Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Steve—" Bucky stutters.

Bucky can't believe it. Standing in his kitchen, alive, is Steve Rogers.

Frozen in place, eyes wide, Bucky stares in shock.

Bucky grips the counter to steady himself. He must be dreaming. Because Steve—his Steve—left him behind.

After the war against Thanos, Steve time-traveled back to 1949 to be with Peggy, finally living the life stolen from him when he sacrificed his own during World War Two—at least that's what Bucky and everyone else understood to be true.

Steve left the platform and returned as an old man.

The day Steve vanished, something inside Bucky shattered. When a person whose face he didn't recognize appeared on the bench, the world blurred into nothing.

Steve was gone. Gone in a way Bucky could never fix, never follow.

However much it hurt him, it also made sense.

Steve deserved to rest after all that he's done for the world, saving it numerous times. He gave his youth, life, and soul to his noble cause.

And just when the ache dulled into something manageable, Steve returns.

That couldn't be, Bucky thinks. 

How is Steve back?

However, the undeniable fact is displayed before Bucky, as a young Steve Rogers, seventy years younger than the last time Bucky saw him, stands in his sad excuse of a kitchen.

The air is ripped from Bucky’s lungs. His hands shake; his heart slams against his ribs.

Bucky's mind is blank. He doesn't know what to think.

Bucky must be hallucinating. How else can you explain two Steve Rogers? Steve had passed the mantle of the shield down to Sam, hoping that Sam would fulfill Steve's role as Captain America.

The same shield is held gloriously in Steve's hands right now, shining gracefully. Looking at the shield feels like he's being laughed at in the face. The crude irony makes him sick.

Bucky must be going batshit crazy; that's the only explanation. It wouldn't be the first time Bucky saw something that wasn't there.

He thought he was getting better, but clearly not.

Still, there is a sliver of possibility that Steve really is in his kitchen, standing in front of Bucky. Bucky hopes that everything is in his head because he doesn't know what Steve's return would mean if it isn't.

Bucky can already envision the conversation with the shrink next week.

I saw my dead childhood crush standing in my living room, and he was Captain America.

That's if he even decides to say anything, that is.

Before Bucky can get another word in, he hears the shield drop to the ground with a loud thump.

Suddenly, he is engulfed in warm, tight arms. Tangible arms. Arms that he can feel on his skin, the pressure too crushing to be made up in his mind.

He stumbles from the impact, Steve following him as he steps back. Bucky felt tears drip onto his neck, tears that were not his own.

Bucky recalls vaguely somewhere that hallucinations can cause physical sensations.

"Bucky, I, I'm so glad to see you," Steve murmurs into his neck, without any of his Captain America poise.

Tears were still flowing, making a mess of his favorite red henley. Even with all the bullet holes, Bucky can't seem to get rid of it.

What the fuck.

"Steve?" Bucky's voice wavers.

Steve doesn't answer. His head is nudged in between Bucky's jaw and neck.

He's so close, Bucky thinks.

"Steve, is that really you?" Bucky asks. He has to make sure. Then, he regrets asking, because what if Steve says no, and then puff—he's gone?

Bucky can feel the hot breath of air as Steve exhales and the tickle of his eyelashes.

"It's me, Buck. I'm back," Steve says, and Bucky lets out a sigh of—not relief.

It should be. Steve is back, and that's great news.

Despite that, there's a numbing feeling inside him that doesn't do anything and just sits there. Bucky doesn't know what he's feeling; he just knows it's not relief.

Everything happened so fast, Bucky didn't even have a second to properly look at Steve and assess the situation. Within Steve's embrace, Bucky can't see Steve's face, and that scares him—not being able to analyze Steve's reactions.

He used to not need this.

He and Steve used to read each other's minds without even being in the same room. It was as easy and natural as breathing. But it's different now. Everything is different now, isn't it? It's been so long. They haven't had a proper interaction that wasn't made hurried or tainted by war since the 40s. Running around, heavy burdens weighing on their backs, the few slices of barely considered conversations they had were fleeting.

The weight on him now is anything but that.

Steve's hugging Bucky, arms around his waist, and God, Bucky craved this. The last time Steve hugged him, it had been to say goodbye. Maybe he should stay silent and just cherish this moment. It would do them both some good to just soak in the solace of their reunion.

But as always, Bucky doesn't listen.

"Steve, what are you doing here, buddy?" Bucky reluctantly breaks the peace.

Another excruciating pause makes Bucky want to stuff his foot into his mouth. He thinks he said the wrong thing.

"I'm sorry, I made a mistake" is the string of words that finally leaves Steve's mouth, ending in a whisper.

Out of everything, the last thing he expected was an apology.

If Bucky wasn't so damn confused right now, maybe he would've enjoyed the feel of Steve's lips moving against his skin. This is a proximity Bucky had longed to be in.

However, the situation is bizarre. Bucky can't understand what's happening and why Steve isn't answering his question. He doesn't remember Steve doing anything that had wronged him. If anything, Bucky should thank Steve for all the times he saved his life.

Unless, Bucky thinks.

Unless he's talking about Steve leaving him for Peggy.

Even then, it wasn't Steve's fault for doing something he wanted after putting the world's needs before his own for so long. Bucky just wished that Steve had wanted him.

"Steve, answer me. Why are you here? You went back for Peggy. Sam and I saw you die of old age, for God's sake," Bucky questions and brings his arms up to hug Steve back.

The wetness crawling to his collarbone felt too real to be a fragment of his imagination, but his mind is unreliable at best. Bucky sometimes can't even tell if he's living in his apartment or still stuck in a lab in Siberia, frozen and dreaming. If he is, then he hopes he never wakes up. The fact that Bucky is allowed a chance to redeem himself when he should've been executed for his crimes baffles him. He's grateful that he's been allowed to save more people and make amends, but he also sometimes wishes that they would just put an end to him already. Bucky only keeps living so as not to waste the effort Steve used to save him.

Bucky needs to call Sam and inform him of this and confirm his sanity, but he doesn't want to push Steve away. A million things race through his head.

How is Sam going to react to this?

How is Walker going to react to this?

How is the government going to react to this?

Bucky wishes this wasn't real, for everyone's sake.

Nonetheless, he misses Steve, and Bucky fears that Steve will disappear if they lose contact. He's lucky the conservation didn't do it already.

At the very least, Steve should still belong to him in his delusions.

"That wasn't me, Buck. I would never leave you alone, by yourself," Steve says, and Bucky cringes.

'But you did,' went unsaid.

Steve did, in fact, do just that, and Bucky—he stayed, right where Steve left him. Even now, he's staying pliantly in Steve's arms.

However, even if it's a lie, Bucky can't stop himself from being comforted by Steve's reassuring words, his heart thrumming through his skin.

Steve always had that effect on Bucky. With Steve in the equation, Bucky tore himself inside out; there was no such thing as no or maybe. His own expenses were so small compared to Steve's. Bucky held onto every single word that came out of Steve's mouth like a starving man. Heck, Bucky devoted himself to Steve like a kneeling subject in the presence of God. If Steve told Bucky to jump, he'd ask how high. If Steve asked Bucky to quit his whole entire life and move to Australia to do stand-up comedy, Bucky would write jokes on the bus ride to the ship.

Still, bitterness grew in Bucky's chest, knowing that another version of Steve had left him and did not turn back.

I'm with you till the end of the line, my ass.

The line ended whenever Steve decided Bucky's opinions be damned.

Another version of Steve married Peggy and grew old with her, scraping him like an old pair of socks.

Another version of Steve didn't think Bucky was enough of a reason to stay.

Bucky spent so many nights thinking about the other version of Steve; his once love had turned into anger.

Is that truly another version of Steve, though?

Bucky didn't understand the whole time travel thing. He doesn't understand how there can be two versions of a person, each making different decisions. He can't comprehend how someone can die and then show up alive, seventy years younger. What puzzles him the most is how the same person who left him in shambles reappeared and is now begging for forgiveness.

"You didn't leave me alone," Bucky says anyway. "I hate to admit it, but Sam has been here for me." Bucky felt the arms around him squeeze. 

"I'm glad Sam is taking care of you. I should've been here," Steve says.

Bucky doesn't say anything back for a while. Again, he isn't sure what to say.

What is there to say?

It's not like Bucky can tell Steve how his abandonment actually affected him.

They stay like this for a while, quietly holding each other. Steve is taller, and Bucky's back begins to ache. Despite that, Bucky can stay embracing Steve forever. He's gone through worse, after all. A sore back is nothing compared to pleasing Steve, even if it is painful.

'You don't have to force yourself to do anything, Bucky,' Sam's voice plays in Bucky's head.

Sam spent a long time helping Bucky recover to a somewhat stable mindset. Sam would sit down with Bucky and remind him that Bucky is free and can do whatever he wants. (Except murder).

'Hydra is not behind you anymore, and you're being pardoned, you know that, right?' Sam will tell him when Bucky shows distrust.

So, Bucky hesitantly pushes Steve away. There's a little resistance, but Steve releases his arms, and Bucky steps back. 

"I, um. I need to call Sam. Your homecoming is going to cause a stir," Bucky says dryly, licking his lips.

Steve nods understandingly.

Without taking his gaze off of Steve, Bucky walks into the living room, grabs his phone, and somberly dials Sam's number.

Please pick up the phone, Bucky prays.

Sam answers almost immediately. 

"What's up, man? Missed me already?" Sam's raunchy joke vibrates into his ears.

Bucky's shoulders slump almost instantly when he hears him. Not unlike Steve, Sam's voice also calms him down. Usually, Bucky might've joked back. Might've said a thing or two about Sarah and asked about AJ and Cass. Today is not usual.

"There's an issue. You should head here. You're gonna wanna see this," Bucky says, still watching Steve.

Calling Sam was a good idea. A migraine attacks Bucky at the idea of handling this by himself. Sam would know what to do in this situation better than he does.

"Yeah, man, I'll be there in 20," Sam says briskly. The jingle of keys and shuffling of fabric evoke a subconscious smile on Bucky's face. 

Bucky puts down his phone and walks back to Steve, observing him.

He gave every indication of being his Steve, but the older Steve was also pretty convincing. He doesn't know whom to trust. He can't even trust himself.

Bucky is swamped by a mixture of conflicting emotions.

Bucky had been distraught at first when Steve left him behind. As much as Bucky was glad that Steve could live contentedly, as he had earned, it didn't stop Bucky from being a complete wreck.

The month after Steve's departure, Bucky picked up a knife and used it on himself for the first time. He was lost, sad, confused, and alone. He almost thought he wouldn't make it through. He hoped he wouldn't.

Of course, he understood why Steve chose Peggy and didn't blame him for it. Peggy is beautiful, intelligent, kind, a woman. Bucky winces at that last part. Peggy can give Steve normalcy in a way that Bucky never can. They can have a family and hold hands in public. It was expected that Steve would choose Peggy over Bucky.

Who wouldn't? Bucky is unstable, repulsive, and a murderer.

Why would anyone ever love someone like Bucky?

Even before the 40s, before the war, when Steve was just tiny Stevie, Bucky was in love with Steve.

He loved how Steve never backed down from a fight, never knew when to stop, and ceaselessly nagged at him like a mother hen. Steve used to tell Bucky to do well in school, even when he himself skipped like a lemur and got into fights with people twice his size. Steve's miniature frame, battered in dark shades of purple, green, and yellow, would stab Bucky in the gut and rip it inside out. He'd wish he could kill them all. Every single one of them. Bucky wanted to surround Steve with his own body so that nothing—no one—could get to him. Not even his sickness. 

Bucky was a jigsaw, and Steve was his centerpiece, holding him together. His affection for Steve was considered immoral during the 40s and was punishable by law. Steve was Catholic, for God's sake. Even if the police don't get them, their church will. It wouldn't be too long before the whole world knew, then. Steve would never be able to find a job. He would be yelled at, disgraced, or, worst of all, beaten. Steve's body wouldn't be able to handle it. He will die. They would hang Bucky along with him. What he felt for Steve was so dangerous, Bucky could never act on it.

After Steve became Captain America, a relationship blossoming between them would be even worse. The government would never let a gay man represent the country. Terrified at the risk of ruining Steve's future, Bucky suppressed his emotions; a confession held at the tip of his tongue, threatening to burst out every time Steve pats him on the back, looks into his eyes, or even just acknowledges his existence.

'Nice shot, pal.'

Even now, Bucky twinges thinking about it, bordering along the line of being rational or completely submitting himself to Steve.

Initially, Bucky crumbled.

The gap in his chest left by Steve was excruciating. Then, Sam fought and bickered his way into Bucky's life with his loud laugh and snarky remarks. Sam built him back up anew, piece by piece. Unknowingly, Sam had patched over Steve's spot in holding him together. 

He grieved. He bled. He forced himself to keep breathing because Sam reminded him how.

Of course, Bucky still loves Steve.

Bucky will eternally love Steve, and that has not changed since they were just two teenagers living in Brooklyn, sipping on coffee at Steve's ma's place. When Bucky drags a reluctant Steve to the bar, Steve sits bored while Bucky dances with random dames. When Steve used to lie half-dead in the dark alleyway, terrifying the shit out of Bucky each time he found him. What's changed, however, is everything else. Steve is not a sick kid on the verge of death because of asthma attacks anymore; he doesn't need Bucky anymore, and Bucky is okay with that. Bucky has come to terms with the fact that Peggy has more to offer Steve than Bucky ever will. If Steve is happy, then Bucky is happy.

Bucky is wrong.

Steve needs Bucky. Steve realized, living with Peggy, that whilst Peggy was all he ever allowed himself to want, he couldn't stop thinking about Bucky.

Peggy stood for everything Steve desired: an ordinary, happy life. Contrary to his naive assumptions, his relationship with Peggy was neither of those. Steve couldn't just sit back and relish in life whilst knowing that Bucky was tortured every second he was there. Every picnic, every dinner date, every walk along the streets, was a constant reminder of the cold, hard cage that Bucky is stuck in. Steve does want a white picket fence, but he recognizes he wants that with Bucky. The vision of living peacefully with Bucky was a castle in the sky that infested Steve during the night. It was an itch that couldn't be scratched.

Peggy could discern that Steve had had a change of feelings. Or rather, Steve was never Peggy's to begin with. During conversations between Peggy and Steve, Peggy had to fight to grab Steve's attention. Peggy was heartbroken, but she was a woman with self-respect and wasn't staying with a man who didn't love her.

Eventually fed up, she told Steve, 'Don't feel obligated to stay with me. It's not good for either of us. Do what is right for you.'

With Peggy's understanding, Steve decided to leave.

Steve needed Bucky, and at one point, Bucky needed Steve, too; more than Steve needed him. Though Steve had to be taken care of by Bucky, they both knew the unfortunate truth—that Bucky was more dependent on Steve. However, things are different now. Bucky had changed. He's got Sam and a job, and he's been going to therapy (even if it is mandatory). Steve's departure taught Bucky how to be independent. 

"Bucky—" Steve starts, but before he can get another word in, the door slams open and cuts him off.

Both Bucky and Steve turn towards the door at the sudden noise. Bucky checks the clock. It's only been five minutes. Sam had forced him to buy that damned clock.

'Every house needs a clock, Bucky. How can anyone function without knowing the time, or do you already have one in that cyborg brain of yours?'

Bucky rolled his eyes at that. He lived in an apartment. Albeit the differences between apartments and houses are almost nonexistent, Bucky doesn't want to give Sam the satisfaction of being right. Upon thinking about it, most of Bucky's furnishings were bought because Sam demanded them. Sam did that a lot. Bucky also gave Sam a copy of his keys upon request.

'In case one of the big three decides to pay him a visit.' 

Sam stands there, hunched over, huffing and puffing, obviously having rushed over, mouth agape at Steve.

"Am I crazy, or is that Steve Rogers standing in your kitchen?" Sam says, walking inside and closing the door behind him. 

Bucky is not crazy. Sam can see him too.

"No, it's me," Steve says.

They lean in, patting each other on their backs. 

"Good to see you, man," was quietly exchanged.

"Good. I wouldn't want the poor psychiatrist to have to deal with two crazy soldiers with a shared delusion now," Sam laughs and pulls Bucky in for another quick hug. "Good to have you back, Cap," Sam says once more to Steve.

Steve tells Sam about traveling back in time. He also tells Sam about how things didn't work out with Peggy.

Steve thought he made the right choice.

He danced with Peggy, lived with her, kissed her—wrapped himself in the life he always believed he wanted. 

But at night, in the quiet, it wasn’t Peggy’s soft touch he ached for. It wasn’t her warm brown eyes he saw behind closed lids. It was Bucky; it had always been Bucky.

Steve doesn't mention how he desired for it to be Bucky who lay next to him instead of Peggy. He doesn't include how he pictured Bucky's sharp side profile so much that he can almost reach out and touch it—the slow drag of cigarettes from his soft, plump lips held between his slender fingers. Bucky developed the habit of smoking after what happened in Azzano, at Zola's lab. It used to hurt Steve, seeing Bucky like this, a shell of his former self, plagued with a burden no man should carry. Only men who thought they would die wouldn't feel the need to preserve their bodies. 

Regret claws at his ribs. He made a mistake. A terrible, selfish mistake. 

And now, he’s come back.

Bucky listens and frowns.

Did Steve only come back because he and Peggy broke up?

Bucky leans on the kitchen counter while Sam and Steve continue their conversation in the living room. Steve's relationship problem will cause a lot of trouble for the government.

What's going to happen now?

To John Walker and the Shield. What are they going to do with two Captain America shields? Bucky doesn't want to think about it. He is exhausted even with the serum running through his veins.

He sighs and heads towards his room.

"You good, Buck?" Sam asks, his voice thick with worry.

Sam constantly paid close attention to Bucky's well-being due to Bucky's lack of vocalization. Bucky sometimes wishes that Sam weren't so good at it.

"Uh, yeah. Just a little tired, that's all," Bucky says.

He presses his lips into a thin line when he sees that Sam doubts him. He knows he doesn't have to justify his actions, but old habits die hard.

"We just fought evil robots yesterday, after all," he adds. Guilt pings Bucky for lying to Sam and backtracking to his old ways.

'You're not the Winter Soldier anymore, Barnes. You don't have to explain yourself to anyone.'

Although they were not yet close at the time, Bucky appreciated his words. Bucky is grateful that Sam helped him believe in something he had forgotten. 

"Are you sure? You're a little pale," Sam says, standing up to follow Bucky.

Sam is ever so sensitive to his moods. Bucky does need to talk with Sam. Now is not a great time, however. Sam stops when he senses Steve's hands on his shoulder.

"It's alright, Sam. I'll talk to him," Steve says.

Dread pools at the bottom of Bucky's stomach. Talking to Steve when Bucky is vulnerable sounds like a bad idea.

What if he says something he might regret?

Bucky knits his brows, but he nods at Sam regardless. Steve follows behind Bucky as they walk inside his room. The second he hears the door close with a click, he is back in Steve's arms.

"I miss you. I miss this," Steve murmurs. 

What the fuck is Steve talking about?

Steve hasn't hugged Bucky like this since before the war, and Steve had been small then. The quick arm-over-shoulders they shared after the war didn't count. Those were simply politeness and formality. There was nothing intimate, no meaning behind them.

This is different. 

Steve's enclosure is nice and grounding, but with the current context, Bucky squirms in discomfort.

"What about Peggy?" Bucky asks, still trying to wrap his head around the circumstances.

Bucky's jealousy of Peggy's ability to win over Steve didn't dissolve his care for her well-being. It's not Peggy's fault a man liked her.

"We didn't work out." Steve pulls back to glimpse into Bucky's eyes.

Bucky's heart drops. Bucky was a little mad. Offended, even.

Bucky pushes against Steve a little but not completely off of him.

Steve left him, causing all this agony and anguish, just for him to come back crying because it didn't work out?

What was Bucky?

Was he someone Steve could so casually walk away from and back, as he felt disposed to?

Bucky pushed Steve away, ignoring the sorrow spreading onto Steve. He doesn't understand why Steve is acting this way towards him when he doesn't owe Bucky anything. He doesn't understand why Steve is acting this way when Steve doesn't like him.

"I'm sorry your relationship with Peggy didn't go well, but what are you doing here, with me?" Bucky asks, eyes narrowing, sounding harsher than he intends to.

Shock and dismay fill Steve as he tenses. Steve looks betrayed by Bucky's question. 

"I didn't know where else to go, Buck," Steve whispers. "I'm sorry, I thought—" Steve was cut off by Bucky, snapped like a rubber band.

"You thought what, Steve?" Bucky says, raising his voice.

Bucky fully pushes himself out and steps back, a little aggressive in his movements.

Bucky regrets lashing out at Steve the moment he sees Steve's expression.

He knew he shouldn't have let him into his room. Should've let Sam stop him when he had the chance. It's too late now. Something about Steve brings forth every protective bone in Bucky's body, no matter how big and strong he grows. Bucky used to call it his 'Stevie Instinct.'

Bucky drops his focus onto the floor and sighs.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I'm just stressed. The government—they chose a new Captain America, and there's this whole mess going on. I'm glad you're back, Pal. I mean it," Bucky says. He shifts his line of sight back up and is glad to see Steve's demeanor relaxing. 

The slight pause in the air was aggravating before Steve responded, "Thanks, Buck. I'm glad I'm back, too," and leaves.

Bucky wants to reach out and grab Steve's arm. To stop him from fleeing. Like the last time, however, Bucky watches Steve's back as he disappears out of his doorway. 

Steve looked disappointed. Was he mad at him?

Crumbs of thoughts scatter like little ants, which bit holes into Bucky's brain. Everything is so confusing. Bucky doesn't want Steve to be here, but he also doesn't want Steve to leave. Bucky collapses onto his bed and covers his face. He can hear Steve and Sam talking outside and wants to drown out their voices.

Did he upset Steve by pushing him away?

Then, Bucky feels shitty. He cursed himself. Steve obviously didn't look alright. He probably just broke up with Peggy, and the wound is still fresh on his mind. Bucky didn't even stop to ask if Steve is alright before making this all about himself.

Bucky is such a terrible person.

Bucky turns to his side, stopping his freight train of self-loathing. Why is he still so damn troubled with Steve? Steve deserted Bucky, leaving him in the cold. Bucky should hate him, but he doesn't. Not only that, but Bucky continues to yearn for him.

Is Bucky still in love with Steve?

Maybe. Maybe not. Who knows?

Bucky is glad he created some distance between him and Steve, even if it hurts. He will always be there for Steve, but the way Steve acted today made Bucky want to punch him in the face. The way Steve acted as if they were long-lost lovers, if Bucky was any more naive, he might've considered that Steve had feelings towards him. Bucky doesn't want to indulge in this train of thinking because it will only end in disappointment. However hard he tried, the thought didn't cease tormenting him.

This should be a miracle. A second chance.

So why does it feel like a curse?

He's sure that eventually, Steve will encounter another girl to fall in love with and abandon Bucky all over again. Bucky refuses to believe that things are gonna change, when things have stayed the same.

Chapter Text

Steve has been living in Bucky's apartment for the past few weeks.

Steve said he felt uncomfortable returning to the house he and Peggy supposedly shared because he didn't live through the experiences. Steve said he felt like an outsider and that it wasn't his home.

Bucky understood what it felt like to be a foreigner to what was supposed to be familiar.

Now and then, when he visits the Captain America museum, looking at videos of himself is akin to watching a stranger.

Sure, the right side of his grin perks up into a smile before his left corner can catch up in the same way it does now. Sure, his eyes disappear behind his rosy cheeks all the same still. Heck, even the scrunch of his nose mimics the stranger on the wall.

But all of that—it just doesn't feel like him.

Deep down, in the depths of his soul, if he still had one, it doesn't feel right. Even now, when he looks into a mirror, it isn't Bucky who stares back at him; it is the Winter Soldier.

Bucky empathized with Steve, and since they were best friends anyway, he offered Steve to stay at his place, if he wanted.

Steve took Bucky up on that offer.

Living with Steve wasn't anything foreign for Bucky. The nostalgia was peaceful at first. In spite of their awkward interaction the first day Steve returned, they got along well and hung out, just like the good old times. Either it was an unspoken agreement not to talk about what happened and how odd Steve had acted that day, or Steve had merely forgotten to bring it up; the whole situation was swiped off the table like dust in the air.

Bucky enjoyed their roommate situation.

Steve slept on the couch while Bucky took the bed.

In the morning, Steve leaves early to jog, and by the time Steve returns, Bucky will be at the stove cooking them breakfast.

During the day, they nuzzled on the comfort of their sofa and read books together, enjoying each other's company in tranquility. They grocery shopped together while talking about all the new technology man has created since the 40s, one of the few things Bucky still has the energy to muster up a slight excitement for.

Dinner is cooked interchangeably by both Bucky and Steve. If Steve cooks, Bucky washes the dishes, and vice versa.

At night, they stay up late to watch movies together.

After about a week of bliss, some strange things have begun to take place. 

Steve has been a little too touchy-feely.

Bucky admits that Steve has been acting weird lately. At first, Bucky had avoided thinking too deeply about it because he didn't think it was anything worth dwelling over. Small gestures that made Bucky doubt their implications. It was so minuscule, one could easily mistake it as accidents. Truth be told, Bucky was scared of his disappointment if he were to be wrong.

And Bucky was always wrong.

Over time, however, Steve's bizarreness rose so much that he could no longer ignore it.

Occasionally, Steve stood too close to be friendly behind him in the cramped kitchen, watching as Bucky struggled to crack an egg under the pressure.

While watching movies together, Bucky sometimes detects Steve's gaze on him, instead of the screen, boring holes into the side of Bucky's face.

Steve's touches sometimes linger a few seconds too long to be considered purely platonic—a palm on the small of his back while they're out shopping. A grip behind his bicep pulls Bucky towards Steve, out of traffic's way, even when he was clearly on the street and not in danger.

Sometimes, when they sat beside each other, eating on his kitchen island, Steve's hand would inevitably find itself on the back of Bucky's neck, resting comfortably there, as if it had every right to be. Bucky exerts all of his willpower and relaxes to hide just how incredibly nervous and ashamed he is—because he wants to jump Steve right then and there.

Then, it occurs to Bucky, as simple as anything else; he's doomed.

Bucky is terrified to touch upon his affections for Steve again. He shouldn't be experiencing these emotions. They're wrong in every sense of the way possible. Steve is his best pal, and he doesn't want Steve to go through the consequences of being gay. Although people are more accepting these days, and gay marriage has been legalized, Steve represented America. God knows not every patriotic being in this country is open-minded.

Another reason for his fear, a small voice in the back of Bucky's mind, if you breathe too loud, you'll miss it—Bucky is scared that Steve will be disgusted with him once he finds out the truth. The truth of how Bucky is dirty, shameful, and lusting over a man—Steve, no less. Bucky has no idea what Steve thinks of homosexuality. Steve is from the 40s, after all, and Bucky isn't sure if there's still some residual homophobia left. Surely at least some ideologies must've carried over. Bucky could handle Steve not being beside him; he dealt with it once already.

But Steve hating him? That-

That scared the ever-living hell out of him.

Bucky thought he had discarded his love for Steve when Steve left him for Peggy.

Bucky feels cheap for loving a man who chose someone else over him. Even cheaper, for still living by his mandates.

He can't help it.

Even after all this time, Steve still has a subconscious hold on Bucky, like a puppet pulled taut.

What's worse, Bucky isn't sure he minds. He doesn't mind giving himself to Steve. If anything, he wishes he could. He feels helpless when it comes to Steve, in a way that he never would for anyone else. Not even Sam.

One look from Steve, and Bucky will carve out his heart. No protest. Bucky is forever helpless when it comes to Steve. Bucky berates himself for being so damn weak. 

Slowly, things escalated.

Bucky will fall asleep watching TV on the floor and wake up in bed, wrapped like a burrito. Steve must've moved him, he inferred. Bucky can't help but get all hot and bothered by the idea of Steve singlehandedly picking him up.

Bucky had considered Steve attractive even when he was little. When his ribs protruded painfully through his near-translucent skin. When purple bruises would bloom like poppies at the slightest hint of a bump on an unforgiving corner.

On the flip side, Steve's newfound ability to manhandle Bucky makes Bucky's knees weak and stomach flutter, even if it shouldn't.

Another time, while Bucky was drinking coffee (solely for the taste) and reading a book on the couch, Steve came over and rested his head on Bucky's thighs. Adjusting himself, Steve moaned softly, looking up into Bucky's eyes while giving his classic charming grin, asking him what book he was reading.

Bucky only hoped that his hair covered the burning redness on his face.

Regardless of how incredible the intimacy felt, the way it makes Bucky's heart lurch to his throat, Steve's actions are cruel. Bucky is a thirsty man wandering in the desert, and Steve is holding an oasis within his palms. Steve's gestures provoke Bucky's mind to wander, and Bucky doesn't like to imagine all the possibilities between him and Steve—what could've been, what could be.

It gives Bucky hope, and he can't get his hopes up because he knows he will only be disappointed harder.

But whilst all the previous statements remain true, Bucky isn't stupid.

He still remembers how ordinary friends (not that they are ordinary friends) should act, in defiance of Hydra's brainwashing. Bucky doesn't know if Steve is acting this way for special reasons or if Steve has just changed since the last time they lived together.

When Bucky and Steve were teenagers and things were simple, they used to huddle in bed together, shielding themselves from the cold brutality of winter.

Bucky loved the smooth texture of Steve's skin against Bucky's. Bucky still remembers how frail and bony Steve was. Steve plastered against Bucky's own warm bosom, their legs intertwining. Bucky stayed awake at night, watching the rise and fall of Steve's chest, his heart beating so slowly; he was fearful that something might happen once he slept. Steve's arms were so thin, Bucky was anxious they might snap in the breaths of a whisperer. Steve was Bucky's everything.

They only had each other, and that was enough. Societal norms be damned, if it were up to Bucky.

Bucky's nightmares aren't getting any better.

He will awake in the middle of the night, drenched in sweat, screaming.

Each night tells the tragedy of another person. Another victim. Someone else whose innocent life was shortened because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time. Someone else Bucky had killed while looking straight into their pleading soul. His amends weren't helping him, nor were his therapy sessions. The terror in their bulging eyes tormented Bucky. They convulsed and begged for their lives, snot running down their noses while their howls fell on deaf ears. Sometimes, they will pee themselves while hugging his feet. Not a single tactic worked. He killed them all.

It is isolating to be lonely, yet never truly alone with the voices echoing around him. Reaching out for help is impossible, even when people offer it to him.

He has difficulty believing that people can understand him, even if he knows it's likely untrue. He's not the only veteran in this world. Nor is he the only victim—or serial killer, for all that matters.

Bucky knows it's not his fault. He knows he was forced, kidnapped, and tortured. Everyone made sure that Bucky was clear on that part. That Bucky isn't a monster, isn't somehow a cold-blooded killer.

But how can they say that when he can so vividly see his own hands smother his victim's lives? When their family members' punch and kick him, for what he did? How can they expect him to believe them when they too flinch away from him?

Since Steve moved in, he has been Bucky's source of consolation.

Steve will come into Bucky's room when he hears his screams and hug him while he cries, acting as an anchor in the storm. Steve would cradle Bucky tight in his arms, reassuring and soothing him.

On this night, Bucky wakes with another shout, quivering and vision blurry.

He pulls his legs in towards himself and wraps his arms around his limbs. He let out a shaky breath. His victim had been a kid. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut in anguish and strikes his head, pulling at his hair. Hot tears spilled from his eyes and onto his blanket.

He feels claustrophobic; the walls were beginning to close in around him. She didn't look older than seven.

God, Bucky thought. What a monster he is.

Someone is playing a drum inside him; his heart is hammering against the walls of his chest so hard, it hurts. Guilt scorches him for trying to suppress their faces.

He has to remember them all.

He should at least be able to do the bare minimum and give them the dignity of acknowledgment instead of attempting to forget them for his salvation.

Soon enough, he hears his bedroom door open gently, and hushed footsteps get closer and closer.

Bucky hastily wipes the tears off his face before Steve reaches him, as if it could save at least some of his dignity. He was embarrassed by how pathetic he must look right now. Steve used to make fun of him for how weepy Bucky was.

He senses a dip in his bed, and familiar arms again surround him.

"Bucky, hey, you're alright. You're with me," Steve whispers and pulls away to look at Bucky.

Bucky is still trembling and breathing heavily, eyes darting back and forth like a tennis match.

Steve delicately pats sweat-soaked hair away from Bucky's face and holds his cheeks, rubbing it with his thumbs.

"Bucky, the things that happened are not your fault. Hydra was the one who killed those people; you had no choice. You are a victim too," Steve reaffirms his statements from the previous nights.

Bucky knows this already, but it doesn't make it any better or easier. Of course, he knows he had no control over who lived and who died, but Bucky pulled the trigger with his own hands, and if he hadn't been there, they would still be alive.

Bucky should be the one dead, not them. Bucky finds it ironic that an alien or robot hasn't killed him yet. It's God's greatest joke, making Bucky so damn hard to kill and survive for so long. Maybe it's his punishment, suffering like this. Maybe death would be letting him off easy. Still, he wished he hadn't come back after the snap. Maybe he should do everyone a favor and finally jump off a bridge already.

"Yeah," Bucky's voice cracks, raw from screaming. "But I still did it." Bucky's skull is exploding.

His vision is blurry, everything is muffled, and his head is foggy. He can't think clearly. Bucky holds onto Steve's shirt like it is his lifeline, because it is. His fingers grip the fabric so hard, his knuckles turn white.

A blue 88 would do me some good, right about now, he thinks.

The moonlight illuminates the blood on his hands, her blood.

Bucky wills his fingers to loosen, but they don't move. It is as if he is staring at someone else's hands, like when he watched in agony as his hands squeezed her thin, delicate neck until it cracked. His metal fingers dug grotesquely, so far into her neck, that blood gurgled out onto his face.

He couldn't stop it, no matter how hard he screamed.

He had then tossed her among the pile of flesh and skin like she was trash. Dark, saturated red seeps into Steve's shirt like a parasite. Steve's eyebrows furrow, and he softly lets Bucky go. Bucky's hand stays on Steve's shirt.

"I'm sorry I got blood on your shirt," Bucky mumbles.

Instead of pushing Bucky's arms away, Steve tenderly lays Bucky down, following suit next to him, careful not to increase their distance. Steve's big hands hold Bucky close to his chest. 

"You didn't get any blood on me, Buck. There's no blood," Steve murmurs against Bucky's hair.

Right, of course.

Bucky must be hallucinating again.

Bucky's been seeing things a lot lately. Maybe he can discuss this in therapy next week.

Bucky tries to scooch closer to Steve. He's always so damn cold nowadays, and Steve is like a furnace. It's the opposite of how it used to be.

"Let's go to sleep, yeah?" is the last thing Bucky hears before everything turns black.

Bucky doesn't think it's odd for them to be sleeping in the same bed again. After all, they've done this countless times before. However, it is peculiar for Bucky to be the one pressed up against Steve and be taken care of by Steve instead of it being the other way around.

It is actually quite pleasant to be taken care of by someone else, if you disregard the rest that comes with it.

For seventy years, every person who touched Bucky also hurt him. They burned and cut him, punishing him, even if he followed their every direction, down to the last letter.

Steve's touch has been gentle and cautious. Not because he was afraid of Bucky, but because he didn't want to harm Bucky.

Bucky knows it's wrong, that nothing will likely come out of it, but he is falling deeper and deeper for Steve.

He isn't even sure if he is falling deeper or if he was already stuck in the first place and he just didn't notice.

Steve is like quicksand; the harder Bucky writhes and twists, the deeper he is consumed.

Nonetheless, Bucky falls asleep peacefully that night for the first time since he can really remember. In the morning, the bed is cold, and Steve is gone.

This routine of theirs—Bucky screaming, Steve joining Bucky in bed—became habitual.

It's gotten to the point that Steve has been sleeping in Bucky's bed even when Bucky doesn't have an outburst, which is quite rare. Bucky isn't opposed to it. He likes sharing a bed with Steve. Bucky feels secure, in a way, granting that Bucky is perfectly capable of fending for himself.

At this point, Bucky is lying if he still tries to convince himself that Steve and his relationship is only that of friends.

Even for best friends who've known each other for 93 years, their interactions border on the line of romance.

Another side of Bucky doubts himself. Maybe he's just overthinking things. Sure, they cuddle at night, but Steve never says anything about it. Steve always disappears in the morning to go do his routine jog and acts like they didn't just have their skin pressed against each other when he comes back.

If any of this meant anything to Steve, why hasn't he talked about it yet?

Steve has never not been vocal about issues before; Bucky doesn't know how this is any different. Unless there isn't an issue, and Bucky really is just suffering from confirmation bias.

Bucky isn't confident in his speculations, so because Steve doesn't mention it, neither does Bucky.

The lack of communication is driving Bucky even more insane, but he doesn't want to shatter the illusion of serenity that he so carefully tried to maintain.

Bucky is conflicted, so he does what he always does when Bucky is uncertain: talk to Sam. The phone rings. 

"Hey, what's up? Are you alright?" Sam speaks through the phone, and the sound of keys can be heard again.

Bucky sits down on his bed and rests his elbow on his knees. 

"Yeah, I'm alright; I just needed to talk to you about something. About Steve, I mean," Bucky says and takes a deep breath.

Steve isn't home today. He went grocery shopping, and Bucky had opted to stay home.

Bucky told Steve that he wanted to finish his book, which, in technical terms, isn't a lie. He does want to finish it, just not now. Steve believed him, because Steve always believed him.

What reasons did Bucky have to lie?

None at all.

Before Steve left, he asked Bucky if he needed anything from the store, and Bucky told him ten different things. Five of them aren't sold there. Hopefully, this proves enough to delay Steve's return from the store so that Bucky can have enough time to talk to Sam.

"Uh oh, did something else happen? Let me guess, there's a baby in your kitchen this time?" Sam jokes, like he usually does.

Bucky loves Sam because Sam always lights up the mood when Bucky needs it. Sam is capable of prying a laugh out of Bucky, even when Bucky is in a dark mental state. Sometimes, Sam is so funny, it irritates him.

Bucky chuckles, "Not funny. But no, not yet, at least."

"Oh, good. I wouldn't want the poor thing to have to carry that big-ass shield," Sam laughs.

The visual makes Bucky snort. God, this is why he loves Sam.

Bucky and Sam are close. They're good friends.

Despite that, they haven't gotten to the point where Bucky has told Sam he likes men. Coming out is hard. Bucky isn't even sure if he is a homosexual, bisexual, or if he is just Stevexual. Coming out is especially hard for Bucky, who grew up in the 30s and 40s. He knows the times are different now, that being gay is celebrated. There's a month dedicated to it. A whole fucking month. Bucky was so surprised and happy when he first found out, he almost shed some tears.

That said, the progressiveness doesn't make it any easier for Bucky. Classmates from school used to call him queer when he was little, and teachers silently judged him. Bucky remembers rocks thrown at him on the playground and ear-piercing laughter as everyone circled to watch. Bucky felt humiliated and overcompensated later in life by going on frequent outings with various dames, none of whom he had any sentiments for beyond friendship.

He spent his whole existence despising himself for it and wishing that he could change.

He knows Sam wouldn't look at him differently and that he will never judge him. It's like choking on a ball of yarn. When Bucky opens his mouth, the words get all tangled in his throat, and nothing comes out.

"You okay, man? You've been silent for a while," Sam says. Bucky was brought back to reality. He coughs and pushes himself.

"Yeah, um, have I ever told you that I, uh, me and Steve—" Bucky was interrupted by Sam. 

"—Are dating? Yeah, we all know, dude," Sam says plainly.

Bucky is flabbergasted and speechless. He didn't realize he was so unsubtle in his treatment of Steve. Bucky's back ran cold, the hairs standing piercingly tall on the back of his neck.

If Sam and everyone else can tell, does that mean Steve noticed, too?

"Well, we're not dating. It's complicated," Bucky sighs. "I've been in love with Steve since we were kids, and I think I'm still in love with him now," Bucky gulps.

Silence follows. Bucky waits for Sam's response, but nothing comes. Bucky knows that if he could see Sam's face beyond the phone right now, it would be understanding, urging him to continue on.

"I'm not sure Steve sees me in the same way," Bucky says.

His whole body is much lighter now that he's gotten it out, like someone has lifted their feet off of his chest.

Bucky's love for Steve has been a dark secret Bucky kept dusted underneath a newspaper his whole life. He's glad to finally share the burden with someone else.

"Okay," a breath is heard through the screen. "Have you asked him?" Sam finally responds.

"Well, no. But Steve has been acting," Bucky pauses to swallow, "strange, lately, and I'm not sure if it's just in a friendly manner," Bucky explains.

"Well, how has he been like that?" Sam prompts.

Bucky tries to think back to the past weeks. Countless moments overflow Bucky's brain. Bucky feels like he's short-circuiting.

"Well, he's just been staring, touching, and we've been sleeping in the same bed," Bucky says.

Bucky isn't sure if he's being delusional, which is why he's seeking out Sam's advice. Now that Bucky is saying it out loud, he can't help but think he's stupid.

What's wrong with some friendly touches?

"I mean, that sounds pretty gay to me. I mean, I don't sleep with Torres, even with his cuddly face, and there's only one bed," Sam says.

Sam might have a point.

"Yeah, but what if he's just being a supportive friend, and I'm skewing the truth to what I want?" Bucky says—doubt creeping into him. 

"Unless sleeping with your best friend is just a weird fossil tradition, I don't think he's just being friendly, Bucky. Especially if he's acting so weird you have to call me," Sam says.

Bucky frowns at this.

"Steve's been helping me with my nightmares. Being not alone calms me down," Bucky says defensively.

He doesn't even know what he's defending.

Steve? No. His heart?

He looks down at the floor tiles, waiting for Sam's response.

Maybe he wants Sam to convince him that he's crazy, or he's trying to convince himself that he's crazy, because he doesn't know how to deal with anything else being the truth.

"Why don't you talk to Steve about it, Buck? I can give you my opinion on the matter, but at the end of the day, Steve is the only person who can give you an answer," Sam says.

Bucky agrees with Sam, but while talking to Steve about it may sound like the best course of action, he can't imagine the awkwardness if he were wrong about everything.

Not only will Bucky reveal his feelings, but Steve will also find him disgusting for taking advantage of his care and projecting his sick fantasy onto it.

"What if I'm wrong, Sam? What if this ruins our friendship?" Bucky questions, rubbing his left hand over his face, the vibranium evoking a cool tingle on his skin. 

"Bucky, how long have you two been friends? If something like this ruins your friendship, I don't know what to tell you," Sam says.

Bucky knows Sam is right. He knows he has to talk to Steve about this. There's no other way if Bucky wants anything to change between him and Steve.

The sound of keys at the door halted Bucky out of his deliberation.

"Alright, thanks for the talk, Sam. I got to go," Bucky says. 

"No problem, call me anytime," Sam says before Bucky hangs up, stands up, and walks towards his living room. 

Chapter Text

Bucky hangs up the phone once he hears Steve open the door.

Sam's conversation with Bucky repeats in his mind. He doesn't know when would be a good time to bring something like this up or even how to talk about it.

Walking out of his bedroom, he sees Steve dropping the grocery bags onto the kitchen counter.

Steve's white shirt is definitely a size too small. The shirt was almost translucent from sweat, perfectly hugging the curves along Steve's muscles.

Bucky's mouth went a little dry.

He can't believe he's lucky enough to stand in the same room as this Greek statue.

Steve hums a song while unloading the groceries, oblivious to Bucky's presence behind him. Nervously darting his eyes, Bucky walks closer, his footsteps deliberately loud. 

"Hey, Buck, I didn't notice you there," Steve says in a good mood.

Anxious about the phone call from earlier, Bucky only manages to nod and give a weak smile.

He walks around Steve to help put stuff away. Skimming over the counter, Bucky is surprised to find everything he had told Steve he needed.

"Sorry I took so long; some things weren't at the store, so I took some detours," Steve apologizes sheepishly.

His heart squeezing with guilt for being the cause of this, Bucky shakes his head and smiles. Lying to Steve is a blasphemous sin, but Bucky already has too many to atone for, and one more doesn't make any difference.

"Nah, I did it on purpose to get you out of the house more, Punk," Bucky chuckles and smacks Steve on his arm.

Steve punches him back, shaking his head.

"Says you! When was the last time you went dancing?" Steve hits back while unloading some more groceries.

Gosh, Steve is gorgeous with his toothy grin. 

He missed this so much.

He missed talking to Steve casually, without having a bigger issue over their heads. They've both been broken down, fragment by fragment.

He missed Bucky being Bucky and Steve being Steve.

"Hey, I'm a very busy person fighting crime and saving the world every single day," Bucky says, throwing his hands up in defense. 

"So that’s what you're doin’ right now?" Steve asks, smirking because he knows he's right.

The accidental slip of a Brooklyn accent warms Bucky's chest. Steve's stern, captain voice always did unsettle Bucky. It created distance. The way Steve is speaking right now made Bucky forget how strained their relationship was compared to the past.

This little punk, Bucky thought. 

"Jeez, can't a guy get some rest? Even a hero is allowed a day or two off," Bucky chuckles, crow's feet forming beside his eyes.

"Yeah? That's why you were home the whole week, huh?" Steve raises an eyebrow.

"Cut me some slack, will ya? Aren't I here to take care of your dumbass?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, "Like I need a babysitter."

"I wouldn't want my stove to be set on fire again. God knows you can't cook," Bucky says. 

That was a lie.

Steve can cook; he's learned it after coming out of the ice for so long, but Bucky likes making fun of Steve. And Steve—Stevie—didn't know how to cook.

"That was just one time! And you know damn well our stove was busted to begin with," Steve looks at Bucky accusingly, as if Bucky ripped the bandage off at one instead of three like he promised. 

"Just consider yourself lucky to have breakfast and dinner made for you every single day." Bucky wants to physically get close to Steve and flatten the smug off his annoying face.

Without poverty, war, or duty, Steve seems more carefree than ever. Bucky loves it.

"Fine, yes, I feel so blessed by the care of my best pal," Steve admits defeat lightheartedly. 

High from his victory at having won this conversation, Bucky lets out a light puff of air and walks to the living room to turn the TV on.

Sam's interview from the mission a few days ago blasted on screen.

Bucky appears grumpy with his arms crossed in the background, leaning on a car.

Interviewers evaded Bucky like the devil. He doesn't blame them. On the contrary, Bucky is glad. Pretending to be optimistic and confident after a life-and-death crisis sounds miserable, especially when there was a high civilian casualty count.

Bucky applauds Sam for handling himself so well; Bucky knows Sam is crumbling with pressure inside. It's excruciating, living with the fact that someone died because you weren't quick enough, strong enough, or smart enough.

If you aren't good enough, other people pay. It's a reality they must learn to live with.

Steve turns when he hears Sam's speech.

Due to Steve's sudden appearance, the issue of two Captain Americas came into the picture.

The government was outraged.

Some politicians were upset at Steve's decision to resurface in the present times, and some were mad that Steve even left in the first place.

They deemed Steve irresponsible and reckless.

Bucky was upset by their descriptions.

Steve's irresponsibility and recklessness saved the lives of innumerable people.

The government praised Steve for it when it benefited them, and now they're scrutinizing him for the same trait. The government's fury at Steve is purely a reflection of their own failure. They didn't want to deal with the press and didn't know what to do with John Walker now that the real Captain America was back. They feared the public's reaction.

It wasn't Steve's fault the government took his shield out of the museum and put it in the palms of John Walker.

The government's worry was short-lived. Steve announced his retirement, and everything was at ease again.

'It's about time I retired. I'm nearly forty years overdue,' Steve had said later.

Retirement is treating Steve well.

Steve is enjoying life, and you can tell by the glow on his skin. Without carrying the burden of the world, Steve can enjoy the minute details of his daily routine without stress. Cooking is a fun and delightful process now; before, it was just a necessity to survive.

Continuing on the topic of retirement, Bucky was pulled into the discussion as well.

Sam and Steve think it was a good idea for Bucky to at least get an extended break if Bucky doesn't want to retire just yet, a vacation of sorts.

Bucky disagrees. The number of victims who died directly because of him is endless, and Bucky wants to spend the rest of his days compensating for his actions. Saving people doesn't take away the blame Bucky puts on himself, but it is better than reminiscing on his crimes alone.

Bucky knows he can never make up for what he's done, but Bucky wants to save more people if he can. Enjoying a drink by the pool sounds wrong when there are people he can save. During his stay in Wakanda, Bucky was at peace. The grueling process of farming helped take things off of Bucky's mind. He knows he is always welcomed back, but Bucky doesn't think he deserves it.

"I'm glad Sam is still out there protecting people, but I'm apprehensive about John Walker's character," Steve says once he finishes his task.

Steve rinses his hands and walks into the living room, drying them with a towel. 

"John Walker is ass. Sam shouldn't have given up the shield," Bucky exclaims distastefully.

"I'm sure Sam has his own reasons," Steve shook his head.

Bucky had a fight with Sam at first.

Bucky was mad that Sam was throwing away the legacy to some stranger when Steve himself chose Sam.

At the time, Bucky hadn't considered what it felt like for a person of color to carry the stars and stripes, given all of America's history. Knowing Sam's perspective allowed Bucky to understand why Sam did what he did. Bucky can only imagine the hardship Sam is facing for the country to despise him when he is only trying to protect it.

On top of aliens, robots, and wizards, Sam has to deal with scorn for no reason other than the color of his skin.

For Sam to work tirelessly, strain himself, and deal with discrimination, the country doesn't deserve Sam.

He was upset that the government would bestow the shield upon someone with a skewed personality like John Walker rather than accept Sam. They were so eager to take the shield away from Sam on the pretense of it being the honorable thing to do, then give it away immediately.

Racism was rampant in the forties, and Bucky is revolted by how little things have changed.

On the other hand, Steve keeps his shield at home for memory's sake.

The government again tried to convince Steve to return his version of the shield to the museum but failed. Sam's ordeal told them everything they needed to know. The government isn't going to give Steve's shield away as well. Bucky is going to defend it with his life, now that he can.

"But I agree, Sam would’ve been great," Steve says at the lack of response.

Steve walks up behind Bucky, resting a hand on his tense shoulders. Bucky freezes before relaxing, remembering that it's Steve.

They both stood there in silence, watching Sam's interview. Sam is always edgy and jittery after a mission, but you will never know just from watching him talk. Back straight with an assured voice, Sam has what it takes to be a beacon of hope for people. Sam has an iron-strong will with fierce virtues.

John Walker, on the other hand, is the opposite.

Unlike Sam, who doesn't care about glory and instead does the right thing because of his morals, Walker is obsessed with gaining respect. Their contrasts are night and day. Bucky can't imagine anything good coming out of this arrangement. John Walker is an impatient man with something to prove, and that's dangerous.

Who knows how far Walker will go to prove himself worthy?

Immersed in his ponderings, Bucky didn't realize that at some interval, Steve moved.

Steve's palm is now occupying Bucky's nape.

Bucky does not know how to feign nonchalance. At least not in front of Steve. Steve's touch is heavenly, but Bucky is greedy. Bucky is afraid of getting used to it and craving more.

Steve's fingers are rubbing circles on the back of his neck, and god, Bucky wants to turn around, grab Steve by the collar, and kiss him hard on the mouth. He wants Steve's hands on every part of his body. He wants to take Steve to bed so they don't have to worry about dinner tonight. He doesn't want; he needs. Bucky needs Steve.

Bucky is appalled by his thoughts.

Bucky doesn't do any of those. He doesn't because Bucky is a coward.

Instead of doing what Bucky has wanted to do for decades, he turns his head and gazes into Steve's blue eyes. 

"You feeling up to a movie?" Bucky asks, hoping his voice doesn't quiver.

Astonishment plasters Steve's face before smoothing into a dainty smile.

"Of course, Buck," Steve says, taking his hand off and plopping on the couch.

Bucky frowns at the loss of contact but shrugs it off.

Being well-traveled has many advantages. During his stay in Berlin while on a mission with Sam, Bucky was introduced to German blackout curtains. Other than calming Bucky, it gets rid of glares while watching movies.

After closing the curtains, Bucky collapses onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions like a ship, as far away from Steve as possible.

The movie is boring, Bucky decided.

It must be, because Steve is watching Bucky instead of the film.

This is strange because Sam recommended Bucky and Steve to watch this, and Sam's recommendations never miss. Eleven times out of ten, Bucky and Steve will enjoy a film Sam tells them to watch. Sam has excellent taste when it comes to everything.

Today is an exception.

Bucky grips the edge of his blanket with his hand, his brows twitching.

Bucky and Steve have been sitting there for an hour, and Bucky still doesn't even know the main character's name. He doesn't even know who the protagonist is. Bucky is naturally horrible with names, but not typically this bad. Bucky will have to make up an excuse for why he doesn't know anything when Sam asks him for his opinion on this movie later. Bucky can't tell Sam he's distracted because Steve's eyes are gawking at him, distracting him from the plot.

Bucky is scared to look over. He forces his gaze straight, staring maybe a little too intensely at the screen.

The distance between Bucky and Steve as they sat on opposite ends of the couch doesn't conceal Steve's blatant act. Steve's face, directed at him, can be clearly seen out of the corner of Bucky's eyes. It's like Steve isn't even trying to be discreet about it.

This is the fourth time this has happened, but Steve doesn't usually stare for this long and this brazenly.

Sweat is beginning to form on Bucky's forehead.

Bucky doesn't know what Steve is playing at. Suggesting to watch a movie was a bad idea.

"Don't you think it's kind of cold in here? Do you mind sharing some blankets?" Steve asks.

Bucky glances at Steve before tossing him one.

Super soldiers can't get cold.

Bucky is the only abnormality due to his years in the cryo freezer. No matter the temperature, Bucky will always be cold. Steve has also been frozen, but the cryosleep did not have the same effects on him.

Steve is lying. Bucky doesn't point it out.

He tries to talk about something else instead to distract him from Steve—his blanket, for example.

Bucky likes having blankets on him while watching TV. The weight, along with the warmth, grounds Bucky so he doesn't dissociate.

Bucky hates dissociating.

It scares Bucky because he can't control when it occurs. He isn't himself. He's just a passenger in the car with the Winter Soldier driving. The world around Bucky warps in, and he can't breathe. He can't control himself, his own body, his own muscles. After being under Hyra's care for so long, the loss of autonomy will generally end with a panic attack and a worried sick Sam. Ayo and the Dora Milaje freed Bucky from the words, but the fear that he could possibly hurt someone again puts him in constant anxiety. The fact that he may one day lose control plagues him.

Bucky knows his fears are irrational, that there's no way the Winter Soldier will ever reappear, but he is still in nonstop turmoil.

However, with Steve helping him the past few weeks as well, Bucky feels like he is finally getting better.

He is present more often, and even his nightmares don't seem as dooming.

Sam helps as well.

Sam buys him blankets, knowing that they help subside Bucky's triggers. Six of the blankets in his basket beside the sofa are just gifts from Sam.

Excluding the one he just tossed to Steve, two are currently lying on Bucky.

Steve can't get cold, and he didn't ask for a blanket in the last few movies; he doesn't know what is peculiar about this time.

One should be enough, Bucky thinks.

He was wrong.

Seemingly dissatisfied, Steve slid along the couch until—what the fuck?—their thighs touched and got under the spreads along with Bucky.

Flabbergasted, Bucky gives Steve an inquiring look. 

"Don't be so stingy. Why don't you share all three with me?" Steve says, tossing the third quilt over themselves.

Once he adjusts it to his heart's content, Steve places his arm snugly between the cushions and Bucky's back.

The close proximity overwhelms Bucky.

Giving Steve a quick glare, Bucky redirects his eyes to the screen.

Bucky isn't sure if Steve is messing with him knowingly or if Bucky is just horny and overreacting.

Bucky's and Steve's heads are right beside each other. If Bucky isn't careful, they'll bump. The heat radiating off Steve makes Bucky sweat. Bucky knows he should listen to Sam's advice and talk to Steve about how weird he is acting, but communication isn't Bucky's best character trait. A lifelong complex doesn't go away with one short conversation. Bucky has trouble reaching out to even Sam, much less to Steve, about something like this.

So he stays quiet.

Bucky loathes unpleasant contemplation. He does it enough at night; there's no need to torment himself more during the day.

Bucky focuses on the film to stop the spread of his wild imagination.

It's impossible to pay attention, however, when each micro-movement from Steve sends a jolt of electricity up Bucky's back.

This is the only event where electricity is welcome.

Every time Steve moves, their legs brush against each other, and Steve's arm inadvertently grazes Bucky.

Steve is leaning towards him, and gosh, the whole entire side of their body is fully connected.

Bucky isn't a virgin, and they cuddled in bed. That said, sensations are a lot different when you're coming down from a nightmare versus when you're extremely sexually frustrated sitting next to your person of desire.

Bucky tried dating in the 21st century. So many things have changed. Meeting people in real life is hard, and online dating is even worse.

No one online is looking for a serious relationship, and he doesn't even know what he's looking at half the time.

It’s definitely not because no one could fill in the shoes of Steve, even now.

Bucky is so hyperaware right now it's painful.

Even when they are sitting this close, Steve is openly staring at him without a single shred of shame in the world. Steve must be doing this intentionally. There are no other explanations. How else do you excuse the random caresses and the other not-so-friendly things they do?

Ignoring it will only amplify how obvious Bucky is in avoiding the confrontation. If Bucky genuinely only regards Steve as a friend, then he wouldn't hesitate to point out inconsistencies. Inversely, Bucky's lack of objection proves his romantic sentiments towards Steve.

Following this logic, Bucky turns to look at Steve once more. He has a hard time overlooking how their noses almost collide. Their faces are so close, Bucky only has to lean in a little, and their lips would touch.

Bucky could lean in, but he could be wrong.

"Is there somethin’ on my face, Rogers, or can you just not take your eyes off me?" Bucky remarks sarcastically.

The second part of his question is clearly meant as a joke. Flirty jokes were a frequent staple in their friendship when they were young. They would laugh it off in a trivial manner and go on about their day.

This time shouldn't be unique.

Bucky underestimated just how thick Steve Rogers' skin is. His emotional resilience is undeniably robust. 

Steve smirks before replying, "You're just too pretty; I can't take my eyes off you."

Everything becomes quiet all at once.

Bucky is dumbfounded, his mouth hanging and eyes wide. Bucky's facade fell as he was unable to act casual any longer.

It's just a joke, Bucky tells himself. They've humored themselves like this before.

He doesn't know why he's so shocked.

This is lousy in comparison to their loaded bank of homoerotic parodies.

It must be the buildup of all the tension, or that they're close enough to share breaths, or maybe because they haven't teased each other like this since the 40s.

Either way, Bucky forces himself to laugh. It comes out as a strangled cough instead.

Steve also seems stunned by his own words, his expression mirroring Bucky's, like the words hadn't been a joke and instead slipped out of him unwillingly. Steve doesn't laugh back.

Seeing the surprise in Steve's appearance brings Bucky back to reality, his back getting a cold chill.

His words come out before he has the chance to think about it.

"Steve... Do you have feelings for me?" Bucky asks, a tremor in his voice getting quieter as the words are forced out of his throat like water filtering through a suddenly unclogged drain.

Regret fills Bucky as silence sweeps over the air.

Out of everything he could've chosen to say, this was the worst.

The movie is still running, but the muffled voices do not ease Bucky's dread. Bucky can always read Steve's demeanor and know his exact thoughts. Whether it's the darkness or Bucky's nerves, he doesn't know. He cannot discern Steve's reaction whatsoever.

Bucky wants to be buried in a hole.

"Never mind, forget what I said—" Bucky tries to fix the situation.

He tries taking back his words, but he should've known it was impossible. Steve had already heard it.

"Bucky, I've been trying to get you to notice for the past few weeks," Steve eventually says.

The truth slams into Bucky's face like a loud, crisp slap, and memories of their interactions roll like tape.

Bucky is speechless once again.

Happiness, excitement, or even relief should be what Bucky is currently experiencing, but it's not. Instead, he is angry.

The past few weeks? I've been secretly hoping for this for the past few decades.

Before the past few weeks, it has always been Peggy for Steve. Steve had been in love with Peggy for so long yet got over her instantly.

How firm is Steve's affection for Bucky, then?

Steve has not liked Bucky for nearly as long.

Does that mean Steve will toss Bucky aside even sooner?

Bucky wants to hug Steve, kiss him, or smile and reciprocate his feelings. He wants to give Steve what he wants because Bucky wants it too, but doubt clouds over Bucky.

Did Steve only come back for Bucky because Steve's and her relationship failed?

Bucky wants to cry.

Why can't Bucky be like a normal person?

Why does he always have to question everything?

Now Steve is the uneasy one, awaiting Bucky's response.

Steve knew Bucky loved him, but maybe he was mistaken.

Their friendship had always been abnormally close. Steve had disregarded the inkling that Bucky and his relationship weren't absolutely platonic in the 40s because it had been wrong.

He admits he is weak.

Steve was Captain America, fighting wars and defending the country, yet too spineless to explore his emotions. When Peggy walked into his existence and charmed him with her witty attitude, he believed this was how things should be.

Steve didn't want to think that there could be anything more between Steve and Bucky.

Because of societal norms, contentment with a man during the 40s was unattainable. So he didn't even try. Peggy was the safe option. Only when introspecting did Steve realize that he was chasing a fantasy.

Steve had the woman of his dreams, the greenest lawn, and a circle of close companions, yet a part of him was missing. What he wanted was beside him all along. Steve wanted Bucky. He imagined that Bucky would be ecstatic and could cherish their life together in a society that finally accepts them.

Bucky's lack of response tells a separate story. Maybe he had been wrong all along. Embarrassment burns his cheeks as he sits there, still waiting for Bucky's answer.

"I need to think about this," Bucky says.

Remorse biting at Bucky for possibly hurting Steve. He doesn't want to make a rash decision when he isn't thinking straight.

He casts a nervous glance at Steve before lifting his blankets.

Standing up, he walks towards his bedroom, leaving Steve behind.

Almost reaching the door, his wrist is suddenly pulled back by an assertive grip.

What the heck?

Bucky mentally prepares himself before turning around. He wishes he had been as persistent as Steve when their positions were switched.

Maybe then they could've prevented this.

"Wait, Bucky—I thought you liked me," Steve says.

Bucky's face drops.

Bucky needs space, and Steve doesn't know what compelled him to say this, but he did.

Steve knew he made a mistake by the way Bucky's face contorted: his nose scrunching, corners of his lips coming down, and eyebrows setting forward. Had it been a usual day, Seve would've found this expression cute. It was the face Bucky makes when he eats something sour, when someone on T.V. says something unsavory, or if Steve had left trash on the table.

Now, it was the face of doom. Bucky glared at him like he did at those German special forces.

Had he really been delusional all along?

Bucky wants to scoff at Steve's audacity. Bucky brings his hands up to his eyes, covering them for a second before settling them on his hips. Steve isn't wrong, but Bucky can't believe that Steve would use this against him. Taking a deep breath, Bucky needs to calm himself before he does something he regrets.

How long has Steve known?

Rubbing his fingers into a fist, Bucky blinks back the ghosts of tears.

If Steve knew all along, then Bucky must've looked so fucking stupid, dancing carefully around Steve like a goddamn circus monkey.

Frustration, rage, humiliation, and his years of suffering blended together like rotten strawberry mango smoothie and gave Bucky a new profound courage that he's almost scared to have.

"What makes you think that?" Bucky scowls and pulls his arm out of Steve's grasp. Walking into his bedroom, Bucky slams the door shut behind him. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

The German blinds work really well. So much so that Bucky forgot it was broad daylight outside and not nighttime yet.

He cursed himself before pummeling onto the bed.

The sunlight warms his cheeks while blinding his eyes. Even with his eyes closed, he cannot avoid the assault. Glaring yellows and greens gave him a headache.

The original idea had been to sleep it off and think about all of this tomorrow. Now that Bucky has entered his bedroom and been blinded by the brightness, the embarrassment is too great to go out and face Steve.

'I thought you liked me back,' Steve had said to him.

Bucky felt like jumping out the window.

The half-assed confession from Steve swept Bucky off his feet, and not in a good way. Bucky would not even consider it a confession.

After getting to this point, instead of telling Bucky he loves him and asking for a relationship, Steve just assumed that Bucky felt the same. Steve acted like Bucky should've been obedient and jumped into his arms without any complaints.

Although arrogant, Steve is right about Bucky liking him back.

For some reason, that angers Bucky even more.

He ruminates on how long Steve has known and if Steve has pretended not to notice this whole time.

Bucky must've made a fool of himself desperately trying to hide his feelings when Steve already knew.

Bucky feels stupid.

He could have at least told me he likes me. 

Even now, Steve does not have the face to utter these words.

Steve used to never back down from a fight. Not when he was hopelessly little, fending off bullies with his sticks for arms in the school playground. Not during harsh winters, when he was stuck in bed, too tired to breathe, but still sat up and lifted his covers so Bucky could sneak in and warm him up. Most of all, not when he stood before Bucky, who was bloodied on the ground in Siberia, standing up once and again to protect him from Tony.

Steve was like that.

'I can do this all day,' Steve would say at the worst of his sickness, struggling to climb up the five steps of stairs.

'I'll believe it when I see it, Punk,' Bucky joked, holding Steve up by his arm.

Steve would roll his eyes, elbow Bucky in the chest, and smile despite himself.

'Jerk.'

Bucky has never met another person as resilient as Steve was. Like a chihuahua, his personality was too big for his tiny body—240 lbs of attitude inside his 90 lb self.

Where was the Steve he knew now?

The serum changed Steve in so many ways.

Bucky was ecstatic at first; no more illness, no more beatings. Steve was still a good man, but Bucky had known Steve for way too long, and he knew Steve.

The difference had been subtle. Negligible, even, but Bucky had noticed it.

Steve gained power, and those powers brought fear along with them. The fear did not come from the people around Steve but from Steve himself. Insecurities and inferiority complexes from being weak latched onto Steve no matter how big he got. The only difference now was the fear of losing his newly gained strength.

Steve liked Peggy because she was desirable. Not only to Steve, but to everyone else, too.

Bucky saw the shallowness that day they were at the bar when Peggy wore her sultry red dress and was disappointed. Peggy gave Steve strength in ways that Bucky never could. Being together with Bucky at the time would've ruined Steve's life. It is only human to want the best, and Steve Rogers is human.

The sound of the door opening and closing with a faint click was heard from the kitchen.

Steve probably left to give him space.

Knowing this, Bucky let out a sigh of relief and decided to take a nap.

Steve has not come home for two days.

On the first day, Bucky was anxious but decided that this was probably Steve's way of giving him time to think about everything.

At night, Bucky waited and waited for Steve, sitting on his couch and checking the clock every few seconds, his feet tapping restlessly on the floor.

Steve never showed.

This is how it should be, Bucky thought.

Lying on his now too-empty bed, Bucky stares up at the ceiling.

Steve shouldn't be sharing a bed with Bucky anyway. It's not how normal pals act.

On the second day, Bucky was basically a ball of nerves.

Bucky paced around his apartment, looking at the door periodically like his efforts could somehow magically compel Steve to come home.

Bucky is worried.

He didn't know where Steve was sleeping, if he was eating, or if he was safe. Instincts are difficult to get rid of, and Bucky can't help but compulsively worry that Steve is getting his ass handed to him in a back alley somewhere.

Bucky already called Sam the first night Steve was gone, and Sam confirmed that Steve was not staying with him. Bucky doesn't doubt Sam, so there are only two options left. Bucky doesn't want to check Steve's old apartment or his house after being the one who lashes out at Steve. That's hypocritical, and Bucky doesn't want to make the situation worse if Steve doesn't want to see him. 

Steve is staying with Sam.

He begged Sam not to tell Bucky.

Sam was reluctant to lie to his friend at first but gave in. Steve knows now that Bucky doesn't reciprocate his feelings, and he was dumb to presume so. After their last conversation, Steve is too ashamed to face Bucky. Not only that, he didn't want Bucky to hate him.

Steve could not bear to look into Bucky's eyes; if they were full of contempt, Steve would break down right then and there. Steve knows realistically that Bucky would never hate him for something like this, but he can't risk it.

Steve shaves his face in front of the mirror, cursing when he accidentally cuts himself.

He looks haggard. His hair is unkempt, and he's been wearing the same clothes for the past two days. Steve and Sam don't exactly have the same hair type, so he can't borrow Sam's shampoo. Furthermore, Sam also barred Steve from borrowing his clothes.

'Look, man, you can keep dreaming if you're even thinking about touching my 100% cashmere shirts because your big ass is not gonna stretch out my only prized possessions.'

For now, Steve is stuck with his wrinkled, no longer white shirt and stuffy grey sweatpants.

Steve grabs some toilet paper, tears a small piece off, rolls it into a ball, and sticks it onto his bleeding skin. After shaving, he steps out of the bathroom and into the living room.

The smell of eggs and bacon greets him in a way that is a little bit off-putting. Sam's cooking is good, but it's not the same as Bucky's.

Seventy years after confinement, and Bucky's cooking still has that Brooklyn charm.

For example, Bucky uses Spam instead of bacon.

The 30s and 40s were not a great time if you were poor. Steve and Bucky's stingy apartment lacked a fridge, and Spam was the only meat that didn't need one. Even if they somehow managed to afford a refrigerator, it wasn't like they had the money for steak and ribs.

They have the money now, but old habits die hard. Perhaps it's for comfort; the nostalgic taste reminds them of what they no longer had anymore.

Brown sugar meatloaf, cream cheese and walnut sandwiches, and Bucky's cornflake peanut butter cookies were to die for. Steve never knew how Bucky could be so energized and baked even after a long shift at the office.

'Aw, what's with the gloom, Stevie? Be a good pal and come help me mix the dough,' Bucky would say, dancing his way to the radio and turning it up.

'Now ain't this just a swell tune, Stevie?'

The music harmonized with Bucky, not the other way around.

The soft warm glow from their only light bulb was Bucky's stage light. His feet twirled as his hips swayed, his arms balancing in the air languidly like a swan.

Steve was mesmerized.

He vaguely knew that friends weren't supposed to be enchanted by one another, but he was. For fear of the implications behind his feelings, he tethered his emotions that were erupting to bursting out.

Steve dragged his feet slowly and painfully.

He was always an unwilling participant in whatever new thing Bucky's creative mind thought of.

Eventually, Bucky would be fed up and pull him in by both his arms, their fingers intertwining. 

'Oh, now don’t turn ordinary on me; I get tired of ordinary dames. And I don’t want to get tired of you,' Bucky giggled with his crooked grin, his eyes forming into crescents, shining brighter than the moon outside their window.

Steve looked into his favorite pair of ocean blues and knew he couldn't sulk any longer.

This was their usual night. Bucky would be deliriously spontaneous, and Steve would be unimpressed. Their energy matched each other's so well, a random passerby might've thought they were lovers.

Steve leaned against the wall, fondly reminiscing about a young and carefree Bucky.

Memories of Bucky before Azzano were always his favorite. Bucky was so bright, youthful, and mischievous before the war turned him into a man. Bucky used to be optimistic towards what life had to offer him. Now, Steve is overjoyed, heartstrings pulled taut, if Bucky just even smiles.

"Breakfast is ready. What are you doing, dazing over there?" Sam's voice pulled Steve back to reality. 

"Huh? Oh, nothing," Steve says and walks to the shelf to grab a plate.

Sam gives a suspicious look. 

"Look, I love you, man, but you cannot stay on my couch indefinitely. Especially when I know you have a house and an apartment. What are you even doing here anyway?" Sam asks.

He makes his way to the dining table, his footsteps echoing louder and louder in Steve's head the further he strides away, even when the sound itself is getting quieter.

Steve thinks about the question and frowns. He scoops some eggs and bacon onto his plate and follows Sam. 

"I don't know. I know that Bucky won't search here if you told him I wasn't here," Steve explains.

He knows that no matter if Bucky is mad or disappointed in him, he still cares about Steve. After being gone for days, Bucky might get worried, and he doesn't want him to come looking for him. Not when he's not ready to face Bucky yet. 

"I don't know if y'all had a bestie's quarrel or what games you guys are playing, but you need to make up. I at least deserve to know what happened if you're going to stay at my place," Sam says, raising an eyebrow at Steve.

Steve looks down at his plate and absentmindedly breaks an egg with his fork.

Over easy.

The orange goo that runs out glistens under the light. Steve thinks about what he's going to say. 

"I returned to the future because I realized that Bucky has always been the one I wanted, not Peggy. I thought that Bucky was in with me, too." Steve pauses and considers leaving it at that, but disregards the thought.

"I confessed to Bucky." Steve dries his throat and wets his lips.

He stabs his fork into the mess and brings it to his mouth, hesitating before taking a bite. Steve chews slowly and deliberately as if to prolong his life before his imminent death sentence. He finally swallows.

"He rejected me," Steve whispers.

There was silence.

Sam looks at Steve, perplexed, as if he's saying, Why would Bucky do that?

Sam continues to eat like he's also pondering over his words. His eyebrows furrow like he's deep in thought. 

"What did you say? How did you confess?" Sam asks after a while. 

"You're not surprised at me and Bucky?" Steve asks, astonished.

Homosexuality has become a part of the norms in the modern century, but Sam seems almost too nonchalant.

"No, I was more shocked that you left Bucky for Peggy in the first place, after fighting for him and the Sokovia Accords," Sam says. "I genuinely believed you guys were already together at the time—until you kissed Sharon," Sam says again.

Steve thinks back to the Sokovia Accords; it feels like a lifetime ago. Steve fought to protect Bucky because it was the right thing to do.

Sure, it was also because Bucky was his best friend, and he would do anything to keep Bucky safe even if he was in the wrong.

Sure, he imagined what Bucky's lips would've felt like when he kissed Sharon, but he summed that up to being an impulsive thought. The kiss between him and Sharon had been wrong anyway.

Looking back on it now, Steve has had feelings for Bucky for as long as he can remember; he simply didn't realize it. He was scared of his foreign emotions during the 40s, and it carried onto him even during the present times. 

"I was stupid. I didn't know what I wanted until it was too late," Steve concedes. "Bucky asked me if I had feelings for him, and I told him I had been trying to get him to notice for the past few weeks." Steve takes a deep breath.

"Okay, that's not the most romantic way to go about it," Sam says.

Steve grimaced. Sam's right; it really wasn't. 

"He said he would think about it, and I panicked. I grabbed his arm and told him I thought he liked me back. He got angry and asked me what made me think that," Steve recollects the event painfully. 

Sam listened and didn't say a word. He scratched his chin, processing the information given to him like a mission report. 

"Well, you fucked that up," Sam says as a matter of fact.

Steve gives a self-deprecating chuckle and nods, "Yeah, I did."

The only sound in the air is the clink of metal and porcelain. 

"Why didn't you just tell him you loved him and let him think about it instead of running away after messing up?" Sam asks.

Steve doesn't know the answer.

At first, he only left to get some air. Then, mortification spread like wildfire, and Steve couldn't go back in and see Bucky again. All the little things he had done to try to woo Bucky have been exposed.

When the sun had set, he was unable to stomach sleeping in the same bed as Bucky. Not because he didn't want to, but because he didn't know if Bucky wanted him to, and he was ashamed.

So, he turned to Sam.

One day turned into two, and now he doesn't know how long he's going to stay.

"I don't know; I wasn't thinking," Steve says. 

"Well, I can tell that much; thanks for not underestimating my observant skills," Sam says sarcastically.

"I just thought that—I thought Bucky liked me back. I was wrong," Steve whispers, as if saying it any louder will hurt his soul.

"You don't know that, Bucky was just mad. That doesn't mean he doesn't return your feelings," Sam explains.

"Well, either way, as you said, I already ruined things with him. Bucky probably doesn't want to see me ever again," Steve says and runs his hand through his hair.

Not see Bucky ever again.

Ever.

Steve feels like his head is ringing. There's no way Steve can handle that. The five years that Bucky was gone after the snap almost killed him. There's no way he can stay away from Bucky for the rest of their lives.

"Well, the good thing is, you can't really fuck things up too bad with Bucky. He most definitely does not hate you. Why don't you go talk to him again? He told you he would think about it, didn't he?" Sam says. 

"Yeah, but I don't know if I can face him after that," Steve says, grimacing.

Steve watches Sam's face contort.

"Are you kidding me? Do you know how destroyed Bucky was after you left?"

Steve feels his heart drop.

"It took him so long to heal from that. And now you're letting your ego hurt him again. Get over your issues and talk to him, Steve," Sam says sharply.

Steve is speechless; Sam is right. He can't hurt Bucky again, especially after leaving him the first time. He's so fucking stupid, he hadn't consider how him leaving would affect Bucky.

The imagery of Bucky waking up alone from a nightmare and crying himself to sleep punched Steve in the guts so hard he clenched his fists.

Bucky is probably worried sick; Steve hadn't even thought about that, except to evade him.

Steve feels like such an asshole, treating Bucky like this.

Steve runs his hand over his face.

But does Bucky even like him?

What if Bucky really doesn't want to see him?

"I still don't know if Bucky even likes me," Steve sighs.

"Well, you'll never know if you don't find out. You need to go find him and ask him. You owe this to him," Sam says. 

"You're right," Steve sighs.

Steve has already fucked it up once; he's not going to do it again. He owes it to Bucky.

Determined after the pep talk, he stands up. He finished eating a while ago. On the path to the kitchen, he thinks about Bucky.

He had been so preoccupied with avoiding Bucky and his own humiliation that he didn't stop to think about how Bucky was doing.

He rinses his plate and puts it into the dishwasher.

"I think I'm going to head out for a while," Steve tells Sam without looking back and puts on his shoe once he reaches the door.

Steve walks out and starts sprinting in the direction of Bucky's apartment. 

Chapter Text

Bucky did not get a wink of sleep these past days.

Bucky is a mess.

Two days is not a long time, but it passed excruciatingly slowly without Steve.

In the morning, he felt no motivation to get up, his limbs feeling the weight of his previous sleep-deprived night.

During the day, with no one around to humor him, Bucky could do nothing but stare at the wall, glancing between the clock and door every few seconds.

In the evening, when the sun begins to set, Bucky finally moves from his couch and goes into the kitchen.

Cooking a whole meal for just one person felt excessive, so Bucky has been taking advantage of man's single greatest invention: cup noodles. The white noise hummed by the microwave was oddly entrancing as he watched the plate spin his dinner around. The ding shook him out of his bliss.

Eating alone, with nothing but air in the seat next to him, even chewing took a great amount of effort. The dull, up-and-down movements of his jaw acted like the tick of a clock. 

Tick.

Tock.

Up.

Down.

Bucky thinks he's going insane. 

He's constantly restless. He itched to see Steve's face.

Sometimes, he will feel a presence beside him, behind him, all around him, only to turn around and be met with disappointment. 

At night, Bucky skips his usual shower. He knows he must look like a mess.

He can almost hear the slight tilt of Steve's voice, see the stupid grin on his face, and the coy rise of an eyebrow. 

'Why so glum, pal?' 

Bucky laughs. A strained, tired, choked series of breaths.

"I miss you, punk," Bucky whispers to no one.

He doesn't have to reach up to know tears are flowing down his face. 

Going to sleep was dreadful. He already knew the predicament that would soon take place, and yet there is nothing he can do to stop it.

He closes his eyes to the wet pillow.

Waking up in the middle of the night, by himself, Bucky felt so alone sitting in the emptiness of his dark room.

Any other day, and Steve would've been by his side already, consoling him.

To make up for Steve's absence, Bucky put his own two arms around himself to get any semblance of comfort. His back is covered in cold sweat, with a way-too-familiar chill. Bucky's mind is racing with Steve and his nightmare. He wants to rip his hair out.

Bucky buries his head in his trembling knees, crying in a huddled position.

He was somebody's son. 

Bucky heaves, breathing way too fast. He can't stop the air from pumping in and out of him.

Every single night, he relives the horrific atrocities he committed, adding yet another person to his long list of names.

Bucky wants to feel the bone-curdling pain. He wants to feel everything his victims felt. In a way, his suffering took away some of the guilt.

However, Bucky also wants to be surrounded by warm, protective arms and an unyielding, gentle voice that reassures him and tells him it wasn't his fault.

Bucky wants Steve.

Bucky feels faint, like he's about to pass out any second now. His ribs hurt from how hard he's inhaling and exhaling, lungs burning as if they've been set on fire. His lips and fingers tingle, barely able to keep still enough to wrap around his limbs.

Each time Bucky's chest rises and falls, his surroundings drop a degree in temperature, reminding him of his forced cryosleep. Bucky wails at the impending doom of losing Steve forever, again.

Wrong place, wrong time.

"Stop!" Bucky sobbed with a choke, digging his nails and metal into the flesh of his biceps and dragging it down. The sting barely fazed him. It actually felt good. Relieving, like a breath of fresh air on a spring day. Steve would disapprove of his coping methods. Well, Steve's opinion doesn't matter right now because he's not here.

Bucky hadn't wanted to make Steve mad; he just wanted him to come home.

Why won't he come home? 

Bucky tries to replicate Steve's soothing voice in his head, trying to imagine what Steve would say if he were here. It only makes things worse. Bucky's abdomen spasms knowing that Steve's not here and probably never will be again.

Bucky desperately needs Steve right now because it hurts so bad. It hurts so fucking bad, and Steve isn't here to fix it. Bucky is once again reminded of the fact that Steve isn't at his side in an instant, Steve isn't wiping the sweat off Bucky's face, and Steve isn't coaxing Bucky to sleep in the warmth of his embrace.

Bucky can't get Steve out of his mind. He can't not compare his current situation to the bliss that was merely a few days ago. 

'Please, I won't tell anyone.'

Without warning, a ripple of nausea kicks in. Bucky swayed with the need to throw up.

The bathroom feels an ocean away, and his muscles are weak. Bucky's gut twists at the thought of getting up, an act so difficult that he would rather disintegrate into a pile of flesh and die.

Bucky collapses sideways onto his bed and hopes sleep overcomes him sooner rather than later.

If he vomited onto his sheets, he didn't feel it.

Waking up in the morning is numbing.

Everywhere is freezing, his bed is too big, and his apartment is too calm.

Not calm in the way that makes Bucky open a pulp novel and read or water his plants. His apartment is drained of color, spiritless. Bucky was used to his small, insignificant life in his empty apartment; he enjoyed it, even. Steve's presence had made Bucky forget what it's like to be by himself. Bucky feels like he's crashing, coming down from a high. Bucky doesn't know if it's worse missing Steve muddleheaded and shellshocked at night or overthinking during the day when every single negative possibility feels plausible.

Bucky groans when he turns his head; a blinding headache greets him.

Kneading his temples, Bucky glances sluggishly outside his window. The sky is his favorite shade of blue. It reminds him of Steve. Now, the bright color only adds salt to the wound.

The pigeons are flying, scouting for pieces of crumbs scrapped by people. Bucky feels like a pigeon, scrambling to pick up after Peggy. He failed that too, like all the other things he's failed. Steve flowed through his fingers like water. Bucky couldn't scoop him back up no matter how hard he tried.

He always somehow found a way to fuck things up.

Bucky wants to rot in bed until bedsores chew through him.

Grumbling as he shuffles out of bed, his dog tags clink against each other. Scratching his chin while walking to the bathroom, Bucky is nonchalant when he catches sight of himself in the mirror. Lengthy faded claw marks stretch across his skin. He must've torn himself pretty deep last night if they still haven't fully healed yet.

Squeezing the last bit of toothpaste onto the brush, Bucky brushes his teeth.

He's glad he didn't puke; he is almost out of detergent, and he doesn't feel like getting out of the apartment today.

Bucky leans down to put his mouth under the faucet, pulling back his long hair and holding his dog tags onto his chest so they don't fall into the sink.

He rinses the white foam out. After he's done with his bathroom duties, Bucky goes to his drawers to pick out a henley for the day.

He only had half the shirt on when he stopped at the soft click of the apartment door unlocking and opening. 

Steve?

Bucky doesn't want to get his hopes up.

Putting his guard up in case it's an enemy, Bucky tacitly walks out of his room and into the hallway, silently placing each foot in front of the other.

His heart drops to his stomach.

"Bucky," Steve awkwardly but heartily smiles when he sees Bucky poke his head out from behind the wall like a cat. 

Upon discovering that it is Steve who's standing in his living room rather than an intruder, Bucky's anxiety level spikes instead of decreasing.

Bucky wanted to see Steve so badly, but without mental preparation, it's like his brain shut down.

It's easy for Bucky to deal with someone who wants him dead; all he had to do was fight, and Bucky was trained for that. Whatever Steve has in store for him is definitely way worse. No amount of time can ever prepare him for this. He doesn't even know what this is.

Dread and anticipation swirl together like a sickly sweet milkshake that's been out for a few hours.

Bucky hesitantly steps out from behind the barrier when their eyes make contact. Every footstep weighed a thousand pounds. His head throbs with each passing second.

Bucky then averts his gaze once he's fully standing in front of Steve. 

"Hey," Bucky's voice wavers, and he gives a weak smile.

Sneaking a look here and there, Bucky assesses the situation. On the surface, Steve appears to be uninjured, well-fed, and semi-well-rested. Other than the slightly matted hair, Steve looks to be in pristine condition. Just like when he left.

This feels surreal.

The dull ache of longing for Steve has been so ingrained into Bucky for the past few days that Steve standing in front of him makes him light-headed. Bucky wants to know where Steve has been, why he left, and whether or not Steve still likes him.

Bucky doesn't even know why Steve came back. Maybe he's just here to pack up his things and move out. Maybe he's here to let Bucky down again. The thought knifed Bucky in his heart, splitting it open if it wasn't already. He has so many questions to ask and doesn't know where to start, so he doesn't. He just stands there like a loser, lumberingly inspecting the dark curves and lines on the wooden floor instead of the moles on Steve's cheek like he wants to.

Bucky is afraid that if he looks up at Steve, he'll be faced with scrutiny. 

"Hey," Steve repeats softly.

The silence is loud.

Bucky remains fixated on the floor like he's in a staring contest while Steve stares at him.

Bucky is right in front of Steve, clearly having just woken up. Bucky is in his boxer briefs still with just a shirt on, hands behind his back, like he has a secret to hide. Steve has to say something, but the fishbone stuck in his throat, scratching sharply at the inner walls of his vocal cords every time he swallows, is preventing him.

Steve must say something, anything.

Recalling Bucky's blunt rejection, Steve isn't so sure that Bucky's previous statement of 'thinking about it' will be upheld.

Instead of vocalizing, Steve takes a few steps forward and places a hand on Bucky's upper arms. Bucky tenses at the unexpected contact but relaxes instead of pulling away. He doesn't know what Steve is doing. Steve is encouraged by the small confirmation that at the very least, Bucky doesn't evade his touch. That's a good sign because this means Bucky doesn't completely hate him.

Biting the bullet, Steve takes another step forward, going into Bucky's space just a little bit.

"Bucky, I'm sorry for disappearing out of nowhere, and I'm sorry for the way I acted the other day," Steve cringes but carries on, "I shouldn't have assumed anything, and I was an asshole the way I treated you."

Bucky nods.

"It's alright," Bucky says, a tremor in his voice.

Clearly, things were not alright. Not by the way Bucky purses his lips into a thin line, nor by the way Bucky still refuses to meet Steve's eyes.

Steve is exasperated.

He doesn't know how to make things better. Heat rushes to Steve's head, and all he can focus on is Bucky. Steve can't mess this up again; he needs to do this right for Bucky. After everything, Bucky deserved a proper confession, even if he doesn't reciprocate Steve's feelings.

Steve blurts everything out.

"I'm sorry, I panicked when I thought you rejected me, and I couldn't—I thought I might lose you again. I just—I wasn't thinking straight, so I ran away, and what I wanted to say was, "Steve rambles and pauses, his throat a hollow clam.

Bucky subconsciously stands straighter.

Steve doesn't know if he has it in him to do it.

Quietness ensues for a short period of time. It couldn't have been more than a few seconds, but it was enough for Bucky to lose his patience.

"Like I said, it's alright, Steve. I was an ass too, I'm sorry," Bucky mumbles, fidgeting the hems of his shirt.

"What? No, Bucky, you did nothing wrong." Steve is helpless.

How can Bucky possibly think that anything he did was wrong?

Steve knows the fragility of Bucky's mental state. He knew this, and yet he still left. That was completely Steve's fault. Guilt bites away at Steve for making Bucky think something so absurd. His own reasons for leaving now seemed so stupid and immature.

Was his ego really that important?

"I overreacted; it's fine if you're mad at me," Bucky says again, shrugging.

Now, Steve is really confused.

"Bucky, I could never be mad at you, you know that," Steve's face softens, and he starts again, "You didn't overreact; it was my fault. I shouldn't have left."

Bucky didn't care.

Steve left, and there must've been a reason. Clearly, Bucky didn't communicate well enough. Bucky has run that exact moment through his head over and over again, like a repeating song. Every single time, he has come to the same conclusion.

It was Bucky's fault for yelling at Steve in the end.

He drove Steve away.

"It doesn't matter now; I'm just glad you're back," Bucky offers a stiff grin.

He doesn't want to talk about this anymore. He doesn't want to talk about anything anymore. He was still tired from his lack of sleep, and this conversation is stressing him out.

Bucky starts to turn towards the kitchen.

He is hungry, and Steve must be too. He should cook something.

"Buck, wait, please. There's something else I have to say." Steve quietly grips Bucky's forearm so he can't leave.

Bucky sucks in a breath.

There it is, he thinks.

He's going to break my heart.

Bucky turns back slowly, as if dragging on time will ease the impact.

He can handle an apology; he doesn't know if the same can be said about whatever else Steve wants to say. Still, he stays put.

There was another awkward silence.

There seems to be a lot of that.

Bucky can feel Steve's gaze on him. He hopes Steve isn't leaving again, even though he knows he is. Or worse, he hopes Steve isn't going to talk about the confession, even though he knows Steve will. Bucky already knows, but he hopes. It's the only thing left he can do.

Steve opens his mouth.

Here it comes.

Bucky braces himself.

"I," Steve says. He takes a deep breath, pressure building up.

"I love you, Buck, so, so much. It took me so long to realize, but I love you," Steve ends in a hushed whisper.

Steve's heart stops beating.

Bucky's head snaps up in surprise.

What?

Steve looks down at Bucky's sapphire eyes, big and watery in a way that melts Steve straight into a puddle of adoration and guilt. 

There's no way, Bucky thinks.

"Really?" Bucky's voice is small and shaky. "Do you really mean that?" Bucky asks in shock—in disbelief.

There is no way Steve just said what Bucky thinks he said, but Bucky's ears wouldn't lie to him. The super soldier serum made sure of that. Even with the previous statement being true, Bucky thinks maybe his old age has finally caught up to him and is overpowering the enchantments.

Bucky had taken Steve's departure as a sign that Steve retracted his words. To be blindsided by this confession out of the blue, it's like a page ripped out of Bucky's magazines that he used to sneak into the military.

Bucky is so happy, his mouth opens and closes, at a loss for words. It feels like the Fourth of July with the way things are booming in his chest. He feels a sudden surge of clarity; the exhaustion is washing away.

Bucky yearned for these words from Steve for nine decades; it doesn't feel real. 

"Yes," Steve confirms. "I love you," Steve says again, hope seeping into him.

Steve will repeat it as many times as it takes for Bucky to believe him. He would let Bucky stab him in the heart to prove it, though he knew Bucky would rather shoot himself in the head before he did that.

"I've loved you since before I even knew what love was, when we were just stupid kids figuring it out and fending against the world in Brooklyn. I'm sorry it took me this long to realize my feelings. I was dumb and foolish and cared about all the wrong things," Steve says.

Steve wishes he could talk some sense into his younger self.

He would grab his shoulders, punch him in the face, shake him, and then scream at him for betraying the only person that mattered. 

Bucky looks at Steve. These words, this situation—it was everything Bucky dreamt of.

The earnestness that poured out of Steve's gaze as he stared into Bucky's soul like he was the only thing in this world made Bucky reel. Being on the other end of Steve's affection has been Bucky's deepest desire since the 1930s. He didn't think his feelings would come to fruition, yet here he is.

Bucky doesn't stay happy for too long; ice-cold water dunks on Bucky when another realization dawns on him. The same realization that had him 'reject' Steve in the first place.

There's no way Steve is actually in love with him. There must be another reason Steve is doing this, because why would Steve like Bucky?

Stepping out of Steve's grasp, Bucky retreats. 

"I—no," Bucky says slowly.

Steve completely crushes at the rejection and sinks so painfully. His whole body sags, defeated. Standing there alone, it's as if Steve was a child and Bucky ripped his lollipop out of his mouth, then threw it onto the ground and stomped on it for good measure.

Bucky turns his head in frustration, rubbing his nose bridge and then flinching away as if his own hands bit him.

Bucky walks backward, away from Steve.

"This isn't fair. You can't just stumble back into my life and profess your love to me when you left me for a woman," Bucky is choked up with sobs.

Tears well up in Bucky's eyes, and he tries really hard to blink them away. 

"Bucky..." Steve starts, slightly following Bucky in his footsteps, "I'm sorry, I don't know what I was thinking. I thought that I would be happy with her at first—" Steve was cut off.

"-Yeah, you thought," Bucky scoffed. "It didn't work out, so now what? I'm the only one left? The shiny new car got towed, so now you're back to the dusty truck. I'm not going to be with you just because you couldn't be happy with her."

Bucky feels like he's been cheated. This is all he ever wanted, and yet it's not.

"Bucky, it's not that—" Steve tries to explain, but Bucky won't let him.

"I've been second to Peggy ever since she came into existence, and I'm not gonna be that again," Bucky utters and sniffs, brows furrowing achingly.

Bucky wants Steve so much. He wants Steve so much his whole body is in physical pain, but he can't be Peggy's replacement. Bucky at least still has one shred of self-dignity left in him. Bucky wanted Steve, but not if Steve didn't want him back. And Steve obviously doesn't.

Bucky's eyes stung; his heart wouldn't be able to stand it.

Worse than being without Steve is being with Steve, who doesn't love him.

"I can't ... I can't be your second choice, Steve," voice broken like delicate thread, "not when I've spent my whole life loving you," Bucky whispers, a cotton ball clogging his throat, turning the last few words into a stifled whimper.

A quiet breeze stops in the air.

There, Bucky said it. The truth. The only truth that has ever existed. One that he kept locked away beneath his bed.

His own tears betray him. 

Steve stands there, mouth agape, like he was struck by lightning.

Is this how Bucky felt during the war? Is this why Bucky has been distancing himself from Steve ever since?

Steve was even more shocked at the quiet admission. Bucky had whispered it so faintly that if a pin had dropped on the floor, Steve would've missed it.

Bucky loved him back.

Steve should be happy. He should be so happy; he's jumping up and down, pumping his fists into the sky.

Bucky loved Steve back. Not only that, Bucky had loved Steve his whole life.

This groundbreaking reveal in another scenario would've sent Steve over the edge, explosions in his ears. However, Steve is here right now, standing in front of Bucky. Standing in front of Bucky, who looks so distraught.

Steve quickens his movements when he senses Bucky's evasion. Hastily grabbing Bucky's wrists, Steve holds him there before Bucky can turn around. 

"Bucky, let me explain," Steve pleads.

Bucky isn't hearing him.

Bucky snatches his arm, but Steve is persistent and doesn't let go.

"Let me go," Bucky doesn't want to hear Steve.

He doesn't want to listen because he's scared.

Steve doesn't love him back.

That's the thought he went to sleep with every night.

What if Steve convinces him otherwise?

Bucky isn't scared of Steve's explanation; he's scared of himself. He's scared of how weak he is when it comes to Steve. He knows that if Steve says what he says, no matter what he says, Bucky will fold, and that, that, scares the ever-living shit out of him.

"Bucky, wait, just, please," Steve is desperate.

He follows Bucky as Bucky walks backward. 

"You're the one who left me," Bucky's voice cracks.

He sounds like a wounded dog. He continues to yank at his hand, but although he's strong, Steve isn't any weaker. His prevalence is enviable.

"Bucky-" 

"And I wish you hadn't come back, because, because then, I wouldn't be in so much pain," Bucky whimpers.

wouldn't be so damn confused and reawaken the flame he tried so hard to smother.

Bucky sways his whole body, but it's like Steve is holding on for his life to the edge of a cliff with a few hundred feet drop down. He just would not let go.

When Steve hears the words that come out of Bucky's mouth, however, he falters.

It's crushing hearing Bucky say that it's better if he wasn't here. And Steve would leave right there on the spot, giving Bucky what he wanted no matter how much it hurts, leaving him alone—but he can't.

Steve can't do that; every muscle in his body is against it.

He can't leave Bucky. He can't bring himself to leave Bucky when Bucky was already taken away from him, twice. He can't leave Bucky when he is already so in love with Bucky. He can't leave Bucky when he hears him—the confession. More of a revelation, really. But that revelation is going to be his downfall because he can't leave now knowing that Bucky feels the same.

"I thought I loved her because I didn't think anything else was possible; I didn't know we could be possible. I was a coward. I was scared of my own feelings, and I let that hurt you, and I am so sorry. I will spend the rest of my life regretting that," Steve hurriedly explains, rambling to Bucky's unwilling ears.

Bucky wrestles harder, and his back collides into the wall, taking Steve with him.

Steve falls onto Bucky, almost squishing him with his weight. Propping himself off the wall, Steve continues after the speed bump. Steve needs Bucky to know, needs Bucky to believe him.

"When I went back, I thought about you every single day, every single night, every single second. I was going crazy, Buck. You don't have to accept my feelings, but I just, I want you to know the truth—you're the only person I've ever loved; no one else has even come within even a mile of that. I would live and die for you, and I would spend the rest of my life making up for my mistakes, please, Bucky, if you would let me."

Exhausted and panting heavily, Bucky listened to Steve.

He has been listening this whole time, but his stubbornness refuses to let him admit defeat.

"You're a real punk, you know that?" Bucky exhales, closing his eyes.

Steve goes quiet.

"Yeah, you've made sure to tell me many times," Steve smiles at the familiar insult despite the pit in his gut.

They both stay there in silence, Bucky leaning his back on the wall and Steve a few inches from Bucky's face, one hand next to Bucky's head and the other holding Bucky's wrists still.

Steve tries deciphering Bucky's reaction like a crossword puzzle, but Bucky is a foreign language.

Bucky has aged a considerable amount since the 1940s, but in all the right places. The subtle bump on Bucky's nose and his thin pink lips stayed the same, but now they're accompanied by stubbles and shallow forehead wrinkles that Steve found charming, if anything else.

Their position would've felt intimate; Steve was close enough to kiss Bucky if he wanted to, had it been any other time. However, feeling like he's in the middle of a warzone still, Steve waits for the ticking bomb that is Bucky.

Eventually, after a few minutes that stretched like hours, Bucky sighs.

"How do I know you're not going to leave me if I don't make you happy?" Bucky asks, keeping his eyes closed but drawing together his brows and pressing his lips into a thin line.

Steve left Peggy when she didn't make him happy; what makes Bucky any different?

"Bucky, you've been there for me so many times; I couldn't be grateful enough. I would never leave you, ever," Steve whispers and tries to reassure Bucky.

At the words, Bucky suddenly seemed fragile, like a dried-up stick that would snap at the hint of a gentle breeze.

"But you already did." Bucky opens his eyes that were drowned in so many tears; he has to squint to look up properly at Steve.

"Bucky—" Cheeks stinging like he was just slapped, Steve doesn't know what to say.

Bucky is right; Steve did leave him.

Leaving Bucky was the worst mistake Steve has ever made in his whole entire life, and he doesn't know how to make it right. Doesn't know if he can even make it right.

"Bucky, I promise I will never do that again. I swear on my life, Bucky, I would never hurt you, ever again," Steve begs, grasping at straws.

Bucky jabs Steve in the chest, hard, with his metal arm.

Steve grimaced but didn't say anything. He just stood there and took it. Steve deserved it, after all.

As if once wasn't enough, Bucky punches Steve again, in the same area.

This time Steve lets out a groan.

"If, if I give you a chance, do you promise you won't leave me?" Bucky asks, voice shaky and low. 

"I promise, I promise, I promise," Steve chants like a prayer to Bucky.

He would drop down to his knees and keep promising forever if that's what it takes. 

Bucky wants to believe Steve. That's the problem. He's already made the grave mistake of listening to him.

A seed has been growing in his chest, spurting into a full-grown tree, fighting to fill what little space Bucky had left between his ribs.

Bucky wishes that Steve could convince him that what he's saying is true, that Steve is in love with Bucky. It's just hard for him to believe, when not more than a month ago, Steve had been happily married to Peggy and nearly completed a whole entire life without him.

From his perspective, Steve moved on. To Steve, Bucky was simply a familiar stranger. Someone from a past that Steve had purposefully left behind. A past that he only has a vague recollection of.

When Steve told Bucky his plan and handed him his notebook, Bucky wanted to scream.

Why did Steve have to be so selfish? Why did he have to leave?

However, Bucky stayed quiet.

He knew that if he asked Steve to stay and told Steve how much he needed him, he would've. Not of love, but of obligation.

Bucky didn't want to be a broken man, taken care of by his best pal like a child, intruding on his path to freedom.

Steve never said it, but Bucky knew.

Steve felt a weird sense of responsibility towards Bucky. All because of one event. Bucky didn't think falling off that train door was anybody's fault but his own, and yet Steve disagreed. Bucky didn't know how to get it through Steve's thick skull that Bucky willingly joined the mission, knowing the risks.

Because of that, Bucky just nodded, swallowing his complaints and desires.

Bucky stayed silent, so Steve grabbed his things and left. The platform took Steve away so fast, Bucky didn't have a second to protest before there was just empty space staring back at him.

Then, there was an old man. A man whose face Bucky didn't recognize but wished he saw grow into. A man who didn't even turn back to look at him. Like Bucky didn't exist, didn't matter, wasn't worth the effort of a simple gesture. 

Bucky regretted that every fucking night, so goddamn much.

He hated himself for it. Hated that he didn't have the nerve to be honest. Hated that he couldn't be as selfish as Steve. Hated that even if Steve asked him again, Bucky would still not do a damn thing differently.

Steve was touches from his dreams, lingering still when he awoke. Lingering from seventy years ago.

Bucky drilled the memories of slight, accidental, friendly brushes of skin into his brain. Drilling even with his brain already scrambled to eggs. There was nothing else he could hold onto. All he had left were memories. All he could do was relive them.

Steve got everything he wanted, while Bucky was wasting time, struggling to build up his courage in his dreams.

But.

Who was Bucky without Steve?

Bucky looks at Steve's shoes, then at his legs, wrapped in the same exact grey sweatpants he left in. Steve's white shirt has stains on it, probably impossible to remove now. Steve's hair is messy; it reminds him of their gross nonexistent hygiene during the war.

Scared eyes are watching him. 

Scared?

That's right.

Steve is standing in front of him, young, so real; Bucky can push his palm forward and press without going through it.

Steve had come back for him. Steve told him he loved him. Steve is scared because Bucky might reject him. That is so bizarre, it's laughable. Despite that, it is the truth.

Bucky has another chance, he realizes. Steve is not gone anymore, and Bucky doesn't have to imagine Steve's touch to feel it anymore.

This still sounds too good to be true, and Bucky doesn't know how to let himself have this. He doesn't know if he's allowed to have this.

'If you had me now, would you take me away?' Went unsaid.

The logical side of Bucky tells him that there's no way that Steve has gotten over Peggy so quickly, that this must be a lie—but Steve.

Steve looks so anxious, awaiting Bucky's response, and accepting Steve is easy. It's easy to give in to something he's spent every moment craving for. Whatever revelation Steve has gotten when he went back in the 40s, the revelation that led them to this moment, that revelation is going to be his downfall, he thinks. But then he stops thinking. He must've, because a quiet breath comes out of his mouth without him realizing. 

"Okay." 

"Okay?" Steve asks, air catching in his throat, confused.

Darting his eyes after the long deliberation, Bucky finally says, again, more sure of himself this time.

"Okay," Bucky reaffirms. 

Excitement and joy like he's never experienced until now brighten over his face. A firework lights in Steve when the meaning of Bucky's short statement fully seeps into his skin. The flame reaches the end of the string, setting off a series of loud, beautiful explosions. It's almost comical. In a way Steve never would've believed in before.

A wide, goofy grin spreads across Steve's face.

"Okay."

Bucky smiles a little, too, when what this all means also hits him. 

Bucky finally, finally got what he wanted.

Bucky tugs Steve into a tight hug.

The instant wash of relief springs like falling flowers. A million pounds are lifted off Bucky, and he doesn't feel stuffy anymore. Bucky has not been this clear-headed since Hydra.

Steve squeezes even tighter in return, tiny droplets of tears unintentionally falling onto Bucky.

"Don't turn sappy on me now," Bucky's muffled voice vibrates against Steve's sternum, tickling him through his shirt. 

Laughing, "You've been crying more than me," Steve accuses. 

Bucky giggles a little too.

"That's 'cus of you," Bucky says, although he doesn't blame Steve. Not anymore, at least.

Guilty, "I'm sorry, Bucky, really—" Steve tries to apologize again. 

"Well, you have the rest of your life to make up for it," Bucky says.

"But still, Buck—"

God, he's so annoying sometimes.

"Shut up. Don't ruin my good mood now," Bucky says.

Steve snorts. He knows Bucky doesn't mean it.

"Well, do you want me to kiss it better?" Steve says, half-joking.

Bucky goes still, and Steve thinks he's pushed too far.

It's still too soon, and Bucky isn't ready for anything yet, which Steve is a hundred percent fine with. He wants to cherish Bucky, and like Bucky said, they have the rest of his life.

Pulling away, Bucky looks at Steve, expression serious. 

"Yes," Bucky says under his breath.

Chapter Text

Without hesitation, Steve plants his mouth onto Bucky's.

Bucky freezes at first.

He didn't think Steve was actually going to kiss him.

Steve's lips were so soft and gentle, like butterfly wings fluttering. Bucky can't believe it's actually happening. Steve is actually kissing him. Bucky thinks his chest is going to explode from just pure joy. He feels like a child looking into a kaleidoscope for the first time.

Bucky melts into the kiss, feeling himself go limp within Steve's arms.

Jesus, he wanted this so bad. He didn't even know the full extent of how much he wanted this until right this moment.

Although the touch of their closed lips was light, shy, testing the waters, innocent, Bucky can hear the sisters condemning him for his sin.

This is a sin Bucky will gladly go to hell for.

To be honest, Bucky doesn't know what he was thinking when he said yes. In fact, he's pretty sure he wasn't. All he knew was that he had been waiting way too damn long for this. So, so long, it was killing him, eating him up inside constantly. Years of waiting, hiding, pretending.

He was fine with suffering, but when Steve asked him like he was sincere; is sincere, Bucky found holding back unbearable.

As if a trigger is pulled, Bucky surges forward with the weight of all of his grievances.

Harder, eager, surprising Steve.

To prevent Steve from breaking the kiss (not that he was going to), Bucky fists his hand into Steve's shirt to keep him close.

Steve was glad to oblige. He wanted this just as much as Bucky, though his journey in making this discovery was extended.

Steve bites and nips at Bucky's lips, savoring the pink flesh like having his first feast after a dry famine.

This was long overdue.

Both Bucky and Steve are done with waiting.

If Bucky didn't believe in Steve's sentiments before, he's definitely a lot more open-minded now.

Bucky takes one, two laps of Steve's mouth with his tongue. This was the permission Steve needed to deepen the kiss and plunge his own in between Bucky's teeth. 

Everything was overwhelming yet felt so fucking great at the same time. One moment, Bucky thought he had driven Steve away. Next, Steve's tongue is down his throat, licking every inch without missing a beat.

Breaking apart a little, Steve's eyes stared into Bucky's with so much love, so much desperation, it made Bucky's gut twist and his knees go weak.

Steve's large hand gripped Bucky's jaw, his calloused thumb swiping Bucky's swollen lower lip.

Bucky smiles.

Before Bucky knew what was happening, Steve stuck his thumb into Bucky's mouth, keeping it open, and oh, god—Steve's mouth is on his again, sucking on his tongue.

Bucky's back is jammed harder into the wall as Steve crowds closer into him. There was not a single gap between them; he loves it.

Bucky kisses back with just as much desperation.

Steve's other hand creeps inside Bucky's shirt, feeling up his skin, reaching to wrap around the side of his chest.

Bucky's head is buzzing. The touches felt so good. It's better than all of the nighttime fantasies that awoke him in the morning, leaving him unsatisfied, during the war. Now, it's nightmares he wakes to, but the way Steve is kissing him gives him hope that at least he won't be alone when he awakes.

The touches on his skin are killing him.

More than the sensations themselves, Steve being the one who's touching him is what does it the most. Even if Steve had only brushed a finger down his arm, Bucky would still have been just as stirred.

Bucky is almost sliding all the way down the wall as his legs threaten to give out. He swings his arms around Steve's neck, nearly missing it, just barely catching himself.

Bucky pushes himself up at Steve and halts when he feels Steve's erection.

He had a hard time believing Steve wanted to kiss him; now he's dealt with the fact that Steve wants to fuck him.

"You okay?" Steve pulls away and asks, noticing Bucky's abnormality. 

"Yeah, I'm fine; I've just never done it with a man before," Bucky says.

It was the truth. Homosexual relationships were impossible in the 40s, especially during the war. It wasn't safe. You never knew if someone was like you, and you couldn't risk asking. If you were wrong and they reported you, then... Well, that was that.

Before long, he was captured by Hydra and brainwashed, forced to be celibate.

After he broke free from Hydra's control, he was far too busy saving the world to be sleeping with people. 

One war to another.

Bucky forces himself out of it. He doesn't want to dwell on the past, especially at a moment like this.

Bucky leans forward, inching closer to continue the kiss, but Steve stops him with a palm on his chest.

What is the issue now?

Bucky didn't think it was a big deal. There's always a first time for everything. Steve, on the other hand—well. Bucky should've known that he would always be a respectful bastard. 

"Oh! Well, we don't have to do anything, Buck, not until you're ready," Steve says, backing away.

Bucky almost whines at the loss of contact.

He is ready.

Why did this man have to always be so damn courteous?

"Steve, I'm okay; I want this," Bucky says through gritted teeth.

Skepticism clouds Steve's frown.

"Bucky, are you sure? We really don't have to do this if you don't want to," Steve asks again; worry paints his face.

An alluring painting. One that Bucky would like to smash.

Nonetheless, Bucky is fuming and, more importantly, horny. Bucky bites the inside of his cheeks.

"Yes, Steve. I have a tent in my boxers, and if you're not gonna do something about it, then you should get out of my apartment." Bucky was cut off by Steve's mouth on his throat. 

This time, both of Steve's hands are exploring Bucky while helping him take off his shirt. Bucky thinks he hears a rip, but he can't be sure. Everything is hazy.

Bucky grabs at Steve's jacket, shredding away at layers and layers. He palms Steve's dick through his pants before sliding a knee between his thighs, nudging at the hard-on. 

Steve groans.

In a swift motion, Steve halted Bucky right up to hold him in his arms.

Gasping as his feet were lifted off the ground and his own erection was rubbed against Steve's, a sharp wave of pleasure shot up his spine. On instinct, Bucky quickly wraps his legs around Steve's torso and holds on tight for dear life.

Catching his breath, Bucky stares at Steve, eyes wide.

Being manhandled like this is a first for Bucky. He can't even begin to explain how this is making him feel. He just knows that he's never felt as secure as now, held by Steve, and a part of it is definitely way more than safety.

Steve also looks like he just saw a ghost. As if that is what possessed him to do this. However, looking at Bucky's reaction, Steve smirks.

"Did you like it when I picked you up?" Steve asks, amused, like he was proud of himself.

Bucky is mildly annoyed by Steve's sly expression, but a crooked smile blooms despite himself. 

"Who doesn't just love to get carried by their best pal? Especially right after making out," Bucky teases.

Watching Steve blush and get all flustered because of him is a sight Bucky will never think is not funny. It makes Bucky want to pat him. Steve losing his composure for him instead of anger is also so incredibly hot; he can't wait to take Steve out and flirt in front of the whole world, now that he can. Bucky wants to scream to everyone just how much he loves Steve, even if he gets disgusted glares.

To redeem himself, Steve kisses up and down Bucky's neck, along his jaw, sucking red and purple splotches, unhurriedly, but not taking a single break.

Steve bucks his hips upwards, grinding into Bucky's ass.

Fuck.

Letting his head fall back and tutting against the wall, Bucky desperately needs Steve to do it again.

Getting the message, Steve rolls up like before, letting out a groan.

"Do best pals do this, too?" Steve's voice is breathless and husky.

Bucky grabs Steve's face and brings their foreheads together.

"No, but I think we've crossed that line already, pal," Bucky says and kisses Steve again, tracing the outline with the tip of his tongue. Bucky eats away at Steve's lower lips and notices Steve's very present erection below his ass. It's making him fly.

He doesn't know what he has done to please God, to be in this position right now, but please may he do it again. 

"I have a bottle of Vaseline in the bathroom," Bucky says.

Steve seems to understand the implication.

Stumbling and bumping into a desk or shelf here and there, Steve holds Bucky up. With their eyes closed and mouth connected, they made their way to the bathroom solely on faith and determination alone, leaving a trail of incriminating mess.

Sitting Bucky onto the bathroom sink, Steve's hand searches behind Bucky for their makeshift lube while still frantically making out like hormonal teenagers.

The loud sounds of objects falling onto the floor faded into the background and barely took Bucky's focus away from Steve. His worldly possessions feel irrelevant at this moment.

Bucky's heart thumps loudly in his ears at Steve's unwillingness to part with him for even a second.

Having obtained their goal, Steve picks Bucky up again, cupping his ass like he's a damn girl, and walks them out of the bathroom, across the hall, and into the bedroom.

Bucky grunts when he is released, and he falls backward onto the bed. In the blink of an eye, Steve is towering over him, filling up his whole vision.

Steve seems to be just as affected as Bucky: out of breath, his usual pale cheeks now a dark shade of pink.

Bucky feels himself growing hotter and hotter, his dick aching painfully under Steve's watchful eyes; hungry eyes. Bucky has never seen Steve like this before. There's something carnal about it.

Bucky shudders when Steve's gaze trails shamelessly down Bucky's smooth chest, to his abs, his bony hips, and then to his thighs. Steve looks at Bucky like he's the only thing in the world, and Bucky flushes. Bucky isn't fully naked, and yet he feels so exposed. 

"God, Buck, do you know how long I've wanted this? How much I've wanted to do this to you?" Steve says.

A dry lump catches in Bucky's throat.

"Do I wanna know?" 

Bucky wants Steve to do something already.

"You look so beautiful," Steve whispers in awe, his pupils huge.

Bucky reels.

He doesn't know how Steve can look at him and say that, but his Adam's apple bobs, and Steve's words go straight down to Bucky's throbbing dick. Bucky wants Steve's hands on him. 

"Wanna bet that I feel beautiful too?" Bucky jokes, raising an eyebrow.

Steve takes this as a challenge, diving into Bucky's neck.

Bucky lets out a moan when Steve's teeth clamp down on his same Adam's apple that was bobbing not a moment ago, then kisses up to the sharp angle of his jaw.

Threading his fingers through a fistful of Bucky's long hair, Steve yanks down, giving himself better access. Bucky let out an indecent whimper.

Feeling Steve smirk against his skin, Bucky slaps a hand over his mouth, embarrassed.

"I wanna hear you, Bucky," Steve murmurs into Bucky's ear and removes his hand, pinning it above his head while intertwining their fingers.

Steve sucks along Bucky's jaw and licks a burning stripe. Steve's other hand holds Bucky down, fingers splaying on top of his belly.

Bucky feels so loved by Steve that Steve wanted to do this with him.

Bucky's free arm reaches around Steve's broad back, caressing the curve of his muscles and shoulder blades. Bucky lets out another sound when Steve, without warning, grinds down, their dicks separated by mere fabric. 

"S-Steve, I need—touch me." Bucky stutters and urges impatiently, his scalp tingling with arousal.

Steve plants flat, wet kisses down Bucky's chest and stomach, moving to pull down Bucky's boxers that were wet with pre-cum. His voice hitching, Bucky's dick sprang with relief with the restraints gone.

Reaching lower, Steve places one palm on the inside of Bucky's thighs and forces them apart. Steve sucks on the sensitive crease between Bucky's thigh and groin, pushing Bucky's legs even wider. Bucky keens and shudders when Steve strokes him leisurely, at a steady pace, and rubs the tip with his thumb. Bucky throws his head back, letting out a string of moans. 

"Was that good?" Steve grinned, licking and sucking on the same spot again.

Bucky bites back another cry and nods shakily.

Bucky swears he can see stars. Out of all the dames he's taken out before, none of them had come nearly as close to making him feel like this: not enough air in his lungs, skin pricking. Bucky wants to feel Steve, all of Steve.

Taking his hand out of Steve's grasp without much struggle, Bucky ran his hands up and down Steve's lean body, memorizing every indent and bump.

Without Bucky registering it, Steve hoists Bucky up once more, placing him onto his lap. Both of Steve's hands held Bucky's waist in place with an iron grip, strong enough to bruise.

Steve laps at Bucky's chest like a starving dog.

Nuzzling his head in the crook of Steve's neck, Bucky subconsciously humps himself into Steve's rough jeans, seeking any sort of friction.

Bucky feels intoxicated, like he's just downed six shots of Steve Rogers.

Bucky glues himself onto Steve's scorching hot body, basking in the radiation. Steve shifts his attention to the two red buds on Bucky's chest, and hell! Bucky let out a groan, arching his back. Steve curls his tongue and bites at one of them while the other one is mercilessly pinched.

"Steve—" Bucky cries out. 

Steve's eyes light up, and Bucky swallows thickly at that look, which usually meant that Steve was up to no good.

His world spinning and the wind knocked out of him abruptly, Bucky was all of a sudden flat on his stomach on the bed.

Turning his head back, Bucky can somewhat make out Steve's figure out of the corner of his eye. Steve is filled with just pure lust, and Bucky's mouth goes dry.

Light fingertips feather down Bucky's spine, excruciatingly slow, stopping short just above his tailbone. 

"Are you sure you're okay with this?" Steve asks again.

Bucky would've facepalmed if his face wasn't already pressed against the sheets. Steve's effort in taking care of him is sweet, if Bucky didn't want Steve to fuck him out of his damn brains right now. 

"I think it's a little too late to back out now, pal," Bucky utters.

Behind him, Steve's face turns somber.

"Bucky, please, I don't want to do something you might regret. I don't know if I can live with that," Steve says, voice hoarse and strained.

Becoming aware of Steve's genuine concern, Bucky exhales.

"Steve, I've been waiting for this since 1934. Stop cockblocking me," Bucky says and hopes that this is enough for Steve.

When Steve doesn't speak, Bucky tries again.

"Steve, I need this, please, and I swear—don't you dare stop now."

Don't make me wait longer than I already have.

Bucky's stomach flutters when he hears the cap of the Vaseline container pop open. Bucky gulps.

"Since you asked so nicely," Steve says and plants a kiss on the back of Bucky's head.

"Well, I try." 

After a short period, Steve places a palm on the base of Bucky's neck, firmly pinning him down. 

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, but he doesn't remove his hand.

Bucky's heart pounds in his ears when he feels something wet and cold press gently into his entrance.

Oh god. 

Steve's fingers are touching such a vulnerable part of him. Bucky could almost go into cardiac arrest with how jittery in anticipation he is.

Bucky had never opened himself up to another man before. Heck, he's never even fully considered dating anyone else when he was already so preoccupied with Steve.

Now, with Steve spreading him open, the wait was completely worth it.

Steve gently kneads Bucky's entrance, coaxing it. Bucky bit his arm when Steve slowly slid a finger in. It felt odd, at first. He doesn't know how to describe it. 

"This okay?" Steve asked softly.

Bucky hadn't noticed Steve inching closer and closer, hot puffs of air on his hair. 

"Y-yeah," Bucky lets out.

Feeling around for a little bit, Steve pauses when he touches a sensitive bundle of nerves, and Bucky's whole body suddenly shakes. 

Fuck, what the hell was that?

Bucky cries out loud, squeezing his hand into a fist so hard his knuckles turned white.

Bucky can't even begin to explain this new sensation. It was so shocking—like an orgasm, pleasure that crawled along his skin to the tips of his toes.

At Bucky's enthusiastic response, Steve massages the exact spot again, earning him another jerk.

Bucky brings his butt up higher, mindlessly pushing himself further onto Steve's finger.

"F-fuck, Steve," Bucky rasps out. Steve slips a second digit in, scissoring and stretching Bucky open.

Bucky feels like he's floating on a cloud of rainbows. This is too much and not enough all at once. He wishes he could stay on the cloud forever, with Steve. Bucky and Steve riding a rainbow cloud. The thought was so absurd, he started giggling.

Gosh, he must be losing his touch.

"I didn't know I was a comedian," Steve chuckles.

Bucky buries his face in the sheets when Steve ups the moments of his fingers.

"You're a scoundrel, Steve. Anyone ever tell you that?"

The insult doesn't bite the way it should as Bucky's breathless, breaking apart at the seams under Steve's hands. It was probably erotic, if anything.

"People usually just thank me and ask for pictures, but I'll take the compliment."

Steve gently takes out his fingers and turns Bucky around. 

"Should I thank you for this, then?" Bucky jokes again, raising his face to look up at Steve.

Bucky's breath stills when he sees the look on Steve's face. Steve looks like he wants to crawl inside of Bucky. Like he wants to be embedded into his skin or something.

Circling his arms around Steve's neck, Bucky steals a kiss, "I want you inside, now." 

Steve sits up, then gets off of the bed.

Bucky watches as Steve unbuttons his pants, then hurriedly kicks them off.

Climbing onto the bed and on top of Bucky, Steve grabs the Vaseline again. He smears a good amount onto his dick, slathering it.

Adrenaline pulsates in Bucky's veins.

Sure, he's seen Steve's dick a million times when they lived together, but never in this context. Damn, it made him arch with want.

Steve pushes Bucky's legs further apart and places a pillow behind the small of his back. Lining his dick with Bucky, Steve slowly pushes, hands gripping Bucky's hips.

Bucky's head falls back, eyes clenching, a scream caught in his throat.

He feels like he's being split open.

Bucky's ass burns, in the best way possible, if that is possible. His mind was swimming, drifting in ecstasy.

Bucky grabs Steve's arm. 

"Are you alright? Does it hurt?" Steve asks, slowing down to let Bucky catch his breath.

Bucky's eyes are half closed as he stares down at Steve, too much air leaving his lungs and not enough coming back in. 

Bucky's voice comes out strangled, "Hurry up already."

Steve barks a breathless laugh, and Bucky stops breathing. He is mesmerized.

He doesn't know why Steve called him beautiful because Steve is the most gorgeous human being on earth. Bucky can almost see the light illuminating off of Steve.

Steve accepts Bucky's request, pushing in harder, like taking a slow drink of something rich and thick and warm, burning his throat on the way down. Bucky immediately wraps his arms and legs around Steve when he finally bottoms out.

Steve gives Bucky a moment to adjust.

Rubbing his hands up and down Bucky's sides, Steve grazes his teeth along Bucky's collarbone.

Bucky inhales sharply, mind blanking, when soon, Steve picks up a pace, thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm.

Bucky cannot stop the sounds coming out of him, hiccupping once or twice when Steve slams back in.

"God, Steve," Bucky's voice hitches.

Steve presses a sloppy kiss onto Bucky's forehead, which was now sweaty with strands of hair stuck to it. 

"Buck, Bucky," Steve murmurs and speeds up, tilting his body to thrust into Bucky at a different angle.

"You feel so good, Buck." 

Bucky whimpers when Steve hits the same spot from earlier.

"S-Steve." Bucky sputters and bites his lips, not caring when they sting.

Bucky's veins feel like they're on fire.

Steve kisses Bucky, gulping down his moan, breaking apart every few seconds from the motions.

Bucky digs his nails into Steve's back, mind sizzling. Bucky yelps when Steve turns him over again, lifting his butt into the air.

Bucky's legs shook, muscles constricting and relaxing to the flow of the thrusting. He doesn't know how much longer he can handle this. When Steve shoves back in, Bucky feels like he's being zapped with a sharp warmth that spreads and dissolves all over his body.

Steve leans down to embrace Bucky, chest against back, one palm holding Bucky's stomach and the other on his chest, his mouth caressing Bucky's shoulder. 

"You're taking me so well, Buck," Steve kisses up and down Bucky's nape. 

"Steve, Stevie, faster," Bucky pleads, voice dry from crying out.

Bucky's whole body trembles each time Steve brushes against his insides. Steve was making such a mess of him, and he loves it.

Steve increases his speed, moaning onto Bucky's neck.

"I love you, Buck," Steve says.

Bucky wants to say it back, but he can't think enough to formulate words, nor can he push them out through his moans.

Steve is driving Bucky out of his mind.

Instead of saying what he wants to say, Bucky presses himself up against Steve and hopes Steve knows what he means.

"I love you so much, Buck; you look so pretty under me."

Steve bites along the flesh connecting Bucky's shoulders to his neck.

Bucky wants to freeze every word of Steve's into his soul, but—god—Steve feels so good inside him, and he can't focus. Bucky wants to savor this as much as possible.

Gradually, a pressure builds up inside Bucky, and Steve can feel it too.

The only sounds in the air were of passion and the clinking of Bucky's dog tags. Bucky was close. Steve boosts his pace with a sudden exhilaration, faster, pulling Bucky's hips down harder, until Bucky lets out a groan. The earth stops spinning. Bucky's vision is fading to black, and he feels shockwaves ripple through him.

Bucky cries out as he comes onto the sheets.

Steve follows soon after, biting onto Bucky's shoulder to break his moan.

They collapse onto the bed with exhaustion, Steve's arms over Bucky's belly, as they sink into the mattress. Bucky thinks that if he dies now, he'd have lived a fulfilled life. 

"I love you too," Bucky finally whispers back. 

When Bucky awakes, there's still light outside his window. Groaning, Bucky turns over, only to realize with a startling thought: he can't. Panicking, Bucky tries wiggling himself free of whatever is holding him.

"Sleep some more," a drowsy voice mumbles against the back of his head. 

It's Steve.

The muscles in Bucky's body relax all at once.

Bucky knows he is tearing up by the sting in his eyes and the lump in his throat. Steve is beside Bucky when he wakes up this time, and joy, relief, warmth, and every positive emotion Bucky can ever think of are washing over him.

Steve in bed with him means that he didn't just dream the whole thing up. Steve really did come back to him and is in love with him.

Bucky sniffs.

Behind him, Steve stills before turning Bucky over.

Upon seeing Bucky's waterlogged eyes, every color drains from Steve's face. 

"Oh, God, Bucky, I didn't mean—I'm sorry."

Steve gets up and starts backing away. Regret and guilt twist Steve's features.

Bucky sobers up instantly.

Gut shot, he grabs Steve before he can get too far.

"What are you sorry for?" Bucky is panicking again.

Is Steve regretting what they did? Did Steve not want him anymore? If Steve says yes, then Bucky thinks he will jump out the window. 

Bucky watches Steve, and Steve doesn't respond, like he's mortified.

Oh God.

More tears fill in Bucky's eyes as his breath quickens.

Oh God.

"I—I shouldn't have forced you to do all that, Bucky—" Steve says, but before Bucky explodes on him.

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Bucky is so confused. "You didn't force me to do anything." 

Is there a worm in Steve's brain? Bucky practically begged for it.

"But you're crying," Steve whispers, a semblance of embarrassment spreading on his face as the realization that he might've misinterpreted the meaning dawns on him. 

"I'm crying because I'm so goddamn happy." Bucky slaps a hand over his face, relief hitting him as he realizes that Steve isn't regretting everything; he's just a fool.

Steve looks stupid. Steve is stupid.

"Oh…"

Steve's face is red.

"Sometimes you're a real idiot, you know that? Get back into bed."

Bucky is in total disbelief. Steve really is as sharp as a marble. 

Steve does in fact get back into bed, facing Bucky and holding him close.

"Do you mean it? Cause you're never getting rid of me in this lifetime," Steve grins as though he already knew the answer. 

"Good, I don't want to go looking for a replacement later," Bucky chuckles, downing himself into Steve, tears smearing onto Steve's chest. 

They stay like that for a while.

"I'm sorry I ruined your shirt," Steve starts again, sheepishly.

The peace is broken.

This came so out of left field, Bucky couldn't help but laugh hysterically and didn't stop, even after a long time. He had completely forgotten about his Henley that's probably lying shredded to patches in his living room.

"It's not funny, Buck," Steve says, blushing.

Bucky wipes the water from his cheeks.

Gosh, he loved this man so much.

He looks up into Steve's eyes, the same blue he used to wish he saw instead of the sky, and he thinks: everything will be alright if he can just look at them for the rest of their lives. 

"It is, and you know it is," Bucky says. 

He snuggles up, bare skin brushing as their lips find each other, like they were always meant to be. Never to be separated.

"I love you, punk," Bucky whispers. 

A smile can be felt.

"I love you too, jerk."

For once, Bucky remembers the ghosts of his youth, days spent wild and carefree, with an arm hooked around a smaller Steve, and won't be hunted by it.

It can become a reality again. 

For once, Bucky Barnes is who stares back at him in the mirror. Even with long hair and scars and a metal arm, Bucky will be Bucky.

For once, Bucky will look at Steve, and Steve will look back at him, with a love that even Bucky can't deny.

And this revelation, Bucky thinks, is going to be his downfall.