wanted to, but I worried… I worried I would say the wrong thing, and upset you, and you would hate me. I was scared. I kept putting it off and putting it off, and then…” He looks away, eyes on the carpet as he shrugs. “It had been too long.”

Steve gives a little nod. He could understand. “Can I ask a question now?”

Bucky’s answering smile is a little warmer. “You can ask me anything.”

Alright, then. Steve’s going to take advantage of that. “Why Rumlow?”

And all the warmth is immediately zapped out of the room, Bucky’s face falling faster than-- well, faster than anything Steve’s ever seen, that’s for sure.

“He was my friend. He asked me out. So I thought, why not Brock?”

Steve gives a very undignified snort. “Cause he’s an asshole?”

“You don’t know him.” Bucky says, with the same tired conviction of a guy who’s been repeating that line for years, and has since lost any belief in it.

It makes Steve oddly furious. “I know him well enough. He’s pushed me into like three separate trash cans.” He begins to count off of his fingers, eyebrows narrowing at Bucky. “He’s taken my lunch money, he’s defaced my locker, he’s--”

And yet, Bucky continues. “He only does it cause he’s egged on by the others, it’s all peer pressure—”

“Are you defending him?” Steve demands, his voice an octave lower and a few decibels louder than he means it to be.

Bucky seems to visibly wither in front of him. “No, obviously not. He can be an asshole. That’s - we’ll, it part of why we broke up. Cause he was being an asshole more often than he wasn’t, and I was tired of this. This conversation. You start to get sick of it when you’ve done it often enough.”

Steve pauses. There’s a voice in his mind telling him to stop, now. Enough. But when has Steve ever listened to logic and/or reason?

“What’s the rest of it?”

“What?” Bucky frowns, looking up from the carpet to meet Steve’s gaze.

“You said that’s part of it.” Steve repeats Buck’s words back to him, if paraphrased a little. He doubts he’ll mind. “What’s the rest?”

Bucky’s lips twitch, just a little at the edges; Steve probably spends too much time looking at Bucky’s lips. He probably should stop. “You.” He says, like it’s obvious.  “You’re the rest, Steve.”

And before Steve can even fucking think about deciphering that, there’s a shout from downstairs, a familiar voice calling up to them. “Boys? Wash up and get down here! I’m plating up!”

Bucky’s still looking at Steve with that too-soft look, a smile in his eyes when he says, “You remember where the bathroom is?”

Steve nods mutely. An escape is pretty fucking welcome, so he seizes the opportunity and stumbles down the hall. Maybe he splashes a little water on his face whilst he’s in there; Winifred hadn’t specified what he had to wash, after all.

~*~

“I’ll say, Steve, it was certainly a surprise when James said he was seeing you.” George says over his plate of spaghetti, looking down at the plate with an almost single-minded focus. A double-minded focus; he’s using the rest to talk to Steve.

“Yeah,” Becca says, looking at Steve. “The entire school thought you had it bad for Peggy Carter.”

Steve blushes from his ears down to his collarbones, but his mouth is thankfully too full to respond right away.

“Well he’s not, is he Becca?” Bucky huffs; he’s a goddamn good actor. He looks genuinely annoyed by the idea, as if it’s not exactly why they ended up doing this in the first place. “So leave him alone.”

So leave him alone, Becca mouths over-dramatically, earning a giggle from Margot and Rosie.

“I certainly wasn’t surprised,” Winifred says, as if their entire exchange hadn’t happened. She’d probably had a lot of practice with ignoring them over the years. “I think if everything hadn’t happened the way it had, you two would’ve been together a lot sooner.”

“Mom,” Bucky says, closer to a wail. Steve is blushing even harder, now.

He’s kinda not surprised, though, that everyone would know about his unwavering, unending, non-platonic love for his best friend. He’s pretty sure that was how he’d put it in the letter, anyway.

He’s always been a little dramatic.

Thankfully, though, he still hasn’t had a chance to say anything yet; maybe if he just keeps chewing long enough someone else’ll say something.

“I suppose you’ll be going on the DC trip, will you Steve?” George asks, which - success! - but also:

“What?” Steve asks, swallowing a bite that’s just a little too big, digging into his throat as it goes down.

“The trip to Washington DC - the school does it every year.” Becca says with a roll of her eyes, before suddenly narrowing them. “So you’re not going?”

The short answer is, no. The long answer is fuck no. Steve doesn’t do school trips. Spend his leisure time with people he hates, doing things he would find interesting if he just so happened to be in the company of literally anyone else in the world? But because he isn’t, of course, they inevitably ruin it (he’s talking about you Mount Rushmore. He’s still mad that Gilmore Hodge had to ruin that trip), and he ends up wishing he had stayed at home.

“No,” He says, just as the same time as Bucky says, “Of course he is.”

They look at each other, and Steve scowls. “I don’t do school trips.”

“They’re like football games, Stevie,” Bucky says slowly, his eyebrows arched. The eye contact is sort of unnerving, but Steve refuses to look away. “Or parties. You have to go.”

Oh, so he wants to cite their fucking agreement now, does he? Steve takes a slow, deep breath, in through his nose and back out again; he hates it, but… well. They can discuss it. They're going to discuss it.

“I guess I am.” Steve says eventually, through gritted teeth.

At the end of the night, Winifred pulls him into a tight hug, the type of hug only moms are qualified to give out. Steve does his best not to cling; if he curls his fingers in her shirt a little, well, he's sure she won't tell.

"Don't be a stranger now, you hear?" She smiles at Steve, holding him at arms length to look at him before she lets him go. Bucky's already in the car, Steve hopes with the heater on - it's nice and warm when he gets in, just as expected. Bucky's stopped the car so that he can't see his old house, and Steve wonders if he did it on purpose or not.

"So, what?" Steve says when they're about halfway home. "This trip is non-negotiable?"

"It's a history trip," Bucky says, looking at Steve out of the corner of his eye. So now he doesn't want to look away from the road, huh? It's not that when they're arguing. "Technically. But no one in their right mind would let their boyfriend go alone. It's like-- Love Island, or something. And anyway, it'll look weird if we don't go together. We have to do everything together, don't we?"

Steve hates to admit it, but Bucky has a point. He huffs over it for the rest of the drive, but he does thank Bucky for the lift home and the spaghetti, even if Bucky rolls his eyes at him and tells Steve to get out of his car.

Steve has plans, though. Rather, he has a call to make, cause if he has to endure a trip with a bunch of people he hates, then Sam Wilson definitely does too.

Chapter Text

"Sam."

"What do you want?"

"Who said I want anything?"

"You're making that face."

"You can't even see my face."

Steve had called the very second he had gotten inside, telling Abraham that yes he'd had a very nice time, thanks, he'd tell him all about it in the morning. He knows Abraham is worried 'cause Steve could see the heavy set of his eyebrows from the car, and maybe he is going to end up lying awake tonight thinking about his mom, thinking about Winnie, thinking about Bucky, but he has bigger fish to fry right now.

"No, but I know you're making that face." Sam says, and Steve snorts. He is pulling that face though. "You gonna tell me what it is, I'm a busy man y'know--"

"Oh I'm sorry, am I keeping you from your english homework? Or you geometry? Or--"

"Steve."

Steve sighs softly, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling. "You remember last christmas, when all your neices and nephews were round, and you need a safe space so I said you could camp out at mine--"

"Where is this going?"

"--and you said you owed me?"

There's silence on the end of the line. Steve takes a deep breath. "I need to call in that favour."

He expects Sam to mock him. In fact, he expects Sam to tell him to go to hell, because Steve has had that favour and more over the past year, but it's even more proof that Sam is way too good a friend for Steve, cause instead of doing any of those things he says, "What is it?"

"Bucky wants me to go on the DC trip, but I don't want to go alone, so I wanted to ask if you could go too. Sign ups for the trip don't end til next week, so I thought we'd still have time..."

Sam is quiet for a moment; that doesn't bode well for Steve. "But if you're with Barnes, you won't be alone, right? You'll be with Barnes."

Ah.

Sam still doesn't know.

And that's a good thing. It's part of the agreement. As far as Steve knows, none of Bucky's friends know.

"Why would I want to spend a weekend third-wheeling with you and Barnes?"

But Steve really, really doesn't want to go on this trip alone.

"Because--"

But then Steve thinks of Bucky, and he falters. He thinks about how Bucky's gonna feel if he finds out Steve broke their agreement. "Can you just trust me? Please?"

Again: Sam Wilson is too fucking good for him. "Alright. Fine. But you're buying me snacks for the bus, and you're gonna take a lot of really cheesy photos of me in DC, and when I embarass you--"

"I won't complain." Steve says. "You're the best, Sam."

"I know." Sam says, hanging up before Steve can complain.

~*~

It’s not that Steve doesn’t want to go on the trip.

No wait, it is - he would rather take a thousand punches to the face from Gilmore Hodge than go on a school trip with Gilmore Hodge, and all his other fucking cronies who Steve isn’t legally obliged to spend time with outside of school hours, but that’s not all of it.

You’re the rest, Steve.

Bucky is all of it. Steve hasn’t been playing pretend for a while now and the realisation had come to him when he was lying in bed after calling Sam, thinking about the trip. Thinking about spending three hours pressed up against Bucky on the bus, sharing a room with him overnight - sharing a night with his boyfriend.

Except that Bucky wasn’t his boyfriend. Bucky was his boyfriend in name alone and Steve had forgotten that along the way. He’d done a pretty good job, at first, of ignoring the way his stomach would swoop and flip like some middle schooler trying to do a shitty break dance at the school christmas party, but it hadn’t lasted, had it? He’d thought they would go away the more he got to know Bucky, the more ordinary he became, but it’s the opposite of that — now whenever Steve thinks about him he gets butterflies. He’s got it bad for Bucky Barnes.

He’s in way, way too deep.

~*~

The DC trip is the weekend before the last week of the semester; it's December, and freezing, and Steve is wearing a long-sleeved shirt, a sweat shirt, Bucky's jacket and his coat, and he's still shivering.

"I hate this." He says, teeth chattering as he hands his overnight bag to the bus driver, who promptly hurls it into the deepest bowels of the bus, potentially to be never seen again. "I'm cold. And I'm at school at 6am on a Satuday--"

"It'll be worth it once we get there," Bucky says. "Come on, lets get on the bus. It'll be warmer on there."

It's actually a lot warmer on the bus; in fact, Steve wonders if the inside of the bus is on the same side of the equator as the outside, cause he's starting to sweat just walking down the aisle.

"You okay at the window?” Bucky asks, putting his backpack up above the seats and reaching for Steve’s, but suddenly fear grips him - Steve clutches at his backpack like it’s the last life ring on the titanic.

“Actually, I was gonna sit with sam—“ he says, but Sam - who’s sitting in the seat behind them, back to the window, arms folded across his chest and eyes shut - gives a snort.

"Like hell you are. Sam needs two seats. Sam’s gonna nap. Leave Sam alone.”

“Does he always refer to himself in the third person?” Bucky asks, arching an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve doesn’t see, though, cause Steve is glaring at Sam, hoping he can feel the heat of it through his closed eyelids. “Only when he’s being a jackass.” Steve retorts.

Sam doesn’t so much as twitch.

“So always, then.” Bucky nods. “Sit down, Steve, Cmon.”

And that’s how Steve spends the entire drive from New York to DC pressed up against Bucky’s side and his insane warmth; they don’t necessarily talk, each with their respective headphones in, but still. They’re close . The butterflies in Steve’s chest threaten to break out and escape.

They take a break about halfway through, Bucky declaring that he’s going to go and stretch his legs, which might set Steve off thinking about his thighs, but he quickly drags himself back to reality, because as soon as Bucky’s of the bus Steve starts throwing marshmallows at Sam, aiming for his big stupid head. When Sam cracks an eye open, Steve glowers at him.

“Why didn’t you let me sit next to you?” He hisses.

Sam closes his eyes again. “Did you not hear me say I was napping?”

“Did you not hear me say to trust me?”

Now Sam does open his eyes, fixing Steve with that stupid wiser-than-his-years look he has. “There a problem with you and Barnes?” He asks.

Steve’s jaw clenches. No, there isn’t. Bucky is perfect . That’s the problem. “No.” He huffs, turning round to sit back down in his seat, arms folded across his chest.

Sam, thankfully, doesn’t say anything else, and Steve decides to take a leaf out of his book by closing his eyes and feigning sleep until they reach DC.

~*~

He regrets it when they get to DC, and he blinks bleary eyed st Bucky, who’s grinning at him like a lunatic.

“Oh there’s sleeping beauty.” He says, and Steve wipes at the drool at the corner of his mouth. “Come on, we’ve gotta get off the bus now.”

Steve would ask what happened, but funnily enough he manages to piece it together himself. He trudges off the bus, retrieves the bag that the driver throws at his feet like a particularly heavy sack of potatoes, and trails along behind Bucky, still trying to make sense of the world, to join the group of students assembled outside their hotel for the night.

“Alright, two people to a room, boys with boys and girls with girls, and you have to be on your best behaviour— you get charged directly for any damage, alright? Put your bags away and come back down here - five minutes and we’re heading out!” Coulson says, before almost being mobbed by students reaching for keycards.

Bucky nabs one, and then grins at Steve. “Ready?”

“I’m gonna room with Sam!”

“What?” Bucky says, at almost the exact same moment as Sam, who’s just returned with a keycard in hand.

“I’m gonna room with Sam.” Steve repeats, his voice wavering a little. “We uh. Said we would. If we ever went in a field trip. And I probably won’t go on a field trip ever again, so—“

Bucky and Sam are both looking at him like he’s lost his fucking mind, which maybe he has, but in the end it’s Sam who gives a slight shake of his head. “Fine.” He says. “Sure. Cmon.”

Steve nods very quickly, and resolutely does not look at Bucky as he walks away.

The room is pretty shitty - it’s not horrible, in all fairness, but it’s also not the Ritz. Although Steve was expecting worse from their school, which he almost says to Sam, but as soon as the door has closed behind them Sam has his hands on his hips and he’s looking at Steve with a frown.

“You sure you and Barnes are ok?”

“Why wouldn’t we be.” Steve says, glad that his backs to Sam, though his voice probably gives him away anyway. “Cmon, we gotta go, coulson said five minutes.”

~*~

They visit the White House, the Lincoln Memorial, the Washington Monument and the Capitol building, and Bucky doesn’t talk to Steve once. Part of him is pretty glad - this is what he wanted, right? A little distance? A reminder that it wasn’t real?

Maybe. But looking at Bucky now, who’s pouting so hard he’s almost tripping over his bottom lip, Steve kind of regrets it.

Not that that he has time to do anything about it, though, because Sam keeps distracting him by making him keep good on his promise; Darlene’s gonna be thrilled with all the photos she has of her son giving the camera his best gap-toothed smile in front of every fucking statue, monument or nice tree they happen to walk past.

Steve does talk to Bucky, though, cause he does still have to keep the act up. He can see Rumlow looking; he doesn’t like it, his hackles rising in a way they shouldn’t , cause he and Bucky aren’t even really a thing , but regardless, he bumps Bucky with his shoulder as they stand in front of the reflecting pool, looking up at him.

“Hey - enjoying the trip?”

Bucky’s smile isn’t as bright as it normally is, but it’s still there, and it’s a real one too - Steve can tell. It’s his eyes. He probably shouldn’t know that. “Sure. I mean, I’m freezing, cause someone still has my coat--”

“Oh.” Steve says; he’d pale, if he could, but with the cold his face is pretty much as pale as its ever going to be (save for the tip of his nose, of course - he could have given rudolph a run for his money). He’s still wearing Bucky’s coat on top of all his other layers - he’d almost forgotten. “I can--” He begins, trying to get his numb fingers to work so he can get it off. “Here, let me--”

“Jesus, Steve, that’s not what I meant.” Bucky frowns, batting Steve’s hands away so he can reach for the zipper, pulling it back up so it settles just under Steve’s chin. It shouldn’t feel as intimate as it does, but the butterflies in Steve’s stomach threaten mutiny. “I was joking.”

“Oh.” Steve says again - he’s not doing very well here, is he? “Well. Thank you.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something, but Coulson begins corralling them back onto the bus; Steve, grateful for the excuse to get out of Bucky’s general vicinity, hurries back inside, throwing himself down next to Sam. He always thought Icarus was an idiot, but he sort of gets where he’s coming from now, which is maybe some poetic teenage bullshit, but it’s the truth. At least Steve has the common sense to try and fly in the opposite direction before he falls too far.

~*~

He’s not allowed to just live with his poetic teenage bullshit, though. Oh no. After a mediocre hotel dinner, they’re given “free time”, which Steve decides is going back to his room to sketch and sulk.

Sam has other ideas.

“Alright. What’s up with you and Barnes?”

Steve looks up from the sketchbook in his lap, counts his heart as it skips approximately three beats, and then says, “Nothing.”

“You’re a dumbass if you think you can lie to me, Steve.” Sam retorts, standing at the foot of Steve’s bed with his arms folded. Why does he get to look intimidating? He’s not even that much older than Steve. “Hell, you’re a dumbass if you think you can lie to anyone. So cmon. What gives.”

Steve gives a little shake of his head. “It’s nothing, it’s—“

“It’s something, Steve. He’s your boyfriend, and you’ve spent the entire day trying to avoid him—“

“He’s not my boyfriend.” Steve murmurs.

That actually manages to stop Sam, a little. He blinks. “What?”

Ah. Shit.

“Bucky… Bucky isn’t.” Steve pauses. Swallows. He’s started, so he’s gonna have to finish. “He’s not really my boyfriend. We’ve been faking it. For months.”

It feels strange to tell someone - to let someone in on the secret. It actually feels pretty good, cause now he isn’t alone in his turmoil, but he does sort of feel like he’s betrayed Bucky somehow. He told. He broke the first rule of the agreement.

Sam eyes him for a long, long while. Well. A few seconds. Feels like years to Steve, though, who’s staring back at him, waiting. Sam sits down on the end of his bed. “But why?”

“Cause-- the letters.” Steve frowns. “I didn’t want Peggy thinking that I was… that I was some kind of creep. And Bucky - he broke up with Brock, like the day after. It was his idea, the whole thing. He wanted everyone to move on from the him-and-Brock thing, and I wanted Peggy to think I wasn’t a creepy asshole, so we pretended.”

“Since the letters?”

“Since the letters.” Steve confirms.

“But I mean… Peggy isn’t even here.” Sam says.

“Well. No.” Steve murmurs.

“Peggy isn’t around a lot of the time.” Sam adds. “Or Rumlow.”

“Well, no ,” Steve says again. “But wouldn’t it look weird if we were only boyfriends when one of them was looking?”

Sam hums, like maybe he understands that. He rubs a hand over his face, once again giving that wiser-than-his-years bullshit that he somehow manages to pull off. “I hate you for making me live in a 90s rom com.”

“Will you just admit that you like 90s rom coms?”

“Why do you always try to change the subject?”

Steve stares back at him. He knows Sam has a point, and he hates him for it, so he decides not to say anything at all.

“Listen, Steve.” Sam takes a deep breath. “I’m only gonna say this once, cause I don’t wanna be the supporting character in your 10 Things I Hate About You bullshit, but -- Barnes isn’t pretending. I’ve seen the way he looks at you for months now, and that’s not someone who’s pretending. Or if it is, the man deserves a damn Oscar.”

“He doesn’t--”

Sam holds up one finger to silence him. “You really hurt him today, man. He looked like someone had told him that christmas was cancelled. Worse than that-- he isn’t pretending.

And you’re forgetting, Mr I’m-Steve-Rogers-I-Know-Everything, that I’ve been looking at your ugly mug for months too. And you’re a shitty, shitty liar.”

Steve’s pencil has fallen out of his hand and rolled along the floor, under the bed and away. He doesn’t go for it.

“So get your shit together.” Sam says. “If you come back to this room any time before lights out I’m gonna march you back down there and make the two of you work it out myself.”

“Wha--”

“He’s in the lounge, Steve.” Sam says, making a little shoo motion with his hands. “Go.”

Steve doesn’t want to go and he does all at once. He doesn’t think that Sam can be right, but then he usually is (much as Steve doesn’t like to admit it). As he walks down to the lounge, guided by the traitorous butterflies still trying to escape, he doesn’t think about all the times Bucky’s looked at him, all the times Bucky’s touched him, all the time Bucky’s done something nice that he really didn’t need to do. In fact, he can’t really think of anything at all. His mind is clear white; there’s only the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

The lounge is nice, but Steve doesn’t really notice. He’s looking at Bucky, curled up on one of the couches by the fire, reading A Brief History of Time like the nerd that he is, so he doesn’t notice any of the decor at all. He sits down on the sofa beside him, and gives a small smile when Bucky looks at him.

“I’m, uh - I’m sorry. About today. I want to explain.” He says, swallowing thickly.

Bucky shakes his head, but he puts his bookmark in place regardless. “You don’t have to explain. I shouldn’t--”

“No.” Steve interrupts, leaning forward subconsciously. “No, I. I want to. Okay?” He takes Bucky’s silence for a yes, and so he begins, “I-- after that night at your mom’s--”

“I knew that was too much, we never should have--”

“Will you let me finish?” Steve snaps. “This is why I write letters, y’know, cause they’re one way-- listen. After the dinner, I just. I realised that I wasn’t pretending anymore.”

“Steve--”

“I wasn’t pretending to date you anymore, I was just… dating you. And it frightened me, Buck, cause I… I like you. A lot.” Steve’s voice wobbles, so he pauses, takes a breath and swallows again. Has his mouth always been this dry? “And I-- I didn’t think you liked me, not like that--”

“ Steve --” Bucky tries again, shifting forward a little.

“No, just listen, I-- I didn’t think you liked me like that, so I tried to… put some distance between us.” Hearing it out loud, it does sound sorta stupid. Sam really was always right. “But it was a mistake. And I’m sorry.”

Bucky’s just looking at him, looking at him like he’s confused, and Steve… well, Steve has never done this before, but he thinks if this was a cheesy 90s romcom, this would be about the part where he and Bucky would kiss.

So that’s what he does. He leans across the space still separating them and kisses him, as if this is something he does all the time.

It really isn’t.

It isn’t particularly romantic; in fact, it’s sort of clumsy. He overbalances halfway through, kisses Bucky a little too hard to begin with and fall forward some, so Bucky’s forced to put his arms out to catch him. He doesn’t pull away from Steve, though, their lips still pressed together as Bucky pulls him into his lap, his book fallen on the ground below them.

When they finally do pull away, mostly because Steve’s lungs threaten him with an asthma attack if he doesn’t breathe, he doesn’t go far; he presses his forehead to Bucky’s, their breath mingling between them.

“I’ve been thinking about that for so long.” Bucky says, and Steve can hear the grin in his voice. He can’t open his eyes, though; he’s worried if he does that Bucky might disappear, and he’ll wake up necking on with his pillow - or worse, Sam - after the best and worst dream ever.

“Does that— I mean do you—?” Steve does open his eyes then, hoping Bucky can see the way that he’s trying, and mostly failing, to get his words out.

“I like you, Steve,” Bucky says, his hands framing Steve’s face, cupping his cheeks in warm palms and Steve is glad, cause otherwise he’d probably melt into a puddle at his feet. “A lot. I tried to ignore it too, but… well, you were always the stubborn asshole, huh?”

Steve laughs, feeling giddy. “The stubbornnest.” He nods.

“That’s not something to be proud of you punk.” Bucky admonishes, but he’s still grinning with that smile that could light up a room, all of its energy focused on Steve. He’s more than happy to bask in its glow. “Does this mean we can stop pretending now?”

Steve fakes a pout. “You don’t wanna be my fake boyfriend anymore?”

“Rather be your real boyfriend.” Bucky says, leaning in to kiss Steve a lot more gently, a lot more sweetly than before.

~*~

They sit in the lounge for what feels like hours, but probably is only forty five minutes or so; Bucky walks him back to his and Sam’s room, kissing him softly with one hand on his cheek again, fingers tangled in his hair. Steve could stand there all night - Steve could stand there for the rest of the field trip, and long after the other students had left the hotel and gone back home to New York, but Bucky pulls away eventually and presses a kiss to his forehead.

(Steve almost does melt into a puddle then, but Bucky keeps him upright)

“I’ll see you in the morning.” He says, giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze before he turns around and walks away, back down the hall to his own room. Steve stands and watches cause hey, it’s a nice view, and also he thinks he’s about to collapse, but Bucky doesn’t help him any; he turns around, looks at Steve, and then jogs back to him to give him one more kiss, which Steve may or may not almost whimper into.

“Goodnight for real this time,” Bucky says, kissing the corner of his mouth in goodbye.

“Goodnight.” Steve manages, watching Bucky walk away a few paces before he ducks into his room.

Sam takes one look at him and his lovesick express, and groans. “I regret this. I preferred it when you were miserable.”

“No you didn’t.” Steve chirps, kicking off his sneakers and falling backwards into his bed. “You like it when you’re right.”

“You got me there.” Sam says, going back to watching Gilmore Girls on his phone.

~*~

The next morning he does sit next to Bucky on the bus, and he holds his hand as they walk around the Smithsonian too. Sam tells them to knock it off every time they make eyes at each other, which only makes Bucky even more obnoxious— not that Steve minds. He’s not sure his weak knees can take it, but he definitely doesn’t mind.

On the bus, Steve sleeps with his head pillowed on Bucky’s shoulder; it’s not the comfiest of placest, but it’s warm and Bucky smells good, and he gets an arm wrapped around his shoulders for his efforts.

Bucky drives them - and Sam - home after the trip, and Steve holds his hand whenever it’s free, their fingers tangled together, resting on his thigh. He’d thought that when this trip ended, he’d want to go back home and not come out until Christmas break was over, but now he finds that he can’t bring himself to get out the car. Though that maybe has something to do with Bucky leaning across the gearbox and kissing him like he’s about to go off to war.

“I’m really glad you came on the trip, Stevie.” He says, once he’s pulled back far enough to look at Steve properly.

“Me too, actually. Never thought I would enjoy a school trip.”

“Well, first day was kinda shitty.” Bucky teases. “But it got better after that.”

“Jerk,” Steve grins, leaning forward to steal one last kiss. He can see the curtains twitching; Abraham must be waiting for him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bright and early.” Bucky agrees, kissing h8m once more before Steve gets out the car, grabbing his bag from the back to take inside.

“Did you have a nice trip?” Abraham asks him; Steve has a feeling there’s a double meaning to that.

“It was…. Very educational.” Steve nods. “I learned a lot.”

“I’m sure.” Abraham smiles. “It’s nice to have you home.”

Steve goes to his room feeling strangely light; for once, the prospect of school in the morning doesn’t totally fill him with dread.

~*~

He should’ve known it wouldn’t last, of course. When he and Bucky get to school in the morning, walking in together as they have done almost every day that semester, conversation doesn’t exactly stop, but… it goes quiet. One girl giggles. Another looks sort of sorry for him. They pass a group of boys who snort as they go past and Steve looks up at Bucky, but he seems nonplussed too.

Before they can reach Steve’s locker, Rollins swaggers up to them, and the bastard looks smug as hell. Steve immediately scowls; what can he possibly want?

“You should be nominated for an academy award, Barnes,” He says, looking from Bucky to Steve and back again. “Pretending to date that for months. Couldn’t pay me.”

“What?” Bucky asks, at the same time as Steve says, “Like I’d fucking want to.”

Rollins doesnt even look at him. “Rumlow told us you’ve been faking it - I mean if you wanted to make him jealous you should’ve chosen literally anyone else, but—“

“Rumlow?” Steve asks.

“Oh, no.” Bucky murmurs.

Steve scowls at him. “What did you do?”

Rollins continues as if they’d never even ignored him in the first place, “—there’s always next time, right?”

“Will you fuck off?” Bucky snaps at Rollins, turning his head to glare at him.

Rollins seems startled for a second before he regains his cool - he holds his hands up, shrugs his shoulders. “Something to think about.” He grins, turning on his heel and walking away.

Steve looks up and down the corridor; everyone is still looking at them. Whispering, sniggering. They all know. They all think he’s pathetic. Tears, hot and angry, prick the corners of his eyes. “What did you do?” He hisses at Bucky, his chest feeling horrifically tight.

“I just— I— brock, He— we were sharing a room, cause you were with Sam, and he asked me why my mood had changed so quickly and I couldn’t think of an excuse—“

“So you told him?” Steve demands, but his voice betrays him, wobbling a little. “Bucky.”

“I told him it was a secret, he swore—“

“And you believed him?” Steve asks, stumbling back a step, and then another.

How could bucky be so stupid? How could he be so blind, after everything? How could he still trust Rumlow, how could he not think that he would use this against Steve at the earliest opportunity?

“What does it matter? Stevie - it doesn’t matter now, cause it’s not like that anymore.” Bucky begins; he tries to reach for Steve, but Steve shakes him off. He doesn’t even want to look at Bucky right now, let alone touch him, and it makes his heart shatter into tiny pieces.

“You know him. You knew what he would do—“

“I didn’t— I wasn’t thinking, Steve,” Bucky shakes his head. “I was just— I was so happy, I would’ve told coulson if he was the next person I saw, but it doesn’t matter. Steve. Sweetheart. It doesn’t matter anymore, cause that’s not us anymore.”

“It does matter. Everyone thinks I’m pathetic. And I know they thought I was pathetic before but this, this is—“ Steve has to wipe at his eyes with the back of his hand; people seem to be averting their gazes now, but it still feels like they’re burning into him.

“Steve, no—“ Bucky tries to reach for him again but Steve bats his hand away.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” He snaps. “Don’t talk to me.” He adds, turning and walking away as fast as he can, shoulders scrunched up around his ears. He wants to hide; he wants to go home. Instead he goes to class, ignoring the texts Bucky sends and the glances thrown his way. He keeps his head down, waiting for the end of the day so he can go back to being miserable on his own time.

Chapter Text

Steve just has to make it to Friday afternoon - on Friday afternoon, he can go home for Christmas break, and hope that the whole thing has blown over by the time he comes back.

It won’t have. Nothing ever goes right for Steve.

For example: he keeps running into Bucky. He never realised how fucking small this school is, cause before he and Bucky seemed to be able to easily live in separate circles. Now, though, he see,s him everywhere, around ever corner, in every hall. The amount of times he accidentally ducks into the girls bathroom trying to get out of Bucky’s way is laughable, but then, Steve is a laugh for everyone these days anyway. Might as well keep it up.

He just doesn't want to see Bucky. He doesn't want to see the sad look in his eye, the hunch of his shoulders. Sam keeps telling him that he's miserable - well, Steve thinks, good. He's the one who got them here. He's the one who ruined it. He should get to be just as miserable as Steve.

Sam, of course, thinks that he's stupid. As does Scott, and Wanda, and Sharon, now that they all know all of the details.

But Steve is nothing if not stubborn. He's miserable, the sadness clawing at his chest and eating away at his insides, but he can't bring himself to do anything about it. He's still angry, and he's still hurt. He trudges home from school on Wednesday, beause he's back to walking now, head hung low and headphones blasting the depressing playlist he'd made himself the other day, when Abraham stops him.

"Steven," He says. Steve reluctantly pulls the headphones down from his ears settling them around his neck. "We should talk."

"Everyone wants to talk." Steve huffs. "Talk to Wanda, she'll tell you everything."

Abraham's lips curl into a gentle smile. "I already have," He says. "Now I want to talk to you."

That's how Steve ends up in Abraham's office, sitting in the spinny chair whilst his foster father sits on the corner of the desk, arms folded over his chest.

When Steve had fist met Abraham, he hadn't known what to think of him. He'd seemed so strange; he was older than most of the parents who walked around the children's home, and he was always alone. He was softly spoken, and he always wore tweed jackets with leath patches at the elbows, like something out of an old movie. He was funny to Steve, but in a good way - Abraham always came and talked to him, unlike a lot of the other parents. The parents looking for strong, healthy, and most importantly young children, not gangly-limbed twelve year olds.

Steve has always felt like he can tell Abraham everything, but he's almost embarassed by this. He's embarrassed by the letters, by what he did with them, by the lie he kept up for months and months and months.

"If you're gonna chew me out for lying, then forget it, cause I already--" Steve begins, but Abraham holds up one finger to silence him.

"I'm not going to 'chew you out'," He repeats, lowering his hand to his lap. Abraham was a careful man; Steve knew he was trying his best to be open right now. "You did something..."

"Stupid."

Abraham smiles kindly. "Silly. But you're a teenager, Steve. I think sometimes you forget that. Teenagers are allowed to make mistakes."

Steve knows he has a point. Right now he feels like a toddler, but he knows he has a habit of acting like a middle-aged man; he can admit that sometimes he acts older and wiser than he is, that sometimes he acts like he knows it all. He knows that.

"I don't want to make mistakes." He murmurs, looking at the top of the desk. "I didn't make any mistakes," He adds, looking up at Abrham with his brows furrowed. "I didn't make any mistakes, Bucky did."

Abraham huffs a sigh. "And Bucky is how much older than you?"

Steve hesitates, even though he knows the answer by heart. "Four months." He murmurs.

"Which makes him just as much of a teenager as you." Abraham nods. "And what did I just say?"

Steve scuffs the table leg with the toe of his shoe. "I know he's allowed to make mistakes," He murmurs. "But I'm allowed to be mad, right?"

"Of course." Abraham replies, his voice soft. "But try not to stay angry for too long, Steven. Learn to forgive, even if you think you're not quite ready yet."

Steve thinks he'd rather die than forgive Bucky without making him suffer, but he nods regardless; he'll forgive Bucky. He will.

Just not now. Maybe not before it's too late -- he doesn't know.

He goes to bed feeling no better, missing Bucky just like he has the last two nights.

~*~

Steve drags his heels through thursday, the only one with a face like thunder the entire day.

Everyone else is getting ready for the football match the next night; the football match that Steve should have been going to, as per the agreement. Or that he should have been going to for Bucky. Because he loves him.

The game is an annual event, a friendly match between the two local high schools, and this time their school is playing at home. Everyone's getting excited, making banners and posters, and the cheerleaders have been going off every five minutes with new cheers counting down the days (Steve has to give props to them, actually - their enthusiasm is unwavering). But Steve isn't excited. Steve doesn't want anything to do with it.

He closes his locker on thursday evening and turns, smacking into another body-- another very warm, very familiar body, that he instinctively wants to curl around.

He stumbles back a step, and then another.

"Sorry," Bucky says, running a hand through his hair. There are circles under his eyes, and Steve wants to trace them with his fingertip, but he doesn't. His fingers twitch against the books in his hand, but otherwise he stays still, looking up at Bucky.

"You should be." He answers after a moment, looking down at his feet before he begins to side-step him.

He doesn't get far, though; Bucky reaches out, hand curling around Steve's elbow, pulling him closer a little. Steve wants to pull away, wants to stumble closer. He does neither, feet turning to lead, rooting him to the spot.

"I am, Steve," Bucky says softly. He's looking in Steve so intensly that Steve feels it right down to his core, but still he doesn't move, doesn't say a word. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." Steve answers. "But I'm not--"

He wants to end it. He wants to lean up on his tiptoes and kiss Bucky, he wants to wrap his arms around him and cling to him, because he'd only just gotten him and now he has to give him up, but he doesn't. He swallows around the lump in his throat and steps out of Bucky's embrace. "I'm not over it yet."

Steve walks away before he can say anything; he hurries, head down, feet carrying him home. One more day. One more day and he can escape. He just has to make it through one more day.

~*~

He spends his lunchtime in the art studios, cause the teacher is caught up on student gossip and she feels sorry for him. He can eat his lunch and work on a few pieces in privacy, without anyone bothering him, without anyone looking or staring. Without Bucky. The threat of him, at least - Steve can't seem to escape the thought of them.

He goes there after school, too; all his siblings are at the game, so he might as well wait for them. He's going to be wallowing no matter where he is.

Heels click down the hall, but Steve pays them no mind; teachers come and go a lot, along the corridors. But then they stop by his door, and there's silence until a voice says, "I thought I'd find you here."

Steve looks up, and almost drops his paintbrush; Peggy stands in the doorway, her hand curling around the strap of her satchel. "Can I come in?"

"It's, uh-- it's not my room." Steve answers. "You can do what you like."

She smiles, stepping into the room. She still makes Steve nervous, just a little; Bucky might be the centre of his universe at the minute, but that doesn't mean he doesn't feel anything for Peggy. He still likes her, a little. She still makes him feel unsure, like he's always doing something wrong, about to trip over his own two feet.

"I take it you're in here to avoid James," She says, and Steve's cheeks flush - his eyes track her as she sits down at his desk. "You've done quite well; the game's almost finished."

"I know." Steve murmurs, looking back down at his painting.

"Why aren't you there?" Peggy asks. Steve doesn't even bother to look up.

"Because." He shrugs. "There's no reason for me to be there, right?"

"I would've thought your boyfriend was enough of a reason."

"He isn't my boyfriend." Steve says, his voice tinged with sadness.

"And who's fault is that?"

Steve almost breaks his damn neck with how fast he looks up; Peggy doesn't seem to be sympathetic at all. In fact, she looks exactly the opposite. She arches her eyebrows at Steve, arms folded across her chest.

"Steve, it wasn't James who made a fool of you, it was Brock. If anything, Bucky's been made a fool of too - it takes two to fake a relationship." She says. "He didn't know he was making a mistake, and yet when he did, he apologised - it's you that's dragging all this out."

Steve blinks. If anyone else was telling him this he'd be mad, but as it is he's just-- shocked. "I--"

"You're making him miserable, and you're making yourself miserable, when really there's noone to blame." She pauses here, letting Steve take all that in for a bit. "He's trying to give you space, and give you time, but if it was me I'd be giving you a kick up the arse." Peggy leans forward now, her brows furrowed just a bit. "You'll lose him, Steve, if you aren't careful. You'll lose him to your own stupidity."

Peggy is making sense; Steve knows that, even if it wars with his own pigheadedness. He will lose Bucky, if he isn't careful. He'll lose him even though he just got him back.

It wasn't really Bucky's fault, either - she's right. It feels like Bucky's fault, because Bucky told Brock, but it was Rumlow who spread it around, Rumlow who took advantage of Bucky's good nature. Rumlow's the asshole, not Bucky.

Bucky is good, and sweet, and kind. Bucky loves him, still. Bucky's sorry for something he didn't even really do.

"What do I do?" Steve asks Peggy, his voice barely above a whisper.

Peggy smiles softly. "You know where he is." She says. "Go tell him you're sorry."

Steve nods. "Thank you," He says, kissing her cheek as he runs past her, which felt like the right thing to do but feels sort of embarassing as he runs away, down the hall and out of the door at the end of it. He isn't exactly built for running, but he can't bring himself to walk. The closer he gets to the football field the louder the noise gets, the more people he has to weave in between. He runs into Sharon just by the bleachers, and she beams at him.

"Where's Bucky?" He pants; he really shouldn't have ran.

"What? On the field, dumbass. We won!" She grins.

"He's still on the field?" Steve asks, holding her by the shoulders. "Thank you!" He calls over his shoulder, taking off once again.

It's a nightmare trying to get to the barrier separating the spectators from the field; Steve pushes and shoves, weaving his way through the crowd, throwing bony elbows til he gets to the front. He looks at the field, trying to find Bucky, and his heart catches in his throat when he sees him.

"Bucky!" He calls, chest heaving, 'cause of course he's gonna have an asthma attack right now. "Bucky!"

Bucky, just about to follow the others off the pitch, turns around and looks at him. He's smiling, but when he sees smile at wanes a little, falling around the edges. He doesn't even bother looking at the others before he jogs over, pulling off his helmet. "Steve? Are you okay? Have you got your inhaler--?"

His hair is flattened to his head with sweat and there's the sheen of it on his cheeks, but it doesn't stop Steve; he fists his hands in Bucky's jersey and pulls him down to him, kissing him long and hard, receiving a few whoops and whistles from the other players and the crowd, too.

"I'm sorry I was an asshole," Steve says when he pulls back, still clinging to Bucky. "I'm sorry I blamed you when it wasn't your fault. I'm sorry I made you miserable. I'm so--"

He doesn't manage any more apologies as Bucky kisses him again, his hand cradling Steve's jaw in a kiss that is a little slower this time, though just as desperate. Steve pulls away when his lungs start to burn, his forehead pressed to Bucky's.

"I forgive you." Bucky grins, pressing another kiss to his lips a brief one this time.

Steve grins at him, his heart thudding in his chest, knees feeling sort of weak. "You stink." He tells Bucky, grin widening when he earns himself a laugh.

"Well, see, I was gonna shower, but someone accosted me on the field--"

"Is it accosting if you love it?"

"I think so." Bucky argues, grinning when Steve throws a playful punch at his chest.

"Go shower," Steve smiles. "You can drive me home when you're done?"

"Or I can drive you to somewhere nice." Bucky suggests, stepping back. "We can talk."

"We can do other things." Steve grins, eyebrows waggling.

"We can do both." Bucky laughs. "We've got plenty of time, right?"

"Yeah." Steve nods. "Yeah, we do."