Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Bone meets bone, Bucky’s knuckles making direct contact with Alex’s cheek.

It’s not the hardest punch he’s ever thrown. But the force of the blow still cracks Alex’s face to the side, sending the plastic crown on his head to the floor. Bucky faintly registers minor pain in his knuckles, but he’s too busy getting his hands on the lapels of Alex’s jacket to care. Alex’s own hands fly up in defense, one grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s shirt while he hooks his other arm around Bucky’s neck.

They twist, both struggling to overpower the other into a headlock; grunting loudly over each other while their footfalls land clumsy and heavy so neither trips and puts themselves at an instant disadvantage. To Bucky’s surprise, Alex actually tries to take a swing. It’s poorly aimed – more of an attempt to knock Bucky off rather than inflict any injury – and just barely grazes the side of Bucky’s head, missing its mark.

Bucky’s heart is racing, sending wave after wave of adrenaline through his system. Helps him narrow his vision to Alex and Alex alone, blurring out the rest of the room. He manages to get the upper hand, gaining enough leverage to trip Alex back and wrench himself free from under his arm. Moving quick, Bucky rushes him straight up against the wall.

All he sees now is red. That voice in the back of his head that screams at him to stop before things get worse is drowned out by every memory, every bad feeling, every nasty word Alex ever had for him. He cocks his fist back abruptly, a wild look in his eyes as he bares his teeth – with every intention to start beating the living shit out of Alex until someone stumbles upon them and tears him away.

Alex’s cheekbone is already bruised an angry pink. For the single sweetest moment, he looks unprepared. Maybe even a little scared. For once, Bucky actually has the upper hand – quite literally, in fact. But the second Bucky draws back his arm, Alex is holding up his hands in surrender. The bastard fucking grins again.

“Hey, hey,” he exclaims, slightly breathless, “you wanna know what elseI know about you? Because let’s not forget, there’s a list--”

Jesus Christ, did this guy ever know when to stop fucking talking!? Bucky loosens his grip only long enough to slam his forearm back to Alex’s chest, pushing his own weight forward and shoving Alex harder against the wall. Shaking his head, Bucky barks, “I swear to god, Alex, I fuckin’ swear to god--!”

“Don’t forget what I said!” Alex interrupts, an attempt at a warning. “Don’t you forget, Barnes! I never showed anyone that video, but if you leave me no choice--”

“Bullshit! Bullshit, there never was a fucking video – you don’t think I know that by now!?” snarls Bucky.

Alex must be pretty desperate if he’s still trying to rely on that trick, but Bucky’s not going to fall for it this time. The fact alone that he would even fucking dare bring that up again, though--

Alex must realize he got called on his bluff, though god knows he’ll probably never admit to it aloud. He falters for a second, not having expected that response. Bucky eyes him down, slowly shaking his head and then scoffing, spitting out, “I knew it, you’re so fucking full of shit.”

Just as he winds his fist back again, Alex flinches, only for his hands to bolt back up between them.

“But!” he interjects quickly, having already calculated two steps ahead. His left hand closes so only his pointer finger remains extended. Much calmer, he repeats, “But… do your friends know about all those times after…?”

Bucky’s eyes widen. Alex registers it, that wolfish grin expanding. Bingo.

“Nooo… No they don’t, do they?” he croons, reclaiming the edge with every word. “I bet you didn’t tell anyone. I mean, I don’t blame you. Can you even imagine what they would’ve thought if they found out? Hmm? What do you think they’d say if they knew about how you pretty much came crawling back, begging me to fuck you?”

Bucky’s heart races so fast his stomach’s starting to churn. As if what’d initially happened back then wasn’t bad enough. But at least that, his best friends knew about it. They’d defended him, even fought his battle for him. For almost two months, Alex had made his life a living hell, and they were the ones who helped get him through it.

And then Bucky willingly threw himself right back to the sharks. Behind their backs, no less. It’s not a thing he ever planned for them to find out. It’s not something that Steve… oh god, Steve, he doesn’t know about any of this – oh shit, oh fuck, no, no no--

“So I’ll tell you what: you put down that,” Alex proposes, tilting his index finger in the direction of Bucky’s fist, “and your secret dies with me.”

No. No, Bucky was wrong. He was never the only coward in all of this. Alex is the true fucking coward; trying to barter his way out of a beating he so rightfully deserves, two years in the making. Bucky’s still stuck on the implications of Alex’s proposition, his threat – until he remembers that it’s just as empty as the lie he’d fed Bucky for so long about the video.

So Bucky corrects him, “Our secret. You think I don’t know what’d happen if you told anyone? You’dhave to out yourself. Can’t tell them what happened without admitting to your end of it, right?”

That puts real fear into Alex’s eyes. Goddamn, is that ever gratifying. How stupid does he actually think Bucky is if Alex assumed he wouldn’t be able to figure out such an obvious loophole? Bucky would almost be insulted if he wasn’t still trying to talk himself out of getting just a couple more punches in for good measure.

“I’m not gay,” Alex growls, not for the first time.

“Yeah, you keep tellin’ yourself that,” Bucky mutters back acidly.

Shoving his weight to Alex’s chest one last time, Bucky finally backs off, lowering his fist and putting some space between them. He seriously hopes Alex considers himself lucky that he’s getting to walk out of this with all of his teeth. Honestly, Bucky’s still straddling that unstable line where he desperately wants to lunge back in again.

But he just managed to get everything under control, and he’s pretty damn certain he finally got his point across. About a lot of things that needed saying. He’d only be fucking himself over if he single-handedly stoked the flames and kept it going.

“So are we done here?” he asks. “‘Cause unless you got something else to say to me, I’m fucking leaving.”

Alex glares at him but says nothing – which says everything, really. Yeah, they’re done. Once and for all, from the fucking hopes of it. The very last card it seems Alex can think to play is to avert his eyes to the ground, give a small shake of his head, and sneer. It’s an intimidation tactic. If Bucky were fifteen again, it would’ve worked. Now he’s just disgusted.

Somehow still holding himself with an annoying amount of composure, Alex proceeds to straighten from the wall, sparing Bucky one last glance. He begins to leave, but then stops. After a beat, a smile spreads across his face. Bucky should’ve known he’d still have more cards up his sleeve. He’d felt confident that he finally bested Alex. Apparently there was still one thing more he intended to say.

“You know what everyone thinks of you, right? Why you always got invited to so many parties? You think it’s just ‘cause everyone liked you; having you around? I don’t need to say anything,” he tells Bucky, matter-of-factly. “With or without me, people already know you’re easy. At least when I graduate, I’ll leave knowing I made my name at this place with actual accomplishments – and not the number of cocks I took. Can you say the same?”

That’s as good as another invisible knife stabbing straight into Bucky’s gut. But at least he’s better able to mask it this time. His right hand does twitch, though. God help him, he just wants to swing one more time, just one. Alex would deserve it, there’s no doubt about that. Bucky could get away with it. They haven’t been walked in on yet.

Except he waits too long to make up his mind. Alex gives a faint nod, staring Bucky straight down. With a condescending amount of politeness, he says, “Have a nice night.” Then Bucky has to watch – grey eyes still flashing – as Alex turns to head from the room. Taking the last word with him.

Logically, Bucky knows he should be thankful that he didn’t follow through with his impulse and do anything stupid. There could have been some serious ramifications. That doesn’t make him any less disappointed. Or pissed. He fucking despises that somehow Alex managed to gain back the upper hand. Again. Like fucking always.

Yes, logically, Bucky knows he should be thankful that it’s over. But logic can go fuck right the fuck off. There’s no way the consequences would leave Bucky feeling any worse than Alex already did just now. He shouldn’t have hesitated earlier, and he most definitely shouldn’t have stopped. He should’ve punched Alex’s face in until he had to be fucking hospitalized.

Unexpectedly, just as Alex reaches the washroom door, it swings open from the other side. Brock Rumlow walks in, almost crashing right into his friend. He tosses his hands up and laughs, coming to a halt.

“Whoah, hey, there are you!” he exclaims. “The boys n’ I have been trying to find you. Dude, Raina is on a mission – she is piiiiiissed. Maybe you should hide out in here a bit longer.” He slaps a hand on Alex’s shoulder, giving it a sympathetic squeeze. Mid-chuckle, that’s when he notices Bucky. “Oh hey man, what’s up?”

Bucky offers a tight, courteous smile. “Hey. Nothin’, you?”

“Not much – yo, where you goin’? Gonna go track down your girl?” he asks Alex, who’s wordlessly already begun to step past him for the door.

That easy air is back in Alex’s demeanor – forced, no doubt, but he’s a master of deception after all – as he replies, “Might as well. See you out there, man.”

“Yo, hey,” Rumlow interrupts, smile dropping. Confused, even sounding concerned, he gestures to Alex’s cheek and asks, “What happened to your face?”

Bucky swallows, straightening reactively. He wouldn’t expect a fight with Rumlow, but perhaps he’s not quite in the clear yet. The room is overcome with a momentary silence. Tense, uncomfortable. Bucky wonders how much of that Rumlow is able to pick up on in the span of those few, drawn-out seconds.

Alex lingers, back to them and hand keeping the door open. But he doesn’t even bother to look at either of them when he mutters back, “Nothing.”

“You look like someone gave you the beginnings of a shiner.”

“I said it’s nothing,” Alex snaps. Covering his tracks, he shrugs and adds, “It’s been itching like crazy tonight so it must be from me scratching.”

With that, they watch him exit, the door closing behind him. For a moment, Rumlow remains where he is, transferring his inquisitive stare from the door to Bucky. He doesn’t look entirely convinced. But then again, Rumlow’s one of the few people who knows more. The truth is, he may be Alex’s best friend – has been since Pre-K – but he’s Bucky’s friend, too. Enough to gain some sense of loyalty, if nothing else.

Alex doesn’t know it, but the only reason Bucky ever knew for sure that there was never actually a video from that night is because Rumlow’s the one who told him.

He’s sort of Alex’s middle man. If anyone were to have any concept of the skeletons that guy actually has in his closet, it’d be him. There’s a lot Bucky assumes he also doesn’t know, but most of what happened between Bucky and Alex in the beginning, he did. It’s just that ultimately, his allegiance still lies with his best friend.

So Rumlow has the capacity to sometimes be shady, but he also has the same capacity to do the right thing and be a decent person (this much, Bucky’s seen) – but only insofar as it doesn’t pit him against Alex or get him on his bad side.

“Hey Barnes,” says Rumlow carefully, like Alex might somehow still be able to hear them, “…you okay?”

He must’ve taken a wild guess that Bucky was the one responsible for Alex’s bruised cheek. Bucky appreciates that he’s never been the type to ask too many prying questions.

“M’fine,” he replies with a nod.

“You sure? You know how he gets sometimes, man… We were just about to head out anyway…” he offers, like maybe that could help.

“Yeah, no, don’t worry about it. Everything’s cool.”

“Alright. If you’re sure.” He watches Bucky give another affirmative nod, and that’s good enough for him. Dropping the subject, he smiles and breezily says, “Cool, well, was good seein’ ya! Sorry to make this short but Jesus fuck, I’m gonna piss my pants, so…”

Bucky smiles back tiredly, stepping aside so Rumlow can stride past him and lock himself in a stall. He remains where he is, staring off as the last five minutes begin replaying in his head as if being fast-forwarded. The sounds of Rumlow starting to piss snaps Bucky out of it long enough to remember that he’s still standing in the middle of the bathroom like a jackass.

The plastic crown Alex had won catches his eye, still strewn on the ground, forgotten by its owner. Alex had been pretty prompt in leaving, after all. It’s no wonder he forgot about it. Maybe he’ll realize it’s missing and come back to look for it. Keeping that in mind, Bucky picks it up from the floor and drops it in the trash. 

Meeting his reflection one last time, Bucky finds that he suddenly doesn’t want to look at himself anymore. Breaking eye contact as if he’s been stung, he ducks his head and heads for the door. With that short period to mentally recuperate, the weight of everything that just happened begins to hit him, forcing Bucky into a daze as he steps out of the washroom and back into the world of prom… where none of this shit was supposed to touch him tonight…

He’s angry, he’s still so fucking angry – it only feels like it’s getting worse with every step he takes. He’d finally been having such a great time, and then Alex went and ruined it for him. But even more than that, Bucky’s mostly pissed at himself. The only reason any of that just happened was because he’d been stupid enough to keep making one bad decision after another, for as long as he had. He’s ashamed of himself for having kept it a secret from his friends, even Natasha. He’s terrified at the idea of Steve finding any of this out.

Any of it. Just because Bucky’s ninety-nine percent sure Alex would be way too smart to run his mouth at his own expense doesn’t mean there’s not still that one percent that’s now scared shitless that he might. Bucky did hit him, after all. It was warranted, but – what if Alex still decided to get even for it? Who the fuck knows what sort of spin Alex would put on it to make Bucky look like the bad guy while somehow painting himself out to be the innocent one.

Alex has so much influence over the student body and he doesn’t even have to try. That much popularity grants you a sick kind of immunity that Bucky – as liked as he may be – just doesn’t have. And… with Bucky’s history, the thought that no one would be surprised, even if it was a lie… That hurts. That more than hurts.

Alex’s words loop over and over in his head. His insults. Maybe he was right. Maybe most people only like Bucky because of his old reputation.

It’s not like he never dealt with the odd whispers behind his back before, from people who hardly knew him but had heard the rumors… That Bucky had fucked everyone in their area code, that Bucky sucked so-and-so off under the bleachers, that Bucky somehow took it from six guys at the same time in Gwen Stacy’s hot tub, that Bucky did this, that Bucky did that...

The majority of the rumors were always horrendously exaggerated.

They were based on truth, though.

Prior to Steve, Bucky never did relationships much. Thinking back on it, he can count maybe two… No, three boyfriends between freshman and the start of senior year? If they could even be called that. (Bucky doesn't call them that.) Two of them fizzled out after only a few weeks. The other had just passed the month mark when Bucky grew bored and called it quits.

A month. That was his longest relationship before Steve.

There were no teenage ‘I love you’s’ or declarations of some sort of forever. Not even the entertainment of such thoughts. Bucky never bothered to change his relationship status on Facebook for any of them. That alone seemed like too much of an effort he just didn’t feel invested in making yet.

Romance and flowers and junk. That stuff was nice and all, but seemed stupid to him. Myopic and frankly, pointless. Because relationships also meant delusions and rules, and when in high school on top of that, they went hand-in-hand with way too much drama for his liking. There were very few couples Bucky could think of off the top of his head at his school that weren’t completely toxic. The rest were either breaking up at every turn, or finding some new, ridiculous thing to fight about.

To be fair, he wasn’t anti-relationship or some shit, either. Hell, if people wanted to spend their youth shackled to another person, that was their choice. His friends were always getting into relationships, and Bucky was never anything less than supportive. He just didn’t share their sentiments. In his opinion, he only got to be a teenager once, and he wanted to enjoy not just his personal freedom, but the many pleasures life had to offer him.

He’d always assumed that one day, when he was way older, out of school, and living on his own somewhere really cool, that could change. Maybe then he’d eventually be into the idea of settling down; of families and commitment. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t. He’d always liked the idea of having kids, but it wasn’t some sort of life goal.

Either way, if it ever happened at all, it wouldn’t be for a long time. That’s not what Bucky was into.

What Bucky was into was sex. Lots of it. With anyone he wanted, whenever he felt like it. And he didn’t care who knew it.

He knows there will never come a point in his life where he’ll apologize for his actions during those years. There was never anything to apologize for – he was always safe about it, it was always mutually consenting, and it’d been a lot of fucking fun. Anyone who felt they had the right to judge him for that could go fuck themselves as far as he’s always been concerned.

Unfortunately, a lot of the world is still ignorant about that sort of thing. There were people who didn’t see it the same way; felt the need to make Bucky’s personal life their business. Like somehow they had the right to pass judgement when it never had anything to do with them in the first place. At least Bucky always had a spine like steel when it came to things like that.

He’s never had any tolerance for things like slut-shaming (towards him or anyone else), or the pathetic lowlifes who thought that sort of shit was okay. So the odd rumor or snarky insult said just out of earshot – never actually to his face – never fazed him. Not then, so Bucky sure as hell won’t let it now.

If Alex was right, if that’s the only reason he was ever considered popular, then so fucking be it. They can suck his ass for all he cares. High school will be over in a couple weeks anyway, and then Bucky will never have to see any of those pricks again. He knows who his real friends are anyways. That’s what matters.

Although… All of that is only based on assuming that Alex was even telling the truth in the first place.

Given how manipulative the guy is, nothing he says he can be trusted. If he really stops and thinks about it, Bucky recalls that – actually – most people he knew never cared. Sure, Bucky’s sex life wasn’t exactly a secret to anyone, but the majority of them didn’t give a shit. Really, it was only the odd person here or there who’d ever be petty enough to resort to slut-shaming; stoop to Alex’s level and call Bucky gross things like ‘slut’ or ‘manwhore’.

So most likely, Alex was just being an asshole and did what he does best: lying to try and fuck with Bucky’s head. It’s not like Bucky will ever be able to know for sure, so it’s better to put it out of his mind and try not to give Alex any power over him to still let himself care.

But what Bucky does care about are his friends, and Steve, and what they would think of him. The idea of rumors starting, or anything even being breathed to a single soul and somehow getting back to them – it makes him feel sick. Bucky hates that out of everything Alex said, he was right about one thing: he can’t even fathom what Natasha would say if she discovered that he and Alex kept fooling around over the last couple of years. Clint would probably lose his shit, too.

And how exactly did Bucky think he could go about explaining all of this to Steve? The guy spent pretty much his entire high school career with the same girlfriend. He was happy being tied to someone like that for so long, even being that young. Steve’s probably always been a relationship kind of guy. Their lifestyles were polar opposites before.

Who even knows how many girlfriends Steve had before Bucky? Probably not many. Bucky wouldn’t be surprised if Steve could check all of them off on both hands, knowing him. How would Steve feel if he realized he was with someone whose number was so big that he sometimes loses count? Would that matter to him? God, what if Steve was suddenly scrambling to get himself tested, even though Bucky had already assured him way back when this all started that he was clean?

Bucky hated Alex, but it still hurt when he’d first called him dirty. Bucky doesn’t even know how he’d handle it if someone he loved as fiercely as Steve turned around and said something like that.

Every worst case scenario flashes before his eyes, and suddenly Bucky wishes that he could go back to just a few hours sooner, when all he had to worry about was telling everyone he’d picked UCLA. Funny how such a minor shift can have such an impact on his perspective. He’d take that over this any day.

This… this feels so much worse. Bucky knows none of his past should matter – not if Steve really loved him – but fuck, it’d still hurt so fucking much if any of that changed how Steve felt. Fuck…. Fuck… What if it changed how he felt? What if…?

Bucky suddenly doesn’t know whether he’s about to throw up or not.

Natasha must’ve been looking for him, because when she spots him, she rushes over, concern all over her face. “There you are! Where’d you even go? You said you were going for a smoke, like, a half hour ago. None of us knew where you went.”

Bucky can’t meet her eyes. “Had to use the bathroom,” he mumbles, walking right past her. “Surprised none of you thought to check in there. But I’m fine. Sorry.”

From behind him, there’s silence. But then she’s following right after him, asking, “Are you alright?”

Bucky’s tired of people asking him that. He can’t talk about this right now, he needs air – he needs to get out of there. Steve, he needs Steve, Bucky needs to be grounded back to earth before he starts to feel crazy again. He doesn’t want another panic attack, not now, everything was just starting to get better – it was supposed to get better, Bucky had been doing so good--

“I’m fine.”

“Hey!” She grabs his arm and tugs, making Bucky face her. Scanning his face, Natasha’s expression is both protective and apprehensive. She doesn’t blink. He still won’t meet her eyes. “What happened? Why were you gone so long?”

It only fills Bucky with even more fear that there’s already suspicion in her voice; that she’s already pieced together that something happened, even if she doesn’t know what that something is yet. She’s stubborn. Once she decides that Bucky’s not telling her the truth, she won’t stop until he fesses up. And she can never know about what happened, she’d – oh fuck, she’d be so angry with him. So would Clint.

For a second time, Bucky can’t help but ponder how the hell he let himself get so worked up about the whole college thing. All week, he’d wasted it by getting himself all freaked out, telling himself that he’d lose his friends over something as inconsequential as going to school out of State. That was nothing. In reality, he’s much more likely to lose them over something like this.   

“Nothing. I told you, I just had to use the bathroom,” Bucky lies, pulling his arm from her grasp. He spins away from her and is already beginning to power-walk again, heading through the sea of students to get to… he’s not even sure where. He doesn’t really have a game plan, he just needs to make sure that when he leaves this room again, none of his friends follow. So he says the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m going for a smoke.”

Obviously Natasha isn’t going to buy that. “You just had one.”

“Yeah, well, I want another one. I’ll be right back.”

“James--”

“Goddamnit Nat, you’re not my mom, alright?” Bucky snaps. “If I wanna go out for another cigarette, I’m allowed to go out for another cigarette!” He doesn’t bother fishing through his pocket this time, simply snatching up the entire jacket to take with him instead. Natasha stands in front of him, waiting for an explanation.

Sighing, Bucky pleads, “I just need a few minutes alone… please. I’m sorry. I – I can’t talk about it right now. But later. Later, we can talk about it. Right now I just need to be alone. Just for a few minutes.”

Natasha’s hard to read when she goes mother hen on her friends. If Bucky didn’t know her so well, that hardness in her eyes, the tightness of her jaw on an otherwise impassive face… Bucky might think she was upset with him. But he knows that’s not it. Her brain’s just working away, and she’s just worried about him and trying to figure out what Bucky won’t tell her, and Bucky really doesn’t want to hear her conclusions right now.

So he steps in and wraps his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to take it out on you,” he says. “I’m just feeling messed up right now and it sort of hit me out of nowhere, and… I just need air. Need to think. Tell me you’re not sore with me, please.”

After another moment of silence from her, she sighs. Lifting her arms, she stiffly returns the embrace and tells him, “Of course I’m not. Go if you have to. I’ll cover for you.”

“Thanks, Nat. I owe you.” He gives her a little squeeze and then lets go, moving around her to walk away.

“James,” Natasha calls after him. He looks over his shoulder to her. She’s leaving Bucky with no room to argue when she gives a single nod and promises him, “We are talking about this later.”

Bucky’s mouth twists into a frown. He doesn’t answer; feels like he’s shrinking under her gaze the longer he holds it. Then he can’t anymore. Averting his eyes downward, he turns without a word and walks away.

As he crosses the rooms, he starts scanning it hectically, trying to track down Steve. Hoping to spot him before he reaches the door, because Bucky has no intention of turning back around once he’s out. He wasn’t lying when he said he needed to get away for a few minutes. The universe, maybe taking pity on him for a change, decides to do him a favor. At the very last second, Bucky manages to find him. He stops dead in his tracks, waiting the few seconds it takes for Steve – laughing at whatever Mr. Wilson’s saying as he does another of his usual scans across the room – to notice him in return.

Bucky doesn’t know what his face looks like right now, but it undoubtedly speaks loud enough to wipe the smile right off Steve’s face at the sight of him. Just as Bucky sees his eyebrows furrow in concern, Bucky turns on his heel and leaves the room without looking back. He hopes that will suffice as his message. Just in case, though, he pulls out his phone. His thumbs work fast to send off a text he hopes Steve has the good mind to check:

Meet me in emergency stairwell.

Bucky heads straight for it, glancing over his shoulder and making sure no one’s looking his way before opening the door and slipping inside. After making sure that he’s alone in there, he takes the steps two at a time until he’s a floor lower. This way, if Steve shows up, they can be concealed in the event that anyone else randomly walks in or tries to go looking for them.

He paces, balling up his coat and throwing it to the side in frustration before running his hands through his hair; rubbing at the back of his neck. He prays that Steve will have gotten the hint and checked his phone. Bucky’s brain is racing away from him. God, how did everything get so fucked again? If it’s not one fucking thing, it’s another, and – fuck! Bucky had been trying so hard, he’d been doing well; kept focusing on the positives, and baby steps, and having a good time.

But no, it’s like life just wants to shit all over him at every turn. Why is it he can’t seem to catch a break? Because nah, this past week hadn’t been bad enough, of course not! Let’s just throw even more shit on top of all that – why the fuck not, right? It’s not as if the last thing Bucky needed was to have all of his dirty laundry dumped back on him, too. Of course he could totally handle that, what with how fucking well he’s been dealing with every other goddamn fucking thing lately!

God, oh god, there’s so much about his past that Steve doesn’t know about… Things Bucky has no idea how he’d take. Steve had never even been with a guy at all before Bucky, and it’s not like Bucky ever portrayed himself like some sort of Virgin Mary, but – but this is different…

How many times did Bucky spout out all that shit to Steve about their age difference not mattering? Argued that he was an adult who knows what he wants? Would Steve suddenly not believe him anymore if he knew what Bucky had been like before they got together? Would he take Bucky’s feelings for him less seriously? What if he suddenly saw Bucky differently altogether?

If it were anyone else, Bucky would laugh in their face and tell them to go fuck themselves. He has before. But if Steve felt that way… He doesn’t know what he’d do. Bucky wouldn’t agree with him, but it’d still rip him apart just as savagely…

And fuck, what would he say about everything that went down with Alex? The night at Rumlow’s party? What happened after that? Would he be as disgusted by Bucky’s choices as Bucky’s always been with them?

Why is this happening? Why? He was finally making progress. Things were starting to feel like they were turning up, he felt hopeful, and just as quickly it got ripped from his hands again. That makes the drop that much worse. The onset of anxiety and emotion hits him so much harder than he could’ve prepared himself for.

Bucky’s lungs are getting tight, air squeezing straight out of him and he can’t breathe, when above him he hears the door to the stairwell open. Bucky freezes, tilting his chin and staring up. Holding in that last little bit of breath. Waiting.

“…Bucky?” he hears Steve say, quiet but urgent.

“Down here,” replies Bucky, voice cracking.

The sound of Steve’s footsteps bounce of the walls as he quickly starts to descend towards him. Right as he turns the corner to come down the second small set of stairs – the last stretch between them – Bucky drops his hands to his sides, vision blurring. Steve heads straight for him, never slowing down.

“Buck,” Steve starts, eyes already jumping all over him, trying to find some sort of damage, “are you okay? What’s going on--?”

Bucky grabs his face and kisses him. He knows it’s not right that he keeps resorting to things like this lately to avoid conversation. It’s not intentional, he just – he needs the contact. He needs the reassurance, and to hold onto this, what they have. Where Steve still sees Bucky the way he does, and loves him even with all his jagged edges. He needs Steve to--

“Please don’t stop kissing me,” Bucky begs, because he knows Steve and Bucky doesn’t want him to say anything. Not a word, not yet at least. “Please don’t.”

He throws his arms around Steve’s neck and crushes their lips back together. Steve exhales roughly, making a sound in his throat similar to when Bucky had done almost this exact same thing when he showed up at his house that morning. His hands immediately go to Bucky’s waist, gripping onto him.

At first Steve yields, mouth moving against his. He presses his chest right back to Bucky’s, and he digs his fingertips into his hips, but it’s only a split second later – when Bucky’s eagerly tilting his face to the other side and going to dive back in – that he draws in the smallest gasp and breathes out, “Bucky, wai--”

“Please don’t. Please.”

Bucky shuts him up; kisses him again, harder still. With clumsy movements, he steps backward and pulls Steve with him until he hits the wall. This time, Steve doesn’t stop it. Bucky doesn’t question. From there, it’s aggressive. Tongues and teeth; biting lips and exhaling roughly into each other’s mouths. Bucky keeps one hand in the back of Steve’s hair and Steve’s remain glued to the curve of his hips. Bucky doesn’t cry, but tears do slip down his cheeks. Steve must be able to feel them on his own skin, but unlike earlier, he still doesn’t pull away.

But then Steve steers things; knows he needs to gain control over the situation so he can start to calm Bucky back down. As the first minute blurs into the next, rough becomes gentle. Fast gets slower. Frantic turns to reverence; Steve doing everything he can to lavish it all on Bucky through their kisses, so that it can hopefully overrun whatever it is that’s got Bucky all twisted up on the inside. Steve pecks at Bucky’s lips gingerly, lovingly, as his hands rise and cup the sharp line of his jaw.

Steve’s breathing evens out, and it persuades Bucky’s to do the same. Steve inhales deeply through his nose. Parts his lips back open. Thumbs silently brushing the tears from his cheeks, Steve massages his tongue to Bucky’s, so slowly. Any attempt on Bucky’s part to try and make things quicker again is overpowered by Steve.

He’s got no choice but to let things go slow, and after another minute, his body decides to stop fighting it. Instead, he lets Steve guide him back, just like he wanted. Bucky’s brows pinch in the center, and his heart hurts – he was doing better, he thought, but now he hurts again, and that only makes him hurt even more. He exhales a soft, wobbly moan. Steve accepts it, swallows it up; doesn’t judge Bucky for any of this.

The moment ends on its own, only once Bucky’s finally calmed down a bit against him. Steve kisses at his bottom lip. Pauses. Kisses his top lip. Pauses once more, and then kisses one last time – so careful and sweet – against Bucky’s whole mouth before drawing back. Neither opens their eyes, remaining just as they are: Steve cupping Bucky’s face in both hands, the pads of his thumbs pressing to his cheekbones. Steve lets out a quiet sigh, bumping their foreheads together.

“We need to stop this,” he says, saddened. “This can’t be how we deal with everything.”

Bucky feels so tired, too tired to even try arguing. It melted out of him just now, with Steve’s mouth pressed to his, and Bucky’s just – god, Steve’s so right. He can’t do this anymore, bottling everything up the way he has. It’s chipping away at him too much, juggling so much shit inside. One by one, things just keep crashing all around him. Bucky can’t keep up with it.

So he whispers, “I know.”

Steve moves his thumbs and strokes his cheeks again. “I need you to talk to me. Baby, I need you to talk to me. Let me be there for you. Whatever it is, we can get through it.”

Bucky opens his eyes to find Steve already staring back. He looks so worried – just like Natasha, only Steve wears his heart right on his sleeve. Everything he feels for Bucky is always so transparent the second they’re alone. Bucky’s been hurting, and Steve hasn’t just seen it. He’s been feeling it, too.

Tomorrow, Bucky decides. Tomorrow he’s going to tell Steve everything – school, what happened with Alex, everything. All his cards on the table, and Steve can decide whether that’s what he wants or not. Bucky’s still scared shitless, but he’s tired of this, this trying to push shit down and pretending it doesn’t exist. Because it isn’t working, it’s just drowning him.

And Steve deserves the truth. Their relationship deserves the communication Bucky’s been denying it.

He’d tell him right now if not for the fact that once he starts talking, he’s going to need the chance to say everything. That could take a while. Unfortunately, that’s not time they have at the moment. The fact that they just got away with making out in the stairwell, with everyone else just one floor above them and it being so easy for anyone else to have caught them, is pushing their luck enough for one night.

“Sweetheart, what happened?” Steve asks. “It’s okay, you can tell me. Is this about earlier?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean… did I make you leave too soon earlier? Should there have been more aftercare? Or – was tonight too much? You don’t have to keep the plug anymore if you’re getting uncomfortable, I don’t want you to think… I’m still learning my way around this, so I don’t always…” He trails off, an apology already hiding behind those brilliant blue eyes. “It’s okay to tell me if I messed up at all. That’s how I’ll learn. Whatever it is, you can tell me.”

Oh, he’s worried this might be a crash. He thinks he somehow fucked up. In a way, Bucky’s a little touched at how attentive Steve always tries so hard to be about that type of stuff. It reminds Bucky how precious Steve’s always seen him. And… it would be so easy to lie and say yes. Steve wouldn’t ask questions then – not any Bucky would hesitate to answer anyways.

Sighing, Bucky tips his head back against the wall. No. He can’t lie to Steve about that. That part of their relationship is far too special to taint with dishonesty. And Bucky hates when Steve’s so hard on himself. He’s already too self-deprecating for his own good; always takes the brunt of everything on his own shoulders and never bleeds on anyone. There’s no way in hell Bucky would ever take advantage of that and let Steve think he did something wrong when he didn’t.

Looking away, he clears his throat before shaking his head. “No, it’s not that. Today was perfect. It’s got nothing to even do with you. It was just… some run-in with this asshole, that’s all. It was stupid.”

Steve’s brows knit together. “Oh…Who?”

Bucky hesitates. “Alex Pierce? You know him?”

It’s a dumb question. Everyone knows him. Steve’s clearly of no exception, adorning a look of genuine surprise. “Really? Him? Huh… I never would’ve expected that. He always seemed like a nice guy.”

“Yeah, that’s his special power,” Bucky says, huffing out a flat chuckle. “But he’s actually such a dick.” With a scowl, he mutters, “I fuckin’ hate that guy.”

“What’d he do?” Steve asks slowly. A beat passes. Whatever it is that suddenly clicks in Steve’s head turns his demeanor vehement, distrust flashing in his eyes. With building exigency, Steve presses, “Buck, what’d he do to you? Did he do something? Because if he laid even a finger on you, I need you to te--”

“Whoah, Steve, stop. It’s okay,” Bucky assures him, giving him a weak smile. “Don’t worry, he didn’t. Nothing like that happened. But – I mean, what could you even do about it anyways, right?”

Steve frowns, like he’s tasted something foul. His hands slowly lower from Bucky’s face and he shrugs. “If I were ten years younger, deck the shit out of him?”

“Yeah, but you’re not, so…” Bucky gathers up Steve’s hands again, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Don’t worry, ‘kay? He was just,” he grimaces at the memory, “drunk, and ran his mouth. I took care of it.”

“What’d you do?”

“I decked the shit out of him.”

Steve’s eyebrows shoot up, mouth dropping. He laughs in surprise, but then catches himself – remembers that he’s supposed to be the responsible adult here – and asks in all seriousness, “Okay, but… how bad did you hurt him? ‘Cause as your boyfriend, I want to say ‘good’, but as a teacher, I should probably know if this guy needs an ambulance or something. I mean, you’re not gonna have to worry about assault charges or anything, right?”

“Nah, it was just the one hit and he didn’t even bleed,” Bucky says. “Trust me, he deserved it. I know him, he won’t go tellin’ anyone. If he did, he’d have to admit he got knocked out. Wouldn’t happen.”

“Okay, so long as you’re sure.” Steve still seems a little concerned for him, leaning in and pressing a few quick kisses around Bucky’s face.

“Stevie, I’m fine,” Bucky says, right as Steve presses another kiss to his temple. “Don’t worry about me.”

Steve smiles crookedly. “I always worry about you, you know that.” He gives Bucky’s lips an innocent kiss. Bucky can’t help but smile back, even if it doesn’t sit right. “You sure there’s nothing I can do to help?”

“I’m sure. If anything, that might just make things worse.”

“Well, if he’s drunk, he shouldn’t be here either,” Steve points out. “Sounds to me like he needs his ass kicked out.”

That’s actually an enticing thought. Bucky might even pay to see that: Steve laying down the law and kicking Alex Pierce – the Prom King – out of his own prom. Getting even in a completely justified way that has no ties to Bucky. Alex being embarrassed in front of everyone, with nothing he can do about it. Had that been a possibility, Bucky would be seriously considering it. Unfortunately, he remembers what Rumlow had said.

“They’re probably gone already, to be honest,” Bucky replies. “Apparently they were about to peace when I saw him.”  

“Well… just in case, I’ll keep an eye out,” Steve promises. He attempts a tiny smile in the hopes that it’ll make Bucky do the same. “‘Kay?”

Bucky nods, wearily answering, “‘Kay.”

“‘Kay?” Steve asks again, this time with a subtle playfulness as he plants a quick peck to Bucky’s cheek. Eyes shutting, Bucky chuckles. Steve persists, only spurred on by having succeeded in getting Bucky to stop frowning. He alternates between repeating, “‘Kay?” and placing smacking kisses to Bucky’s face, until he’s doing nothing but covering everywhere he can, as loud as he can.

Bucky can’t fight the very real smile that puts on his face. By the time Steve’s cradling it and making his way all around his forehead again, Bucky’s giggling.

“Okay Steve, I get it.”

Steve exhales a chuckle and then falls quiet. He leans in and presses his mouth to Bucky’s. Their smiles match. Bucky reaches up and slips his fingers around Steve’s wrists, opening his eyes to search Steve’s.

“I love you,” he whispers, everything he has put into those three words.

“I love you too, Buck. Are you feeling any better?”

Bucky nods. Only a little, but he doesn’t need to put that on Steve right now. Steve helped take a rotten moment for Bucky and turn it into something beautiful, no matter how brief. The important thing is that it helped calm Bucky down enough that he doesn’t feel three seconds away from another meltdown anymore.

“What’re you gonna say if anyone asks where you disappeared to?” he asks.

Steve shrugs. “I’ll make something up; tell ‘em I had an important call to take or something. It’ll be fine.”

“Okay… Well, we should probably head back.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying here a bit longer…”

“I know you wouldn’t. I wouldn’t mind either,” Bucky admits, “but…”

Steve gets an understanding smile, small and tender. “I get it. You’re right… C’mere.”

He gathers Bucky into a hug. Bucky turns his face into Steve’s hair, breathing in the scent of shampoo, committing it to memory. Steve rubs a light circle against his back. They hold each other for just a tiny bit longer before they force themselves to let go. Bucky wishes they didn’t have to. He just knows they should. For Steve’s sake, Bucky offers him another smile, this time the one to step in and give him a kiss.

Inside, he tries to ignore that voice that wonders how many times he’ll have left before they let go and Steve never comes back again.

It’s a little before eleven when the limo pulls into Natasha’s driveway and everyone crashing there starts piling out.

It hadn’t been very long after Bucky rejoined his friends that he realized what time it was – or more accurately, how little time there was for the gang to rendezvous and make their way downstairs to catch their ride. Bucky didn’t even have the chance to properly give Steve a head’s up that he was taking off.

At Bucky’s suggestion in the stairwell, they’d decided that Steve would head back out first, text Bucky a couple minutes later when he could see that the coast was clear, and then Bucky would casually slip back out himself. He didn’t even know where Steve was when he re-emerged and went back into the hall. He must’ve already joined back up with the other chaperons, wherever that was.

Only once he in the limo could Bucky let him know: Hey baby, we wound up having to split cuz we forgot when the limo was picking us up & we had like 10 minutes. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to say bye :( I’m so happy I got to see you tonight though & thank you for calming me down. If I’m allowed, do you think maybe I can drop by tomorrow? Ily <3

Then he’d spent the duration of the ride to Natasha’s place alternating between throwing on a carefree attitude and joining in whatever conversations were going on around him so as not to seem like a killjoy, pretending not to notice the suspicious look Natasha kept casting his way, and replying to Steve whenever Steve texted back.

Of course he told Bucky it was perfectly fine that he had to leave on such short notice. Steve reminded him how beautiful he looked and how much he enjoyed getting the chance to see Bucky, too. And he only tried to gently ask twice if Bucky was sure he was okay. Both times, Bucky said yes and brushed it away. Steve didn’t ask again after that.

They agreed that Bucky would text him when he got up the next morning – since he was going to be up late and likely to sleep in – and they’d play it by ear, deciding as they went what time Bucky could head over to Steve’s. And Bucky wasn’t in any way surprised when Steve also added, Btw I looked for him but I guess you were right about him leaving, referring to Alex. But he was still just a tiny bit disappointed. Oh well.

Natasha’s parents are out for the evening, with a note on the counter of where they went and what time they’ll be home, so as to give the kids some space. Knowing and having approved the after party taking place in their house, Natasha reminds everyone the rules that Renata must’ve made sure to repeat to her before she’d left that afternoon: that any and all messes are cleaned up, nothing gets broken, the party remains downstairs, and that everyone behaves themselves.

Bucky heads into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The sounds of boisterous talking, laughter, and footsteps out in the hallway get quieter as his friends take things downstairs. Natasha rounds the corner and walks into the kitchen, making Bucky nearly leap out of his skin. He’d assumed she’d gone down with the rest of them.

“Jesus, you scared the crap out of me!” he laughs. “I thought I was alone up here.”

She pulls out a can of Coke from the fridge, bumping the door with her hip to shut it. “I’m not spending the rest of the night in this dress,” she replies with a shrug. “I told everyone we’d be right down. I’m getting into some PJ’s.”

“‘We’?”

“Yeah, well, best friend duties mandate that you keep me company.”

Bucky smirks, teasing. “Don’t you got someone else now who might be able to help you undress?” She flips him off, lips pursing as she tries not to smile, but otherwise doesn’t dignify that with a response. She still looks weirdly expectant, though, and truthfully, Bucky’s just relieved that the atmosphere between them isn’t as weird as it’d been in the limo. He probably shouldn’t stir the pot.

So he relents, saying, “Fine. Let’s go. Make it fast, though. God knows what they’re doing down there.”

As they head upstairs, Bucky tries to test the waters a little more; see if that almost-smile in the kitchen was a fluke, or if the mood is lighter again and Natasha’s chosen to drop the subject of what happened back at prom. “So does this mean you’re gonna start expecting me to go to the bathroom with you, too?” he asks, joking.

She exhales through her nose, a half-hearted note of a chuckle, as one corner of her mouth just barely turns up. Other than that, she stays silent. Bucky doesn’t know how to interpret that as an answer. But then they walk into her room – Natasha first, Bucky following – and the door magically shuts behind them without either of them having touched it. The sound makes Bucky startle, spinning around as his brows knit together.

Clint’s standing there.

“Hey buddy,” he simply says, in a tone Bucky definitely doesn’t like. Careful but conclusive; very much in the know.

“Uh…” Bucky looks to Natasha and finds her staring right back, arms crossed and the can of Coke discarded on her night table. “Threesome?” he tries to jest.

She nods to the bed. “Sit.”

Bucky’s expression falls, giving her a flat look. “Did you actually trick me into coming up here? Really?” When Natasha’s expression doesn’t change, still waiting for Bucky to take a seat, Bucky shakes his head and makes to head back for the door. “Yeah, I’ll meet you guys downstairs--”

Clint blocks his way. At least he looks slightly apologetic for the ambush. “Sorry man, no can do. We just wanna talk to you for a sec.”

Bucky looks from him, to Natasha, back to him again. “Seriously, you guys have one dance and now you’re plotting shit together? What even is this, an intervention?” Scoffing, feeling his stomach twisting and his pulse quickening, he tries to step towards the door again. Clint won’t budge.

“I told you we were going to talk,” Natasha answers, unaffected by Bucky’s scandalized reaction. “We’ve wanted to talk to you all week, actually.”

“Now you two are we?”

“Yeah, both of us – as your best friends,” Clint answers, a lot firmer this time. “Look, man… We’re not here to attack you. We just wanna know what the hell’s been up with you lately. Okay? We’re worried.”

Bucky swallows, all the steam seeping out of him at those two simple words. It’s not very often Clint admits to stuff like that. Bucky knows the extent of his devotion as a friend. He’s never once doubted it. But Clint’s always the type to prove it with actions rather than sentimental speeches. So for him to be so blunt about his worry speaks volumes.

Bucky had anticipated that Natasha would want to eventually talk about what happened tonight, but he never realized they’d been paying that much attention to his rapid decline over the last week. He thought he’d been putting on a pretty convincing front. They either know him too well or Bucky’s a shitty actor.

Shoulders slumping, Bucky sighs and mutters, “Fine.”

He trudges miserably to Natasha’s bed and does as he was told, sitting down. In the back of his mind, he registers the pressure of the plug when his rear hits the mattress. It’s not the same as it was earlier, though. Part of Bucky is actually sort of looking forward to taking it out once he gets the chance. It’s been good, real good, but certain spots in him are oversensitive to the point of soreness now – and without Steve there to make it pleasurable, it’s just… not, as much. Sometimes Bucky forgets that without pleasure, pain is just pain.

His friends keep an eye on him, silent at first. When Clint seems to trust that unblocking the door won’t result in Bucky leaping from the bed and making a run for it, he slowly steps away from it and walks deeper into the room. He lowers himself to the floor in front of Bucky, crossing his legs and resting his weight on his elbows. Expectantly, he glances up at Natasha. Bucky’s gaze follows his.

She remains standing. It throws Bucky off to see the sudden troubled look etching across her features. Her voice is much softer than normal when she holds Bucky’s stare and then asks, “What’s been going on with you?”

Bucky lowers his eyes, face growing hot. Now they’re both back to staring at him. Waiting. Wanting an answer. He shrugs one shoulder. It’s a childish sort of response, and a total lie – and the fact that it doesn’t work doesn’t shock him one bit.

“Yasha,” she presses, yet still just as gentle, “what is it? Something’s been up with you all week, we’ve seen it. And then tonight? Look me in the eye and tell me nothing’s wrong.”

Bucky knows he can’t. Despite the fact that he’s always had such a moral dilemma about lying to Natasha in the first place, he always fails if he has to do it to her face. He turns into the worst liar ever, and Natasha is already an expert detector as it is.

The room is uncomfortably silent while they wait for Bucky to answer. But Bucky doesn’t know what to say. God, he’s tired. Way too tired of keeping up his charade. No matter how hard he tried anyways, his friends still saw the cracks in his mask. So did Steve. Bucky’s been trying to play to an audience that never believed his performance – and on some level, Bucky always knew that. Even now, just trying to remember any of the possible excuses he could try to scrounge together on the spot feels like too much effort. 

There’s so much unfiltered concern in Clint’s voice when his frown deepens and he gently presses, “Buck…?” that Bucky’s heart breaks.

And he can’t do this anymore.

“I’m going to UCLA,” he hears himself blurt out, right before he buries his face into his hands and shakes his head.

He’s met with silence. Bucky prepares himself for the worst, but then Clint says, sounding confused, “Um… ‘kay?”

“And?” asks Natasha.

Bucky lifts his head to look between them. Now he’s the one who’s thrown off. Clearing his throat, he repeats, “I’m… Um, I’m going to UCLA. In the fall. That’s the place I decided to pick.”

His friends glance to each other, the situation no more cleared up than it was the first time Bucky said it.

Natasha uncrosses her arms. “I’m not following.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Clint says. Looking back to Bucky, he asks, “That’s why you’ve been acting weird?”

“I… Yeah. I guess so.”

“O-kaaay,” Clint replies, drawing out the word; still not getting it. “Alright. Alright, well, let’s talk about it then. Like, what’s freaking you out so much? Just the idea of college in general, or are you having second thoughts, or…?”

Bucky shakes his head, saying, “No, it’s nothing like that.”

“‘Kay, then I’m still confused.”

Natasha lifts a hand, her brows knitting. “Wait. Hold on.” Looking at Bucky sharply, she indicates between herself and Clint and that’s when she asks, “Is this all because you’ve been afraid to tell us?” Bucky feels his cheeks burning red, and once more, he buries his face into his hands, letting out a muffled groan. “He’s been afraid to tell us,” he hears her say much more pointedly to Clint.

“What? Dude. Why?”

It’s such a genuine question – said with so much surprise – that Bucky could burst into tears and start laughing simultaneously. Somehow, in retrospect, the answer he’d been fearing and setting himself up for the most was really the most unrealistic thing that could’ve happened. It’s only now that Bucky’s said it out loud and seen their reactions that it dawns on him – just how silly it was for him to assume that him moving away for school would be enough to ruin over a decade’s worth of friendship.

So he tries to explain himself the best he can. Really, it all turns into an unattractive ramble, but he tries; he talks about his dream, and the pressure from his parents, and his fear of things changing, and somehow that turns into a rant about movie tropes and Bucky’s partially blaming those for feeding into his skewed belief that moving fucks up friendships, and…

By the time he’s finished, Bucky doesn’t even know how many topics he unintentionally just burned through, or what the segues even were. He just lifts his hands into the air, lets them drops and smack off his thighs, and says, “So… yeah.”

Neither of his friends say anything. They just stare at him, and Bucky wishes one of them would say something because the silence makes him nervous as hell and he doesn’t really have the brain power to try and decipher their expressions right now.

That’s when Clint laughs. It’s not cruel. Somehow, it’s sympathetic and affectionate. Bucky exhales a laugh a split second later; his sounding just a tad more hysterical. There’s no word for the relief he feels at that response. He’ll take it. Clint’s not mad. Bucky told himself they’d be mad at him, but Clint’s not mad. He’s not, he’s laughing, and everything’s fine. Their friendship isn’t ruined.

Clint shakes his head, running a hand through his hair as he looks away in thought.

“Man… Here I was worrying you, like, killed a guy or something,” he finally says. “But that was… Wow. Man, you must’ve had to have scared the shit out of yourself if you thought I’d be pissed at you for that. Like… Look, am I gonna miss you? Of course. It’ll be weird not having you around all the time, for all of us. But that’s what Kik and FaceTime are for.

“Plus, it’s not like you’ll never visit, and you sure as hell know I’ll make a point to fly out there at least once. You really think you’d move away and we’d just never talk to you again? It’s not like you’re the only person we know who’s going away for college, dipshit.”

“I know…” Bucky says, still smiling apologetically. He lets out a quiet sigh. “I was just… yeah. You know. I wasn’t thinking, I get it.”

Clint chuckles again. “Well, that’s hardly anything new,” he teases, faking seriousness. Bucky knows what he’s really doing, and he’s never felt so grateful to have friends like him in his life.

Nodding, Bucky gives him a smaller, warmer smile. “Thank you, Clint.”

“No need to thank me, you know I love ya,” he replies with a shrug, leaning back on his hands. “Just give us a bit more credit in the future.”

This time when Bucky nods, he feels guilty. He knows Clint has a point; they’ve never shown Bucky anything but complete devotion. For him to basically question that with no justified preamble was never fair – if anything, it was also kind of hurtful. They know him well enough to know it wasn’t done on purpose. It’s not like Bucky can control how he felt. But, then again, neither can them. If their feelings were hurt, they’d have every right to that. Clint doesn’t seem to be taking any offense, though Bucky knows even if he was, he’d hide it well.

Natasha, in contrast, hasn’t said anything since. She stopped looking at him a few minutes back, too, and so far she’s kept her sights on a random corner on the other side of the room. Her arms are crossed again, though. Bucky knows right away how she’s feeling, and that makes him feel that much worse. Natasha likes to think of herself as a closed book, but she’s way too easy to read when she’s upset. Right now, she is most definitely feeling hurt.

“Nat,” Bucky says, getting off the bed and going to her. Clint watches but doesn’t provide any commentary. He knows better than to intervene. Natasha blinks, green eyes finally turning to look up at Bucky’s face. Bucky’s momentarily stunned to see that – if he didn’t know any better – her eyes look wet. He can’t remember the last time anyone was able to get her even close to crying. To know he just went and did that makes him feel like such an asshole. Hurting Natasha is something he can never stomach.

“Natasha,” he repeats, voice breaking.

Her own is deceivingly even when she answers, “Is that what you think of me?”

Bucky hears just how fragile she really is in this moment, no matter how much she may try to disguise it. It’s a punch to the chest. His lips part, and his face looks pained, but nothing escapes him.

So she keeps speaking; eyes still hard, still shining with unshed tears, her face otherwise stoic and eerily calm: “We’ve been best friends all our lives. You know me better than anyone. And you thought I’d throw all that way… because you went somewhere else for college?”

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. He reaches for her hand and though she’s on the defensive, she still lets him take it. Lifting it, Bucky cradles it in both of his own, closing her fingers into a loose fist so he can press a few kisses to her knuckles.

She’s right. Bucky was so blinded by his anxieties and doubts that he let it cloud his judgement in the worst possible way. Natasha doesn’t let people in the way she’s let Bucky in over the years. He was the first person other than her family she ever told she loved. That hadn’t been easy for her. Since they were kids, she’s been there for Bucky in ways other people couldn’t even begin to imagine. And then he basically went and spat all over the trust she’s not only given him, but earned for herself in return.

He owes it to her to look her in the eye, and not away. In a whisper, he tells her again that he’s sorry. Hoping she won’t reject him, he gently tugs her towards him. She hesitates, like she isn’t sure. But then she steps in; lets Bucky wrap his arms around her and hug her close. He squeezes her even tighter when he feels her start to hug back.

“I’m sorry, Natasha…”

She’s unresponsive for a second, and then mutters into his shirt, “You’re an idiot.”

That’s a good sign. Bucky smiles to himself, nodding his face against her hair and quietly answers, “I know.”

“I’d never be mad at you about something like that. You know me.”

He does. Not many people do, but he does, yes. More relief fills him. This feels like such a weight off his chest, just getting that much out in the open. He nods again, giving her another tighter squeeze against his chest. “I promise not to doubt it again, okay?” he says. “And if I do, I give you permission to hit me.”

Natasha whacks his back lightly, knocking a tiny chuckle out of Bucky’s lungs. Pulling out of the hug, she jokes, “If you do again, I’m not going to need permission.” She wipes at her eyes as discreetly as she can, shooting him the smallest smile.

“So you forgive me?” Bucky asks.

Natasha takes a deep breath. “Are you feeling better now that you told us?”

“Yeah.”

“Then that’s all that matters. But,” she draws in a deep breath, letting it out with a dramatic sigh as she re-adopts her usual demeanor, “of course I do. C’mon, when’ve I ever stayed mad at you before anyways?”

They smile at each other. Despite having just hugged her, Bucky holds out his arms and says, “I love you, dork,” before pulling her right back against him for round two.

“Okay, just one more,” Natasha plays, pretending to humor him. Bucky notices she still hugs back just as tightly, though.

“You could tell me you love me too, you know,” Bucky suggests, teasing. “It wouldn’t kill you.”

“Yeah, but why take the risk, right?”

Out of nowhere, the loud sound of Natasha’s can of Coke opening fills the room and completely ruins the moment. They both glance over to see Clint still looking up at them, slowly lifting the can to his lips to takes a sip. He looks away, eyes widened, and then back to them.

“Sorry,” he says, “I thought the moment was over.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, unwrapping his arms as the hug comes to an abrupt end. “Not quite, but I guess it is now.”

“That was mine, by the way,” says Natasha, stealing it from Clint (much to Clint’s protest). “You want one? Go get your own.”

“Geez, guys. No hug, no Coke – no love for Barton, I get it,” Clint gripes, going into full pout mode. He immediately regrets those words when it results seconds later in Bucky yanking him up from the floor so he and Natasha can squish him into the middle of a sandwich. “I’m definitely facing the wrong side,” he says, voice muffled with his face practically smooshed against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky grins. “Yeah, now that we’re all here, what’s going on with you two anyway?”

“Hug’s over,” Clint announces, wiggling his way out of it. Natasha smirks at him and also doesn’t answer, finally going over to her dresser to grab some clothes to change into.

“Come on, really? Really, you guys aren’t gonna tell me? I don’t get the deets?” Bucky complains.

Clint takes the can of Coke again and pretends he’s too busy gulping down a mouthful to answer. Natasha just sweetly calls that she’ll be right out and heads into her adjoining bathroom, shutting the door behind her.

Bucky huffs, dropping onto his back across her bed and mumbling, “You guys suck.” With Natasha gone, he quickly looks to Clint and points, quietly hissing, “Bro code! I deserve this!”

Clint waves him off hastily, peering fast at the bathroom door. Later, he mouths back.

“So, was that what was going on earlier, too?” they hear Natasha ask from the other room. Bucky freezes, having assumed that was long since dropped. She clearly never told Clint about what happened, because Clint then asks him what happened ‘earlier’. Before Bucky can figure out where the fuck his tongue went, Natasha calls to Clint, “Remember when we couldn’t find him?”

“Yeah?”

“Well I did, and he looked like he just found out his dog died. Then he disappeared again.”

Clint frowns. “I thought you said he’d gone back out for a smoke. Dude,” he says, turning his attention to Bucky, “I was out there for like ten minutes thinking you were getting mugged in some alley.”

“We were in Manhattan,” Bucky says.

“I know, so then we were starting to think you’d been abducted by UFOs.”

“Wow, that escalated fast.”

Clint admits, “Okay, well that was Quill’s theory--”

“James, stop changing the subject!” Natasha’s voice interrupts them.

“Damnit,” Bucky mutters under his breath. He’d hoped that was going to work. The major fucking problem right now is that he just hurt Natasha’s feelings and then patched things up without much of a fuss. That puts Bucky into a tough spot because now he’s faced with either: telling the truth and re-opening that can of worms, or lying and disrespecting her trust again.

But Bucky still feels guilty. So as much as he wants to avoid this subject like the plague… he really doesn’t want to lie again.

So for the second time that night, he opens his mouth and spills the truth before he loses the guts: “It was about Alex.”

For a split second there’s silence from the bathroom, presumably as she digests that answer. Clint zeroes in on that like a hawk, back straightening as he quickly asks, “Wait, when did you run into Pierce?”

Bucky starts chewing on the inside of his cheek. He can still avoid a shitstorm. Right now he’s still in the clear. He doesn’t have to tell them everything. They don’t need to know.

“In the washroom.”

The bathroom door opens, Natasha emerging in pajama pants and a tank top, her curled hair scraped back into a ponytail but all her makeup scrubbed clean. The change in her entire presence whenever Alex’s name is even mentioned is never any less astounding. She reminds Bucky of a lioness about to protect her cubs. It’s fierce and extraordinary – and maybe also a little bit scary.

“What happened?” she asks. No bullshit.

Bucky gulps. “Nothing.”

“James.”

“Well…”

“Did he try something again?” asks Clint indignantly.

Alex is a taboo topic for all of their friends. No one brings him up, and all share a silent hatred for him for what he did to Bucky back in tenth. It’s been a long time since there was any need for him to be talked about again.

Bucky’s throat is getting drier. He can still back out of this. Just tell them what happened, but leave out the rest. Leave out what they don’t already know. Technically he won’t be lying, he just… won’t be telling the full truth.

“No,” Bucky answers. He catches himself. “I mean, yes, he did. But I told him no. He said some shit – tried to threaten shit about the video again--”

Clint scoffs, “Oh, for fuck’s sake, seriously?”

“--And I called him on it. I, uh… I might’ve hit him, too.”

“You what?” exclaims Clint.

Even Natasha looks stunned by that, which says something. “You hit him?”

“Are you nuts?” Clint jumps back in. “I mean, fuck yeah, good for you, seriously, but – are you actually fucking nuts? What if any of the teachers found out?”

“But they didn’t,” Bucky says, “and what would they have done anyways? Not let me graduate?”

“More like, slapped you with an assault charge,” Natasha counters.

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “Like you’re really one to talk.” She knows he has a point, so she arches a brow but doesn’t respond. Calmer, Bucky promises them, “No one saw. And he won’t tell anyone, trust me.”

Clint nods, slowly grinning the longer he mulls over Bucky’s words. “Jesus, I wish I could’ve seen that,” he laments. “Did he cry? Oh! If he cried, you gotta tell me. I would’ve given anything to see that prick get one good shot to the nose--”

Bucky smirks. “He didn’t cry, unfortunately.”

Natasha’s still looking at Bucky, skeptical. “James?”

“Hmm?”

“Pa-POW!” Clint exclaims beside them, distracted. He’s bouncing on his feet and jabbing out his fists, punching the air.

Observing him a little too carefully, she asks, “Why did you hit him?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you hit him? You said he tried to hit on you and you said no, so what did he do that made you hit him?”

Clint stops fooling around and looks back to Bucky too, curious. Bucky grimaces. “He just said some shit. Called me a cumdumpster and basically a fuckboy. So I hit him.”

Natasha must have been born with some fucking radar in her head that’s programmed to inform her when Bucky’s not being entirely honest, because her eyes narrow like something still isn’t sitting well with her. She asks, “And that’s all?”

“Yeah,” Bucky lies. Another knee-jerk reaction.

“Hey James?” she presses unabatingly. “This time I want you to try looking at me when you say that.”

He’s busted. Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d averted his eyes when he answered – fuck. Fuck! She knows he’s lying.

Would you rather they hear it from someone else? Bucky’s logic pipes up. He doesn’t know what to do now. That part of his brain takes full advantage – You need to tell them, it continues. Poking him. Prodding at his conscience. Bucky wishes it would shut the fuck up, but he knows it’s right. He fucking hates that it’s right.

You’ve been lying about it long enough.

He’s still ninety-nine percent certain that Alex wouldn’t be stupid enough to say a word of what happened to anyone, since the repercussions would be exactly as Bucky said: by outing Bucky’s actions, he’d be simultaneously revealing to everyone that the star quarterback and all-American poster boy wasn’t as straight as he liked them to believe.

Bucky’s always found it ironic – and almost heartbreaking, in its own way – that despite how much Alex always used to love to pound Bucky’s ass on the regular, he’s probably also the most homophobic person Bucky’s ever known. There are only too many guesses as to why that’s the case. But really, that’s for Alex to either come to terms with or continue to ignore.

It’s funny how life works sometimes. That used to be one of the things that hurt Bucky the most, and now it seems like his saving grace. His ace in the hole.

But.

God, that’s a dangerous word… ‘but’. When it comes to this, there are just too many of them. The most important one being that with what went down, Alex might still deny it to hell and back, but he also knows full well that Clint and Natasha are aware of what happened in the beginning. He might not tell anyone else, but he could still tell them. The only person who’d lose in that scenario would be Bucky. Because they’re his friends, not Alex’s. Alex never owed them what Bucky did… and failed to. 

There’s still that possibility. However small it may be.

You can start fresh. You have a whole new life ahead of you, Bucky’s rationality continues. Just air all this shit out and put it on the table. You can start over and let go of the past. They’ll forgive you. You owe it to them to tell them.

Bucky sighs. That’s it, then.

“There’s actually… ‘Kay, there’s something I need to tell you guys. But I need you to promise not to freak out.”

“Uh…” Clint starts.

“No,” Natasha says, simple as that. “People don’t say ‘don’t freak out’ unless it’s something to freak out about. I can’t tell you how I’ll react when I don’t know what you’re going to tell us.”

“I…” Bucky aborts the rest of the sentence, replacing it with a pathetic sound in his throat. He wants the assurance of a guarantee; the selfish desperation to know that they won’t get upset with him, despite that being the last thing Bucky’s entitled to ask from them. He made his bed. Now he has to lie in it. He draws in a shaky breath, knowing he has to try again.

“Okay… Okay, um…” Staring down at his hands, Bucky’s mouth twists up. “You guys remember what happened between Alex and me in sophomore year…”

“Like we could forget,” Clint mumbles under his breath.

“Yes,” Natasha says warily.

“And you remember how… um, how I swore I’d never go anywhere near him again…”

“Yes.”

Bucky’s face is so hot he could fry an egg on it. Throat tightening, shame strangling him, he forces himself to try and keep going: “Okay… Well… Um, it’s just…”

There’s a long pause, way too long, and Clint’s the one to break it when he asks, “Dude, what? Just say it! What?”

“I sort of… kept seeing him,” Bucky finally admits, sheepish.

The response is immediate and pretty much exactly what Bucky was expecting.

“You what?” Clint all but shouts, eyes widening.

Next to him, Natasha’s mouth drops. “Excuse me?”

“I know…”

“Were you out of your fucking mind?” She doesn’t even need to yell for Bucky to feel the brunt of her words smacking him across the face. Natasha rarely raises her voice. She doesn’t need to. When she’s angry, you know.

“Jesus Christ,” Clint’s groaning out, lifting his hand to his forehead as he shakes his head. He keeps looking away but then back to Bucky, eyes still round and disbelieving.

“I know, I--”

“Was the first time not a big enough lesson?” Natasha interrupts him. “Seriously, what the hell were you even thinking?”

“I – I wasn’t, clearly,” Bucky croaks out. “I just--”

Natasha cuts him off again, demanding to know, “How long?”

“What?”

“How long did you keep seeing him?”

Bucky can’t remember the last time he felt so ashamed. It’s not an easy thing to confess. Making another weak noise, he exhales and shakes his head, lifting a hand to rub at his eyes. Using the opportunity to shy away from their scrutinizing gaze, he sighs, “Right before senior year started. That was the last time.”

“Bucky!” Clint exclaims, already sounding exasperated.

He winces. “I know! I know, I’m sorry! Okay? But – but that really was the last time, I swear. I haven’t gone back to him since, I promise, I promise I’m not lying now. To me, it was over-over. For good. That’s why I said no tonight.”

His friends go silent. Bucky almost wishes they’d keep yelling at him. That’d be better than the way they’re looking at him right now – watching them try and process this information and think whatever it is they’re thinking and feel the weight of their disappointment crushing down on his shoulders.

“Please say something,” he whispers. They share a glance, no surer of what they’re supposed to say than Bucky is. “Just… whatever you’re thinkin’, just say it. I can take it. Look, I know I fucked up, okay? I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have kept it from you--”

“You think?” Clint asks.

“No, you shouldn’t have opened that door again, period,” says Natasha.

“I know,” Bucky repeats for the millionth time, this time with a little more annoyance.

That’s what he’s saying: he’s well aware that what he did was stupid, and that he should have learned the first time, and that he has no one to blame but himself, and all that shit. He made a mistake and he’s trying to finally own up to it. He already feels bad enough, and he knows they have every right to be mad. But he still doesn’t need them to lay it on thick and make him feel even worse by twisting the knife while it’s stuffed into his guts, telling him shit he more than already knows.

“Look, you don’t think I regret it?” he asks. “You don’t think that every time I have to see him I don’t wish I’d done things differently? I do. It was stupid, I know that, and – that’s why I’m telling you. I should’ve told you before and I’m sorry I didn’t, but I’m telling you now. It’s never gonna happen again and I just want it to be done with. I want that shit out of my life.”

“I just don’t get it,” Natasha says. “How did you even think that was ever a good idea? After everything he put you through. No, not just you – us too, the both of us,” she corrects herself, gesturing between her and Clint. “You know I could’ve gotten expelled for you! I could’ve gotten arrested--”

“I never asked you to beat the shit out of him, Natasha!”

“It’s not as if you left me much of a choice!”

“Oh,” Bucky spits out bitterly, “well, I’m so sorry that I was such a fuckin’ burden that you felt you had to go clean up my messes--”

“Hey! Enough!” Clint barks. Bucky and Natasha shut up, and he lifts his hands, expression softening. “Listen,” he says to them both, “we need to calm down, okay? Look… Everyone is still downstairs. We don’t need this being bigger than it needs to be. We’re all just a little upset right now. So let’s just – let’s just take a deep breath and talk about this like adults.”

Begrudgingly, Natasha’s mouth tightens but she nods. “Sorry,” she mutters.

“Me too,” Bucky says.

Clint regards them both and then nods, too. “Okay… Look Barnes, you had to know what we’d think when you told us. You didn’t really think everything would be hunky dory, did you?”

Bucky averts his eyes and keeps them on the ground. He shakes his head, mumbles, “No. I knew you’d freak. That’s why I didn’t wanna say anything.”

“Yeah well, lying to us for two years wasn’t exactly the smartest choice you ever made either,” Clint replies, pointedly but without malice. “Would we have still felt the same way if you’d told us way sooner? Yeah, probably, but part of why it’s such a shocker is ‘cause you didn’t tell us. We wouldn’t have liked it, and you know we would’ve been trying to stop you, but we wouldn’t have, like, hated you for it. In case that was what you were wondering. We wouldn’t have stopped being your friend.”

Bucky looks back up to him then. Clint continues, “But you know better than anyone that what happened didn’t just involve you. You were a wreck for months, and we were the ones there to try and make things better. And no, Bucky’s right, he never asked you to get involved,” he then says, turning his attention to Natasha.

“He didn’t ask any of us to. But you’re our friend,” he tells Bucky, “and you were in way too much over your head to go at it alone. So… yeah, I get why Natasha’s pissed. I am, too. Pierce fucked a lot of shit up for a while, and for you to go back to that after we tried so hard to help you and make sure it was over… You’re smarter than that, Buck.”

Bucky’s eyes are wet, face screwed up. He nods. “I know… I’m sorry…”

“I know,” Clint says. “I know you are. And you did tell us. That’s what matters. Better late than never, right?” He looks back to Natasha, and after a few seconds, tentatively places a hand on her back. He quietly murmurs, “You know this had nothing to do with us, Tasha. C’mon, you know that. We all fuck up.”

Her frown deepens, but the steeliness held in her eyes eases up. “I know.”

“I think you two need to hug or something. Barnes?”

Bucky looks to her, hopeful but trying not to get his hopes up. He and Natasha don’t know how to stay mad at each other – she said it herself – but sometimes when she gets particularly hurt, she isolates her and withdraws for a while to recover. Until she’s ready to put herself back out there again. Bucky could see her going to him about as much as he could see her abruptly turning and leaving the room without another word, with no intention of speaking much to Bucky for the rest of the night.

But she does come to him. Slowly, and not directly for a hug, either, but to take a seat next to him on the edge of her bed. Clint remains standing for a second, but then decides to join, filling the empty space to Bucky’s left. Natasha takes several breaths to collect herself and get her thoughts together. Bucky waits – skin crawling with anxiety, and resisting the urge to start bouncing his knee, but he waits.

Finally meeting his eyes, Natasha strikes him as shaken when she asks, “Do you want to know why I’m really upset about this? Why I’m mad? It’s not because you didn’t tell us, even though, yeah, I’m not exactly happy about that. It’s because you put yourself in danger. Pierce is not a good person, Yasha. Just because he never put his hands on you before doesn’t mean I’d put it past him if he was pushed hard enough.”

Bucky’s stomach drops. Honestly, of all the things he’d considered over the years, that admittedly wasn’t one of them. Sure, there was always the wonder in the back of his head of whether Alex could ever be capable of that, but… Bucky had always just sort of assumed the answer – however bad things could’ve potentially gotten again – was no.

She continues, “And all it took was one time for you to finally turn him down, and – what would’ve happened if we all weren’t at prom? What if this happened back then, with no one else around? You might not have hit him a year ago. What then?

“It’s the not knowing that’s making me freak out. It’s realizing you put yourself back into danger, and I never even knew. Something could’ve happened to you, something way worse than what happened last time, and we might not’ve been able to get there in time. That’s why I’m mad.”

Bucky nods, because he doesn’t know what to say. Somehow her answer is both better and worse than anything else she could’ve told him. It’s like when you fuck up but then you’re parents tell you they ‘aren’t mad, just disappointed’. That seems to have the ability to cut even deeper; really drive the point home. Maybe it’s because Bucky understands. He’s disappointed in his own actions, too. He always was, even when it was happening… It was complicated…

Maybe it also has to do with the fact that Bucky can’t stand the thought of worrying Natasha as much as he now knows he has. Had anything actually happened to him, she’d find a way to internalize the blame and make it her own fault. For not knowing, for not being there to protect him.

It’s why she had stepped in the first time and got involved with Alex. Bucky never asked her to, but he didn’t have to – when it comes to her friends, Natasha would probably die if it meant protecting them. That’s just the type of person she’s always been.

He slowly covers her hand with his. It’s tense, as is the rest of her, but after a moment she tips it out as an invitation for Bucky to better slide his palm against hers and slot their fingers together. “I never meant to make you upset. Either of you,” he says with a glance in Clint’s direction. “I always hated that I was lying to you guys. I know I shouldn’t have done it, or kept doin’ it, I… just…"

“We know,” Clint says, “it’s okay. I’m not even mad anymore.”

Bucky gets a weak smile. “That was fast…”

“I just needed a minute to get over it, s’all.”

“I’m still mad,” Natasha says. They both glance to her and Bucky’s face falls again. Then she clarifies, “Not at you. Just… mad. At the situation. Mostly at Pierce.”

“Now I’m really regretting not getting to see you punch him out earlier,” says Clint.

“I need…” Natasha lets out a barely audible huff, shaking her head, frustrated. “I need you to try and help me understand. Like… why? Why go back at all? I just don’t get it.”

It’s not quite as easy as a single straightforward answer, though Bucky knows that’d make everything a whole lot simpler right now for his friends – maybe even himself. He’s never fully understood his reasoning either. Only that it made sense at the time while always making absolutely no sense at all. And on a logical level, Bucky had seen both sides of that; before, during, and after every time it happened again.

So he shakes his head to himself, shrugging his shoulders. “Looking back on it, I’m not sure I even know,” he admits. Natasha gets a strange look at that. “I know it sounds like bullshit, but I’m really not. I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not like it was a week later or anything when it started again. It was probably a good six or seven months.

“Then… we were at some stupid party, and he kept lookin’ at me, and… we were drinking. I know that’s not an excuse,” he quickly says, because he knows exactly how that must sound. “I just… I dunno. One second we were downstairs, doin’ our own thing, not even talking to each other. And the next, he followed me into the bathroom upstairs. I knew it was wrong, but… I did it anyway. Then I guess I just… kept doing it.”

His stomach is twisting with self-loathing just recalling all these details. This might be the one major time in his life that he’ll always wish he could go back and change.

“It didn’t even happen all that often,” he tells them. “Maybe only, like, once every few months. Other than that, we didn’t hang out. We didn’t even talk. The only time we texted was when he’d get a hold of me out of nowhere and wanted to hook up. It wasn’t like before. And I didn’t feel the same as before either. I really didn’t. It was just sex. That was it."

“You’re lucky it never got messy again,” Clint says after everyone’s fallen silent for almost a whole minute. “I mean, aside from tonight.”

“Yeah, I know,” Bucky says. “He threatened to tell you guys, and – I don’t even really think that he actually would, but… I wanted you to hear it from me, just in case. I know I screwed up. But like I said, it’s been almost a year since that happened and I was already way over it. I never want that guy touchin’ me again. Like, at all. And I actually mean it this time, I swear. M’not just saying that.”

The only positive thing is that Natasha does know Bucky’s completely serious about that, if only because she knows all about Steve. And luckily for Bucky, Clint’s a lot more laidback when it comes to shit like this. He’s always been amused by drama but allergic to actually being in the middle of it. So Bucky knows that, as far as Clint’s concerned, the issue is probably already over with.

So he sets his focus on Natasha. Of the two of them, she’d be the one in need of more convincing. “Are we okay?” he asks, giving her hand a tiny shake. “I promise, there’s nothin’ else. Now you know everything. And I won’t lie to you or do any dumbass thing like that again… ‘kay?”

She slowly nods, giving his hand a squeeze back. “Of course we’re okay. It’d take a lot more than that to make me walk away. Just… the lying thing is a touchy subject for me--”

Apologetic, Bucky whispers, “I know…”

“--So just… no more of that, ‘kay? As much as you can help it, at least?” She offers him a small half-smile as her way of trying to tell him that everything between them is just fine and she really means it. Bucky swears again that he won’t, so she tips her chin in a minute nod and then reaches up to palm the back of his head.

“Good. That’s all I can ask,” she says, rising and pulling Bucky towards her to plant a kiss on the side of his head. She gets off the bed, lightening the atmosphere by announcing, “Alright, well… Now that that’s all done with, everyone’s probably assumed that we died, so we should probably head downstairs. I don’t know about you two but I could definitely use a drink.”

Clint grins, also getting up and asking Natasha who’d all brought what in terms of alcohol, if she knew. Just like that, the subject’s over with and changed. Inside, Bucky relaxes considerably to see that they actually have forgiven him. Really, they hardly even got nearly as mad as Bucky thought they would. He finally fessed up and was able to get that weight off his chest, and damn was that ever necessary.

Bucky knows it’s not over yet. Steve still needs to know. Bucky has to tell him, he has to. But for now, this is something, and it’s still a major relief knowing he isn’t hiding that part of his past from them, at least.

As they all start to head towards the door, Natasha stops and says, “Oh, shit, I totally forgot. Hey Clint, would you mind running down ahead of us and we can meet you in a sec? Just tell everyone we’re talking quickly but we’ll be right down.” Clint raises an inquisitive brow, so Natasha explains, “There’s just one other thing I have to talk to James about, but it’s sort of private.”

Clint glances between them. He nods, giving her a small smile. “Sure. No problem. See you down there.”

Bucky remembers their conversation at prom earlier. Feeling bad, unable to help from wondering just how often Clint does feel like the odd one out between the three of them. He and Natasha share a quick glance, and it’s evident she shares his guilt. “Just one second,” she says to Bucky before leaving the room, rounding the corner, and following after Clint.

Bucky hears as much as Natasha saying his name, but then he hears nothing else. He waits a few seconds, wondering what they could possibly doing that’s so silent, especially when he’s standing right by the door and it’s still wide open. So he decides to be a snoop and shamelessly peek around the corner. The sight he’s met with makes him grin.

Clint’s hand is on Natasha’s waist – the other, still awkwardly gripping the can of Coke he’d been sneaking off with – but Bucky has the distinct impression that she’s definitely the one who initiated the kiss they’re currently sharing. She’s got Clint’s face in her hands, and though it appears she’s controlling the kiss, Clint eagerly meets it, surprised but impassioned. It’s only once he’s already stumbled upon them that it dawns on Bucky: he’s more than likely witnessing their very first kiss.

“I knew it,” Bucky states proudly. The two very promptly break apart, Clint turning so many shades of red that Bucky’s pretty sure he just made a few of them up on the spot. Waving a hand, he says with merriment, “Oh, don’t stop on my part. This is way better than porn.”

Even Natasha’s cheeks seem to be wearing a faint blush, though the lighting is dimmer in the hallway, so maybe that’s Bucky’s imagination. She gets a little smirk, rolling her eyes. Clint clears his throat and stammers out a lame attempt at a reply, before straightening and smoothing down the front of his shirt. Bucky, still beaming, opens his mouth to say more. Clint points at him.

“Ah!” he interrupts, “Not another word.”

Bucky laughs and makes to protest, but Clint just keeps shushing him until Bucky throws up his hands in surrender. They stare each other down, until Bucky’s goofy grin causes Clint to crack. With a trace of an embarrassed smile, Clint ducks his head and chuckles out, “Shut the fuck up,” as he turns to head downstairs.

“I didn’t say anything!” Bucky sweetly calls after him. Clint flips him the bird, so Bucky replies, “You’re welcome!” Natasha’s already taking him by the arm and pulling him back into her room, shutting the door behind her. “So I was totally right,” Bucky says to her, crossing his arms in smug satisfaction. “I knew you liked him, I knew it.”

“We can talk about that later.”

He pouts. “Aww, come on, you mean you’re not gonna tell me now?”

“No, I wanna talk about Steve.”

That’s enough to get Bucky to stop kidding around; that single sentence as good as ice water being dumped over his head. Apprehensively, he asks, “What about Steve?”

“C’mon James, you think this whole time when you’ve been saying all that stuff about being ‘too afraid to tell us’, I didn’t already know you weren’t just referring to me and Clint? So… What’s up? Is everything okay?” she asks softly.

Bucky frowns. “I don’t… Yeah? I guess so?”

“I’m not gonna pry. You don’t have to tell me the details if you don’t want to. All I want to know is if you’re alright. That’s all I care about.”

As he exhales, Bucky visibly sags again from where he stands. Running a hand through his hair, he replies, “I – I don’t know. I don’t even fuckin’ know, Nat. Everything’s fine, but it’s also not, and I don’t know what to do. I mean – ugh, I know what to do, I just don’t wanna do it. Not because I don’t wanna do it, just… Fuck, I’m making no sense, am I?”

Natasha’s barely-there smile turns sympathetic. “Yeah, not really.”

Bucky makes himself take a deep breath. Taking his time, he tries again. “Okay… It’s like… All that stuff I just told you guys? He doesn’t know about any of it. And when I say any of it, I don’t just mean the shit with Alex, I actually mean any of it. All of it. Not about Alex, not about UCLA, not even about what I used to be like before he came along.”

“What do you mean, what you ‘used to be like’?” she asks, green eyes narrowing like Bucky’s phrasing tastes off-putting.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I mean and you know it. I don’t mean it as some sort of bad thing. C’mon, you know me. I just mean, he doesn’t know about – all that.”

That brings her some relief. “Okay,” she says. “Sorry, just didn’t want you suddenly believing all that shit Alex or anyone else said, all because of Steve. I would’ve had a lot of opinions you probably wouldn’t like if you’d said something like that.”

Bucky turns and leans his back to the wall next to the door. Stuffing his hands in his pockets, he looks down to the floor and shrugs one shoulder. Seconds later and he sighs again. “Look, I’m not gonna lie, if Steve suddenly saw me differently about that, I’d still be hurt. I’d be pissed, and I’d have a lot of shit to say to him, too, but it’d hurt. I’m not saying it wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

Chewing at the inside of his cheek, Bucky lifts his gaze to meet hers. “You don’t think he’d feel that way, do you?”

“I don’t really know him,” she admits. “But from everything you’ve ever told me, I think I’d be surprised. Do you think he would – about any of the things you haven’t told him yet?”

Bucky chuckles, a hollow sound. “I don’t know. I wanna say no. I know him, and – most of me is sayin’ that all this fear n’ shit is just in my head. He saw I’ve been acting weird this week, too, and I know he wants to talk about it, but every single time I just… couldn’t. Every time he doesn’t push, I tell myself that’s proof that I’m getting myself worked up for nothin’. But… there’s still the chance. That seems bad enough. So… Yeah, I don’t know.”

Natasha thinks on that. First she nods to herself. Then she asks, “Has he ever given you any reason to think he’d do something like that?”

“No.”

The answer is immediate. That’s not even a doubt, which is why Bucky’s been so conflicted. Steve’s never done a single thing to make him think he couldn’t confide in Steve about this sort of shit and walk out of it with him still on Bucky’s side. Bucky’s never thought about it like that before. The more he does, the more he wonders if that’s exactly the reason why – in the same breath – it’s made him so scared.

“Then…” Natasha touches his arm, “…what is it? Why’re you afraid to tell him?”

Bucky’s eyes fill with tears, the answer suddenly crystal clear. Everything making sense, but by no means feeling any easier to face.

With a rueful smile, he answers, “Because you don’t understand. You don’t… I – I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about him. Like… This is gonna sound cliché as hell, but… You know, I remember the first time he kissed me… Somethin’ in my gut just went, This is right. It was like I knew before the rest of me caught up. It wasn’t ‘till I realized I’d fallen deep that I knew I’d loved him since that kiss.

“I do love him, Natasha,” Bucky quietly admits, setting his teary eyes on her. They don’t fall, but they’re not letting up either. “I never loved no one before, you know that. I never knew that sort of thing even existed ‘till him – that fairy tale, romance flick sort of stuff. With like… butterflies, and weak knees, and all that shit. It’s stupid, but it’s fuckin’ real. I didn’t know I wanted that ‘till I got it.

“Sometimes it feels too perfect, and… I keep expecting it to get fucked up. Something that good doesn’t usually stay good, not forever. And the thought of that – that’s… I don’t…” Bucky sniffles, raising his stare to the ceiling. One corner of his mouth quirks up. “You know, he… he looks at me like – I can’t even describe it. Like I’m the only thing that exists. Sometimes I wait for him to look at me and realize I’m not as great as he thinks I am.”

He needs to stop for a second; breathe in, and out… Gather himself before he actually does cry. It passes, and he gently clears his throat.

“When I’m with him, I feel like… like I’m the best version of myself,” he continues unevenly. “He makes me want to be everything I could be, y’know? I don’t want anyone else. I know I never will. I just want… a life with him someday, whatever that life turns out to be. I don’t even know if I believe in soulmates and shit, but I still know he’s the guy I’m meant to be with.

“And,” he chuckles sardonically, “if I wasn’t completely sure of that, do you really think I’d wanna be in a relationship so fucking complicated? Nine times outta ten I want to rip my fucking hair out ‘cause it can never be simple for us, and it ain’t ever gonna be. But he’s worth it, I know he is. I could never feel the way I do with anyone else.”

Natasha hums softly. Slowly, she nods. Though not ever to this extent before, Bucky has opened up to her about his feelings for Steve. “I guess when the stakes are that high, it only makes it that much harder to lose,” she muses.

Bucky gives her another sorrowful smile. “I don’t know what I’d do if he didn’t look at me the same anymore. I guess I’ve gotten so used to him loving me that I’ve forgotten how to exist without it.”

Natasha’s smile matches his own. She reaches up and cups the side of his face, stroking it with her thumb. “That’s not going to happen,” she tells him, and Bucky knows she’s probably just saying that to try and make him feel better.

That’s okay. It helps.

She continues, “If he feels about you the way you say he does, it won’t happen. He wouldn’t let it. But either way, I think you need to stop driving yourself crazy over it and just tell him. You’ll feel better.”

Bucky’s breath hitches, so tiny a fumble he barely hears it. “What if he--?”

“Then he’ll be making the biggest mistake of his life,” Natasha assures him, “and you’ll still have all of us who love you and’ll help you get through it. But you need to talk to him, even if it’s just for yourself. You can’t keep beating yourself up with all these ‘what ifs’. You’ll feel a lot better.”

Bucky leans a little against her hand, closing his eyes and exhaling through his nose. “Okay,” he whispers. She’s not wrong. At least, he hopes so.

“Okay.” Pulling her hand back, she opens up the door, pausing only once more to reassure him that no matter what, everything will be okay.

“‘Kay.” Bucky lingers behind, still working on trying to believe that. “Um… You go ahead. I’ll meet you down there, I just need to use the bathroom. Think for a minute.”

Understandingly, she nods. “Okay. Take your time. We’ll see you down there.”

“Thanks, Nat.”

She heads for the stairwell. Bucky listens to the footfalls softening as they get further and further away. He shuts the door to her room, locking it behind him. He still hasn’t stripped out of his jacket yet, so he does that first. After tossing it unceremoniously onto the floor beside the bed, Bucky makes his way into the adjoining bathroom. That door gets locked, too. Just to be safe.

He’s not overly sure what he was even intending to do with himself once Natasha left. There wasn’t really a plan. Bucky just needed a minute to be alone… Absorb everything… That was a lot to take in. Mostly good results, which was and is a relief--

Positives, his logic tries to encourage him.

Oh shut up, the rest of Bucky groans, exhausted and five-hundred percent done for one night.

Turning on the tap in the sink, Bucky runs the water until it’s a nice, brisk temperature. Bending forward, he cups his hands together under the stream and then splashes what he’s gathered across his face. There’s a purple hand-towel hanging on the wall beside him, but after wiping the water out of his eyes, Bucky straightens back up and doesn’t use it. Instead, he stares at his reflection, watching the droplets of water roll down his face until they’ll bead along his jawline and drop away.

He thinks. His reflection stares back, and Bucky thinks. He thinks about how his conversations with Clint and Natasha had gone, about what Natasha had said, what Steve had said earlier… Reaching up, Bucky undoes the top buttons of his dress shirt. This time, when he pulls it aside to stare at the marks left on his skin, no one interrupts him. This time, looking at them leaves Bucky feeling like… like he doesn’t really know what to feel…

He thinks. About every memory he ever had with Alex – good and bad, but mostly bad. Even when Bucky told himself they weren’t. He thinks about what it’d be like for Steve to leave him, and thinks about what it’d be like to live nearly a whole country away from him if he didn’t. Bucky thinks, and he wishes he could stop but he can’t. He’s still tearing up, but they’re not shedding. Bucky feels like he’s wearing one of his masks again; this one blank, with a thousand-yard stare. But he knows it’s no mask, and Bucky thinks, but he doesn’t know what to think of that.

It must be a good five minutes later that Bucky turns away and walks toward the toilet, absentmindedly undoing his belt. Balling up some toilet paper, he tugs down his pants first, his boxer briefs next. Bucky thinks, and he thinks – of what to do next, of all the possible outcomes, of how he’s been over the last week – but he chooses not to think too hard about the fact that he’s reaching behind himself with one hand and carefully tugging on the base of the plug.

It’s a smooth slide out. One second it’s a part of him, the next, he’s gaping and uncomfortably loose. Now the plug is in his hand. It’s warm and messy with lube and come. Steve’s come… Steve’s… The tap’s still on, so Bucky disposes the plug in the sink. He’ll wash it up and then stash it away in his jacket or something. If he bundles it up and carries it under his arm when he leaves the next day, it won’t be noticeable.

What is noticeable, however, is the sensation of Steve’s ejaculate beginning to slip past his rim, nothing there to trap it any longer. At first, Bucky’s numb to the implication of that feeling, because he’s thinking. He’s thinking about lots of stuff, but that’s not one of them. The hand with the toilet paper swiftly reaches back to catch as much as it can. Bucky has to go back twice more for toilet paper before he feels cleaned up, the last of the come wiped away. Flushing the toilet, Bucky watches the evidence swirl around and around. And then it disappears.

It still doesn’t sink in right away – not for another moment or so. Bucky’s in the middle of doing his belt back up when his movements start to slow… Eyes gaining back some clarity… He meets his reflection again; brows knitting, mouth petering open…

It’s such a fucking stupid thing, that realizing he’s no longer filled with Steve’s come would be the breaking point. But it is. It’s stupid and it’s pathetic, but it is.

He’d wanted the pressure out of him, and physically, it’s relieving to be rid of the strain. But that’d also been his piece of Steve, his little reminder. As this dawns on him, that empty feeling seems to spread throughout his entire body, washing over his heart and clutching onto it mercilessly. Without any warning, Bucky feels the full extent of its loss.

And he feels like an idiot for caring so much – letting it get him so fucking upset – because he knows it’s an irrational reason to cry. But he cries anyways. He finally cries.

Natasha was right, he can’t keep all this pent up anymore. He knows it’d be fairer to Steve to do this in person, but that’s not exactly an option and Bucky can’t wait a second longer. He can’t do this, he can’t do this, he cannot fucking do this. He should’ve just told Steve as soon as things started bothering him.

Bucky should’ve just talked to him. He knows that now. Anything would be better than having so much shit eating away at him inside. Scrambling, Bucky reaches into his pant pocket and retrieves his phone. He’s never been so nervous, hands trembling and his breathing rough. His eyes are already reddening around the rims, one tear slipping down his cheek, and then another, then another.

But this is something he has to do – please god, don’t let him leave.

The phone rings once… twice… three times… Still Steve doesn’t pick up, and with every unanswered ring, Bucky better tastes his heart in his mouth. Maybe he’s still at prom. It was running until eleven, and it’s only just past eleven-thirty now. He could’ve gone out afterwards for drinks with his friends. Maybe the chaperons had to stay behind longer to help the staff clean up. Bucky doesn’t know how that sort of thing works.

With a sinking feeling, he assumes he’s about to get the answering machine. He considers whether or not he should leave Steve a voicemail; ask Steve to call him back and then waste time hanging out by himself in Natasha’s bathroom, just on the off chance that his phone will ring soon. But this really isn’t one of those things Bucky can try and cram into a message. And his friends all are currently two floors below him, laughing and drinking and enjoying their time together – and Bucky knows that’s not something he should spend his night missing out on.

Bottom lip trembling, he’s about to hang up when suddenly the current ring in his ear is disrupted and cut short. After a brief pause, he hears from the other end of the line, “Bucky?”

Bucky closes his eyes at the sound of Steve’s voice, face pinching up. Turning around, he leans back against the edge of the counter and exhales a small breath. “Steve…”

“Is everything alright? You okay?”

“I’m… fine. I’m fine,” Bucky says, quiet. “Um… are you home? Or – I mean, ‘cause if you’re out, then forget about it. I can go, it’s not an emergency.”

“No, it’s fine. I actually just got in,” Steve says dismissively, clearly not caring about that. By the tone of his voice, Bucky gets the impression that it doesn’t matter where he would’ve been – he still would’ve found a way to get somewhere private so he could take the call.

“What’s up, what’s going on? I thought you’d be hanging out with everyone,” Steve says. When Bucky doesn’t answer, his voice is soft and protective as he presses, “Sweetheart… Are you okay? If something happened, if you need me to come pick you up--”

“No, I’m – sorry, no, I’m okay,” Bucky answers. Frustrated, shaking everywhere, he rubs at his eyes, slumping more of his weight against the counter pushing against his tail bone. “It’s not… I’m just…”

“Deep breath, baby. Just take your time; it’s okay. Where are you right now?”

“Natasha’s bathroom.”

“And where’s everyone else?”

“Downstairs in the basement. I’m alone, don’t – no one can hear me, don’t worry.”

“I’m not really worried about that right now, Buck,” Steve says. “I’m more so concerned that you’re by yourself right now. I don’t like knowing you’re alone when you…”

Bucky hears him sigh. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Steve makes a sad sound. “Oh… Baby, no. There’s nothing to be sorry for, please don’t say – Listen, whatever it is? It’s gonna be okay. I’m right here. Not going anywhere, alright?”

Even though Steve can’t see him, Bucky nods. He’s still shaking, limbs heavy and unnervingly light at the same time. His saliva tastes sour, but no matter how many times Bucky tries to swallow, he can’t make it go away. He’s standing on the edge of a cliff; balancing on one foot with the other dangling forward in the air, threatening to steal the rest of his weight and tip him over.

Bucky knows he has to hurl himself off. Fall. Take his chances and risk the impact.

He can’t do it anymore; struggle to keep his balance on this cliff because he’s too afraid to fall. It’s too hard.

Knowing there’s no turning back, Bucky’s lips part: “I think I’m ready to talk now.”

There’s a pause.

“Really?” Steve asks, surprised. He sounds like he might even be relieved. It’s not like Bucky could blame him if he was, not with how worried Bucky must’ve made him over the last week. But still he double-checks, “Are you sure? You don’t have to do this right now just ‘cause you think I want you to, Buck. You’re with your friends, and – we’re seeing each other tomorrow. Maybe we should wait until we’re actually together to--”

“No,” Bucky cuts him off. Yes, he would prefer that. Of course he would. But he can’t take the easy way out just because it’s being offered to him. It’s tempting, but he can’t, he just fucking can’t anymore.

“It can’t wait,” he says. “I’m going out of my fuckin’ mind. I need to talk now, or – or else I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Steve. But I want to talk right now.”

“Okay, okay Buck, that’s okay,” Steve quickly replies, gentle. “We can talk right now then. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t doing it for me ‘cause… Never mind, that doesn’t matter. Just – yes, of course we can talk now.”

Bucky chews on the inside of his cheek. “There’s a lot that I… I need to say, and… I need you to promise not to say anything until I’m finished.”

Steve gives him his word, trying his hardest to sound unassuming. Bucky can hear it. But Bucky can also hear that trace of fear, right there in the background. Bucky tries to imagine how all of this would sound if the roles were reversed, and Steve was the one telling him those words.

Bucky knows exactly how scared that’d make him feel. So he assures him, “I didn’t cheat on you or nothing. Just – just so we’re clear. I don’t want you worrying that’s what I’m gonna say. It’s got nothing to do with you, actually. Not really. I just… Please don’t worry about that, if you were, okay?”

Steve sounds even less sure when he murmurs again, “Okay…”

“I…” Bucky’s bouncing his knee nervously, the rest of him on the verge of either passing out or retching. Just fucking do it, Barnes. He clears his throat, still swallowing mouthfuls of throat-tightening, sickly sweet saliva. “I wasn’t telling the full truth earlier, in the stairwell. About Alex Pierce. You remember me saying I… that I hated him?”

“Yeah…”

“Well I slept with him, too,” he makes himself confess. “It was all before you and me, obviously, but… it was a mess. It was a fucking shit show and… a lot happened. A lot. I need you to hear all this from me in case – in case he… I just need you to hear this from me, okay?”

“Bucky, what happened tonight?” Steve’s asking, already starting to sound distressed.

 “Please don’t interrupt me,” Bucky pleads. “You promised, Steve. You promised me.”

A few seconds pass. Steve sighs and says, “Sorry. You’re right, I won’t… Go on.”

Bucky slowly slides down to the floor, sitting back against the small door beneath the sink. Tipping his head back, Bucky closes his eyes, mouth still an uneven line. “There’s a lot about me you don’t know,” he says. His voice breaks. “And I don’t know if by the time this conversation ends you’re still gonna feel the same about me, so… I need you to know that I love you. And – and you can decide whatever you want once I’m done… whether you still want this or not. But I love you.”

“I… I love you, too…” Bucky hears Steve whisper. So faint that it might’ve been said more to himself than for Bucky’s ears. That should make him feel better.

It doesn’t really. Not yet.

“You’re not gonna like a lot of what I say,” Bucky warns him, pushing on, “but I just need you to please remember your promise and not say anything ‘till I’m done. You won’t like it, but… you’ll at least know I’m telling you the truth. No lies… okay?”

“Okay…”

“Okay.” Bucky gives himself a moment to steady himself the best he can; deep breath in, then out. He’s still trembling. Finally tipping his weight forward, Bucky sacrifices his balance and plummets off the cliff.

The truth actually requires admitting to one more lie. It’s perhaps one of the only things in Bucky’s whole life that he regrets more than anything else. But once upon a time it’d happened, and Bucky can’t change that. He can deny it all he wants – to the people around him, mostly to himself – but that doesn’t change anything. And the truth is… Before Steve Rogers, Bucky never wanted a relationship. 

With one exception.

It was every cliché teenage rom-coms were made of: Alexander Pierce was the hottest, most popular kid in their grade. Had been for as long as Bucky could remember, even as far back as elementary school. He played junior varsity football, and dated the prettiest girls, and had a Mustang before he even had his learner’s permit, without ever having to have worked a day in his life to earn it.

Because his parents were made of money, he was notorious for throwing the best parties, in a house so big you’d think some A-lister lived there. It had an in-ground pool and a hot tub and everything. Alex’s parents never seemed to be around, but they always gave him free reign with minimal rules – if any – when left unsupervised.

When anyone else threw a party, it meant scrambling to figure out whose older sibling would be willing to do you a solid and buy you some illegal alcohol for the occasion. With Alex, there was always an entire liquor cabinet at his disposal – and anyone else who was lucky enough to be there. Even that young, his parents never seemed to care. In every conceivable way, on the outside, Alex was a walking example of living the American dream.

It was more than that, though. He wasn’t just athletic and exciting, he was also smart. He participated in the school’s Debate Team and was passionate about current events. He wanted to one day become involved with politics because it was his dream to make the world a better place, ridding it of its many injustices.

And his smile… It was mesmerizing. One of those smiles that could light up a room and infect every single person in it until they were smiling back. Sometimes, it was like the guy was too good to be true, because only in fiction can you find someone that good-looking, that talented, that popular – and then find that he was also kind, and funny, and intelligent on top of all that.

To pretty much the entire world, Alexander Pierce was perfect.

And Bucky absolutely adored him.

It wasn’t like that was very surprising. Everyone wanted Alex on some level. Most people wanted to be included in his social circle. Others pined after him. Bucky, as it were, fell into the latter.

Not that they really spoke much. They didn’t. In fact, they’d been going to the same school since the third grade, but basic conversation in passing was always the furthest it ever got. Their group of friends never overlapped enough to open the door to proper introduction. Not to mention that for most of Bucky’s childhood, he was never really much to look at. It wasn’t until his freshman year that he’d finally grown into his own and went from a wallflower to someone people looked at twice.

A lot had changed for Bucky after the eighth grade. Getting the shit kicked out of him after he first came out was one of the worst experiences of his life, but it also made Bucky stronger. It taught him to walk with his head held higher, empowering his resolve to never apologize to anyone again for who he was.

Then add to the fact that the summer that followed, right before high school started, he and Matt Murdock finally decided to help each other out and lose their virginity together. It’d been awkward as hell the first time, and neither of them had a clue of what they were doing. But they dedicated the whole summer to it, experimenting and learning and getting better, all with someone the other trusted.

It took the pressure off when you knew the other person was in the exact same boat as you. They could screw up, or accidentally knock foreheads, or trip off the bed, and all they’d do was laugh and keep going. It was laid back, with no pressure, and looking back on it, it was the best way Bucky could’ve ever had all of his first times.

When high school started, it left Bucky feeling well-equipped, like some sort of well-seasoned expert when it came to sex, despite the fact that he was only fourteen. He’d only had it with the one person, mind you, but he’d picked up a lot of tricks and knew he had a pretty solid handle on what he was doing. That knowledge alone did wonders to Bucky’s confidence – not just in himself, but what Bucky knew he wanted.

Freshman year was Bucky’s transitional period. He redefined his image, feeling like a brand new person entirely the first time he’d ever stepped through the doors of Shield High. For the first time ever, he was suddenly considered ‘hot’. Slowly but surely, he and his friends started getting invited to things, meeting new people, which only boosted their popularity even more.

Bucky probably would’ve gotten swept up in it initially, if not for the fact that none of his close friends actually cared enough about wanting to be part of the in-crowd. As much as the perks to the popular kids accepting them were great – and they fucking were - they were still just as happy being in their own little group at the end of the day.

They were in-betweeners – popular, rarely messed with, but not at the top of the food chain. That was just fine by them. That was the way they liked it. So that’s where Bucky liked it, too. It let him find a happy middle.

That was the beginning of Bucky gradually getting to see Alex more and more. Bucky making more friends meant that they finally had mutual ones, which meant they started getting invited to the same parties. Those nights Bucky always spent juggling back and forth between flirting with whoever had caught his eye, and finding himself trying to catch more and more glimpses of Alex whenever he could.

They never actually interacted during any of those times. There were no ‘accidentally bumping into each other and it finally leading to a conversation’ incidents. Sometimes, Alex’s gaze would accidentally fall on him and they’d share eye contact for all of maybe a second. Then it would end. That was the best Bucky got, for all of the ninth grade.

All it did was make him want more.

Sophomore year was when everything changed. Second semester, they were both in the same geography class. Near the beginning of spring, they got paired together for a presentation. For Bucky, it was like winning the lottery. He’d spent all of the previous year thinking of the guy more and more, even dreaming of him at night sometimes.

Bucky didn’t give any of that too much thought, not even then. By that point, Bucky had had more than a few hookups, with more than a few different people. It’s not like Alex was the only one Bucky fantasized about.

It’s just that Alex was the one Bucky fantasized about most.

Maybe it was because Alex was straight and Bucky assumed it wouldn’t happen. When you know you can’t have something, most of the time it only tends to make you want it more. Bucky would have been lying if he said that the majority of the filthy scenarios in his head didn’t start out with Bucky corrupting the golden quarterback; being Alex’s big epiphany that he actually liked dick, if even a little.

In a way, that sort of wound up being exactly what happened.

Another typical cliché: Bucky and Alex started spending time together to work on their assignment. Talking about the work led to actual talking, for the first time ever, and that started to lead into what Bucky could only describe as flirting. It had to be flirting, there was just no other explanation for it. Stares lingered, smiles seemed to hold more to their depths – it was all incredibly confusing.

But incredibly, incomprehensibly erotic. Nothing ever actually happened between them, but the more time they spent together, the more electricity he could feel between them. The more Alex looked less at the textbook and more at Bucky’s mouth.

Once, and only once, Bucky had been hunched forward, eyes on the handout while he talked. Now, he couldn’t remember about what. All he would be able to remember was the sudden sensation of Alex’s fingertips brushing across the back of his neck.

He’d stiffened, breath catching in his throat as his eyes closed. Only after a full-body shiver caused him to tremble did he slowly open his eyes and peer over at Alex. Alex had been staring right back, arm still resting across the back of Bucky’s chair; tips of his fingers still hovering uncertainly against Bucky’s nape. His eyes looked blacker than any night’s sky Bucky had ever seen before.

And then just like that, he withdrew his hand, turned forward, and broke away from Bucky’s gaze. He picked up the conversation right from where Bucky had left it off, and Bucky didn’t know what he was supposed to do to himself.

That evening, he wound up calling up one of the seniors he’d been fooling around with as of late, Remy, and went straight to his place. Bent over the arm of the couch in Remy’s basement, Bucky kept his eyes closed and pictured that it was Alex behind him, drilling in so deep Bucky would feel it for days. When he came, he had to smother his face into the cushion so he didn’t accidentally moan out the wrong name.

The longer he spent time with Alex, the more and more that kept happening whenever Bucky got fucked by other guys.

Bucky had never really had genuine feelings for anyone before. Somewhere along the way, he realized he’d developed his first crush. His heart was always pounding whenever he was with Alex. They were always alone, and always sitting close. Alex never talked about his girlfriend – whoever she was at the time – when they were together. Bucky specifically never asked. He didn’t care about her.

The night before the class was to finally give their presentations, Alex offered to give Bucky a ride home. With his sixteenth birthday at the very beginning of January, he had been one of the first people in their class to get their license. He told Bucky he didn’t like the idea of Bucky taking the subway and getting himself into trouble. Bucky liked that Alex felt that way.

When they’d finally arrived in Bucky’s driveway, Alex turned off the ignition rather than simply place his car into park. Bucky purposely lingered, with the childish hope that something would still somehow happen, even without any real proof that Alex was still anything other than straight.

So Bucky decided to say fuck it. Relying on his newly acquired boldness, he made a move, grabbing the side of Alex’s neck and closing the distance between them to kiss him. Just once, just for a few seconds. Alex didn’t kiss back. It hardly lasted long enough for him to even be able to, really.

But when Bucky pulled away, Alex was staring at him with something… almost intimidating in his eyes. Sure that he’d fucked everything up and that Alex would beat the shit out of him if he stayed in his car a second longer, Bucky had mumbled a hasty apology and went to open the door.

Just as he pulled on the handle and started to push, though, Alex moved so abruptly it made Bucky jump. Reaching right past Bucky, Alex grabbed the door and slammed it back shut. Bucky froze against the seat – scared and confused and more turned on than he could ever remember being before, because Alex was still leaning forward. He was still right in front of him, his face inches from Bucky’s. That unreadable steeliness was still there in his eyes, but the rest of him looked conflicted. All they did for a second was stare.

And then Alex grabbed the side of his face in one hand and dove in, slamming their mouths together. Bucky completely melted on the spot, going slack and giving Alex total control over the kiss. There was the hint of a five o’clock shadow on Alex’s cheeks. The way the stubble felt scraping against Bucky’s skin made him dizzy. It was forceful, and the fingers that’d found their way into his hair clutched at it almost brutally. Within seconds, Bucky was out of breath and painfully hard.

Disappointingly, the kiss itself didn’t last long. But still Bucky released a hot moan when he got that first taste of Alex’s tongue fucking into his mouth, and he whimpered desperately when Alex bit his bottom lip with an almost accusatory growl. Way too soon, he then ended it just as fast.

They didn’t talk for a few minutes after that. Despite how tensely he appeared to be gripping the steering wheel, now with both hands, and despite the fact that he suddenly couldn’t seem to look at Bucky anymore, when Alex finally broke the silence it was to tell Bucky that he was beautiful (‘You know you are,’ he’d said…). However, choosing his words carefully, he also proceeded to tell Bucky that what they just did would have to be kept a secret. He wasn’t gay, he said. He had a girlfriend.

But it was just Bucky – Bucky was different, there was something about him,and for a second, Alex couldn’t control himself. All Bucky heard from all of that was that Alex wanted him, too. Bucky didn’t care about the rest. He knew what he wanted, and having finally been handed the evidence that it was reciprocated, he intended to get it.

So Bucky said he understood. Of course he wouldn’t tell anyone. The rest of their conversation was brief. Alex seemed uncomfortable; at the very first opportunity, said he had to get going and head home to bed. Bucky knew it’d be best not to press any further, not unless he wanted to come across too strong and ruin everything. Alex didn’t stop him from getting out of the car that time, but he did give him that heart-melting smile – ‘See you bright and early, Barnes’ – before the engine rumbled back to life, and then he was gone.

Bucky lied in bed for hours that night, a smile on his face and Alex in his thoughts.

That was the first time they ever kissed.

That was also the last time they ever kissed.

Nothing actually happened again for a while after the incident in the car. They’d done their presentation the next day, and Alex treated Bucky the same way he ever had in public – which was the say, politely, but at an arm’s distance. Like they didn’t really know each other except for the bare minimum. Bucky didn’t let it bother him, because he understood. Alex had a reputation to maintain, and just as Bucky promised him, what’d happened the night before was something no one else could ever know about.

Clearly it had been a delicate subject for Alex. The fact that he’d maintained, even after kissing Bucky, that he wasn’t gay – the excuses he kept making to justify his actions – reaffirmed for Bucky that Alex was still very deep in the closet. So deep that he didn’t even want to admit the truth to himself. That tugged at Bucky’s heart strings; made him hurt for Alex. It was ridiculous, but Bucky wanted to be there for him. Maybe help him through it if he could.

But then the days kept passing, and Bucky still didn’t hear from him at all. He’d been holding out hope that Alex would’ve at least sent him a Facebook message or something, at the very least, but no. Nothing at all. And it bothered him how much that drove him crazy inside.

He carried on with his life, like Alex carried on with his, and continued doing his thing; hung with friends, kept on top of his homework, partied on weekends, and fooled around whenever he could get away with it, with whoever was up for a good time. To everyone around him, Bucky was his usual self. But beneath the surface, his mind was a one-track record replaying over and over, and all he could think about was Alex.

He wanted to text him, but always lost the nerve. Bucky didn’t even bother trying to make conversation in class anymore, and it only left him more confused that Alex didn’t seem to give a shit. Bucky pretended he didn’t care when he’d pass him in the hall and Alex’s arm was always wrapped around his girlfriend’s shoulder. He pretended even harder that whenever that happened and Alex couldn’t even spare him as much as a side glance, it wasn’t always a direct hit to Bucky’s self-esteem.

He didn’t like feeling that way; being obsessive and creepy and letting the guy get to him so much when all they did was kiss once. If nothing else at the time, it reminded Bucky why he didn’t do relationships. He wasn’t even dating Alex and his life – at least to him – suddenly felt so much more complicated and dramatic. There was something very unsettling about giving another person that much power over affecting how Bucky felt about himself.

So he forced himself to think of Alex less. He deleted his number out of his phone; made a point to sit as far from him in class as he could. His attempts worked; by the following month, things were basically back to normal. It’d been nothing but a stupid crush, but he’d learned his lesson. Remembered why that wasn’t a thing he did, and why he preferred to stick with casual hookups. Bucky thought he was over it.

Then Brock Rumlow’s party happened.

Bucky can never look back to that night without wanting to hide his face in shame. He never knew the extents he’d let himself go to back then just to get what he wanted. That was a thing he learned the hard way.

They’d all been drinking. As usual. Rumlow’s house wasn’t as big as Alex’s, but he also lived on the Manhattan side, so his place was still much more voluminous than most of the kids’ in their grade. What mattered was that the living room had plenty enough floor space for some of the people there to start dancing, while the music from the sound system pounded all throughout the house.

Bucky was halfway through the case of coolers Ben’s cousin agreed to pick up for him, and about four body shots down. He wasn’t tanked – he rarely let himself get full-on drunk – but he was definitely tipsy; giggling at shit that wasn’t funny, talking louder than was necessary, and feeling in the mood for a little something fun. He’d already fucked around a bit with Wade Wilson in the bathroom, but still he wanted more.

He’d been in the middle of grinding up against Jessica Drew; the feel of her slim waist beneath his hands, the way her breasts pushed against his chest, and how sexy she looked whenever she tipped her chin down to stare up at him heatedly through her lashes making Bucky seriously consider – not for the first time – that he wouldn’t have many objections to fucking around with a girl if that’s what wound up happening. She smelled amazing, and it could’ve been the alcohol talking at the time, but he couldn’t help but curiously wonder what it’d be like to have his head trapped between her thighs. He’d never tasted a chick before, and he was willing to try anything once.

She could feel that he was hard against her. It was impossible not to be. That actually seemed to spur her on, making her bite at that pretty pink bottom lip of hers before smirking and giving her hips a bit of a harder twist against his. Bucky smirked back, lips thinly parted; pupils dilated and his eyes glued to hers.

She playfully mused, “I thought you were gay.”

That got Bucky laughing. Shrugging one shoulder, he said, “Labels are for soup cans and hipsters. I just like what I like.”

She stared at his mouth. “Oh, do you now?”

“Mhm,” Bucky hummed, tone dropping, huskier. “Right now, I have a pretty good idea of what that is.” She was close enough that they could start making out right there if they wanted to. And perhaps they would’ve – if not for the fact that someone caught the corner of his eye, diverting Bucky’s attention.

A split second was all it took; one look at Alex on the outskirt of the room, having walked in from the packed kitchen, beer bottle in hand. The look on his face at the sight of Bucky pressed up against this girl, it made Bucky’s stomach drop and his cock pulse. It was dark… Unprepared and maybe even a little impressed… But most of all, it was possessive.

Bucky wasn’t prepared for the things that look did to him. He just knew he’d do terrible things to keep having Alex look at him like that for as long as he could. So he made a point to continue dancing with Jessica. Shamelessly. Blatantly for Alex, even though no one else could’ve possible known.

As if Alex had snapped his fingers, Bucky was hardly even interested in Jessica anymore. Now, looking back on it, that makes him feel like a pig. He’d used her with no remorse, leading her on, making her more and more convinced that she and Bucky would hook up before the night was over, even though Bucky no longer had any intention of that happening.

Bucky now would never intentionally use someone or manipulate them like that just for his own gain, but the Bucky then couldn’t be bothered to give a damn. All she wanted was to fool around anyways, same as Bucky. It’s not like he’d gone and made false promises to trick her into falling in love with him or anything. Eventually, when he’d had enough, he made some flimsy excuse about wanting to go grab another drink. He’d be right back, he said.

He didn’t go back.

What he did instead was purposely walk right past Alex, giving him a taste of his own medicine by not even sparing him a side glance. But in his peripherals, it looked like that made Alex smirk. Bucky went for the stairs, sauntering up, knowing Alex would follow. And sure enough, he did.

Knowing Rumlow’s house better than Bucky, Alex wordlessly grabbed Bucky’s arm and yanked him in the opposite direction of the one Bucky had been heading in. No one saw them sneak into one of the spare bedrooms. The second the door was shut, locked, Alex was shoving him straight against it and crowding his body against Bucky’s. Bucky tried to kiss him, but Alex nudged out of it as soon as Bucky’s lips made contact. Moving fast, he instead yanked Bucky’s head back with his hand so he could start sucking and biting his way along the side of Bucky’s throat.

The music in the house was loud enough that it bled through the door. Chances were low that anyone else who might’ve been upstairs would be able to hear them even if they did make some noise. All the same, whenever Alex bit down on him and Bucky yelped, Alex told him to shut up. When he practically tore Bucky’s pants open and gave his cock a few rough jerks – the first other than his own Alex had ever touched, Bucky was sure – Bucky bit his lip and whined high and wobbly in his throat, and Alex growled, “Quiet!”

Bucky sucked on his fingers and hitched up one leg so Alex could shove them into his hole and finger-fuck him with a sort of franticness that Bucky wasn’t expecting. It stung, and Alex very clearly didn’t comprehend the difference between fingering a guy from all the girls he’d been with up to that point, but Bucky’s cock was red and hot and hard from it anyways.

Bucky kept wincing from the pain, whimpering from the pleasure that brought him, from the way Alex’s face looked, from all of it. With any and every sound that came out of him, Alex shushed him. That didn’t stop him from trying to see just how far he could thrust his fingers into Bucky’s body, though. He purposely did things to make Bucky vocalize his pleasure, but then scolded him for giving into it. A small part of Bucky found that frustrating, even hurtful.

Most of him found it fucking hot, though.

He’d try to keep quiet by attempting to catch Alex’s mouth again. He didn’t understand why Alex wouldn’t kiss him, like he had back in his car. Eventually, Alex got frustrated and snapped in a low voice, “Stop.” So Bucky did, instead biting down on Alex’s shoulder from over his shirt to stifle himself.

They’d been interrupted, though. Bucky had only just thought to wrap his hand around himself, hips rocking clumsily against Alex’s hand, when there was a sudden pounding on the other side of the door. One of Alex’s friends, Jack Rollins, called out, “Yo Pierce, you in here, man? C’mon dude, open up, I brought you a Jägerbomb!”

From there, things spiraled downward. Alex was off Bucky and on the other side of the room like he’d been physically thrown off of him, while Bucky – flushed, doe-eyed, and still noticeably hard – scrambled to yank his pants back up in record time. Sharing a look of panic, Alex then pointed at Bucky and, in a tone Bucky had never heard him use before, ordered in a low and shaky voice, “You don’t fucking tell anyone about this.” All Bucky could do was nod.

If it’d ended right then and there that night, that would’ve been one thing. Except it didn’t. Because when Alex unlocked the door and made to walk out, Rollins and two of their buddies – none the wiser – decided to pile in, booze in hand. They saw Bucky, but their drunken states prevented them from thinking anything of it. In fact, they greeted him – Rollins even throwing an arm around his shoulder and asking what’d been up with him – and told him to stay and chill with them.

Bucky always has to skip the grittier details after that. What escalated from there was nothing but a series of bad decisions. They were all drinking; it seemed like a good idea at the time. Then one of the guys started asking Bucky about Jessica, as they’d noticed the two dancing. What was first a conversation about how hot she was turned to questioning Bucky about his sexuality, much like she had. At the time, pretty much everyone assumed that Bucky was gay. The topic of discussion quickly beelined to one of sex.

The alcohol made Bucky more relaxed. Cockier than he knew he should be. The longer they all sat around, talking about their best sex stories, the lower Bucky’s inhibitions fell. He started bragging about how much fun sex with another dude was, as if trying to sell the idea of himself to them. Mostly, he was really just trying to pique Alex’s interest. But the alcohol also made them more interested. In the aftermath, they’d use that as their excuse. Like Alex, they were all straight.

Which was funny, because that didn’t stop the door from getting locked shut again. After enough suggestive back-and-forth comments and Rollins finally curling his finger –‘C’mere, Barnes’ – it didn’t stop anyone from protesting when Bucky eventually crawled into Rollins’s lap. It didn’t stop Rollins from letting Bucky kiss him, or stop him from running his hands over Bucky’s ass just to see if it felt as nice as Bucky insisted it did. The rest of the guys continued drinking, feeding more to Bucky whenever he asked, and egging things on.

It didn’t stop them from all deciding that they wanted a turn.

It was messy after that. None of them put their mouth or hands anywhere near Bucky’s cock (maybe they felt that somehow ‘didn’t make it gay’), but his mouth got quite a workout from being filled with theirs’. He was the only one stripped of all his clothes, while the rest only got as far as lowering their pants. One of them – Bucky can’t remember which – took their shirt off. But that was about it.

He started on his knees, showing everyone how well a guy could suck cock while he demonstrated on Rollins. The rest of the time, he held himself up by his hands and knees on the bed. They used his mouth and took turns with it; called him a dirty skank, and when they’d ask him, ‘You a little whore, Barnes?’ Bucky would only moan around whoever’s dick was in his mouth and try to nod.

Alex was the only one who fucked him that night; one hand gripping Bucky’s shoulder and the other on his hip while Victor Creed framed Bucky’s head in his hands and thrust into his throat. Bucky obviously didn’t comment that night, but he was glad that Alex was the only one to actually have sex with him. He was the only one Bucky was actually interested in anyway. Like sure, it was super hot at the time – Bucky had actually fantasized about being in that kind of situation before – but really, the other guys Bucky could take or leave.

What he liked was that Alex was letting himself give into it. The fact that three of his other friends were swept up into the exact same frenzy gave him his scapegoat, after all; a reason to participate without having to own up to any of it. Bucky didn’t care what reasoning Alex would have to give himself to sleep at night. It may not have been ideal, but it was better than nothing. Bucky was just happy it was happening at all.

That’s what he told himself for a while, anyway. None of them talked about it after that night. Back at school, life continued as normal. Any time Bucky passed any of them in the halls, they either didn’t really acknowledge each other, or things were brief and friendly as usual. Bucky knew they’d deny it if it ever got out. Luckily for them, Bucky didn’t have a reason to go running his mouth about it in the first place. None of them had to say a thing for Bucky to know it was a one-time thing – a secret – they’d all take to their graves.

Natasha never even found out at first. Neither did Clint. Bucky didn’t tell any of them about it. It helped that none of them went to that particular party, otherwise it might’ve been a lot harder to hide. At first, everything that happened was justified in Bucky’s head, and he told himself that was why he didn’t even confide in Natasha about it. There’d been nothing wrong; they’d all known what they were doing, they’d all consented – yeah, they’d also all been drinking, but still.

Then the days kept passing. A week went by, then two. Then a month. And the longer Bucky had to think about it, the more uncomfortable he became. Mostly with himself, of what he’d done. Casual, no strings attached sex wasn’t foreign to him, but what happened at Rumlow’s party felt different somehow. Rather than leaving him feeling good about himself, the more he found himself actually feeling embarrassed. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he actually hadn’t really wanted to fuck around with any of them.

Only Alex. That was the only person Bucky wanted, and yet he’d been willing to sacrifice his own body to people he hardly knew just to get that. Bucky had already paid a visit to one of the STD clinics in the area that offered free testing to anyone under nineteen, and they’d left a voicemail on his cell (he’d specifically given them that number and only that number to contact with the results) while he’d been in class. Bucky already knew he hadn’t caught anything.

That was a relief, but it didn’t fix the problem. Bucky had never had a sexual experience leave him feeling so unfulfilled inside. Almost… worthless. Ashamed of himself. He didn’t give a shit that people assumed he was an easy lay. Bucky could own up to that without batting an eye. Just because he liked sex and was prone to having it a lot didn’t mean jack shit, especially when it wasn’t ever hurting anybody.

But suddenly… someone had gotten hurt. Every time the night would replay itself in Bucky’s head, the more honest he had to be with himself. He’d done it for all the wrong reasons. His consent had been so dubious that even he’d left himself fooled in the heat of the moment. For the first time, Bucky felt remorse for his actions. Wished he could take them back.

For the first time, remembering the way they called him ‘dirty’ and ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ twisted his stomach with a sick sort of feeling. That kind of thing was usually a turn on for Bucky; one of his kinks. But usually that sort of thing was only said during sex to be a turn on. That was the point: there was never legitimate weight behind the words. They were terms of endearment rather than an insult. The person saying them didn’t actually believe Bucky was those things, not for real.

It was different when he realized he couldn’t be sure whether or not Alex and his friends actually meant it.

But that night also changed something in Alex, too, and that only made things even more complicated. Suddenly he was texting Bucky more. Wanting to get together. Always just the two of them, always in secret.

Bucky always noticed the faint waft of alcohol on Alex’s breath whenever they got together, even if he was driving. Most of the time, he’d bring some for Bucky, too. They’d sip away, making weightless small talk while they gave it the time to fill their bellies, bubble up in their blood; fuel the embers until they always turned to their usual flames. He didn’t ever say anything, but Bucky didn’t like that Alex felt he had to drink to be able to put his hands on Bucky’s body.

It didn’t matter, though, because Alex would say all the right things: that even though he was still straight, he liked Bucky. That it didn’t matter if he was still with his girlfriend, because that wasn’t the same; he didn’t feel about her the way he did for Bucky. He’d break up with her and be with Bucky if he could, he’d say. He would – he really would – but he just couldn’t, he’d say.

But he wished he could, he’d say.

Alex told Bucky that he didn’t like that his friends got to touch Bucky the same way he did. There was a sense of self-entitlement there that Bucky only ever interpreted as possessiveness, as actual feelings. That Alex wanted him all to himself made Bucky feel special, and Alex only seemed to reaffirm that by telling Bucky how special he was. So special, in fact, that he’d risk his reputation in general, just by choosing to meet up with him at all.

Because even though they never got caught, they could. That was supposed to prove Alex’s feelings, like some sort of grand romantic gesture. For Bucky, it all worked. Everything Alex told him was meant to press all the right buttons. He targeted Bucky’s desire for Alex to return his feelings by making it seem like he really did. He utilized the fact that Bucky had lived through his own traumatic coming-out experience by making excuses that pandered to Bucky’s sense of empathy.

That way Bucky would never push for things to become more. He’d never dream of outing Alex to begin with. That wasn’t his place, there was never any justification to do that to someone, and all of Alex’s reasoning made sense, even if Bucky wished things could be different. And Alex knew that was how Bucky felt. He relied on it.

So that helped mull things over for Bucky; placate him for a little while longer. The more Alex told him all the things he wanted to hear, the less discomfort and guilt he had regarding that night at Rumlow’s party. Because it resulted in Alex finally being in a place where he could say all those sweet things. It didn’t matter that no one else could know. Hearing them, at the time, was enough. Bucky knew how Alex felt. That was all that mattered. So how could Bucky regret the actions that’d brought them together?

For the first time, he had actual feelings for someone. Romantic feelings. It wasn’t love, but it still seemed intense. Bucky often daydreamed about the day where Alex would finally be ready to give himself the freedom he deserved; not feel he had to hide anymore and announce to the world, this is me. This is who I really am.

It broke his heart that Alex faced that battle each and every day, where he couldn’t even admit to himself that he was living a lie. Because it wasn’t just that he was playing a charade to the world; each and every time he reminded Bucky that he was straight, Bucky could see just how hard he’d worked all his life to convince himself of that. He truly seemed to believe it; so set in his ways, the prejudices instilled in him by his father, that he could admit to the way Bucky made him feel while simultaneously refusing to admit to why.

But Bucky held on. Alex gave him reason to believe that they actually had something between them. That maybe, if Bucky waited long enough – didn’t pressure him, didn’t get impatient or ask questions – Alex would want to finally be with him for real. Bucky could do that for him.

Or at least, he thought he could. The school year came to an end, and summer began. Bucky spent it with his friends, working his first part-time job, and practicing for a driver’s license of his own. On the side, all summer, he’d continue to get together with Alex. They never went to Alex’s house. Never at Bucky’s. Usually they’d go for a drive in Alex’s car, drive to someplace secluded and dark, and do their thing.

Bucky was finally with someone that made him want something more than just sex. But sex was the only thing they actually did. It always followed the same pattern: they’d go days without talking at all, Alex would text him out of nowhere, and Bucky always knew what that meant. He’d pick Bucky up and they’d go for a ride. Find a place, park there. Drink, maybe a little, maybe more. There’d be the minimum amount of talking – just enough for Alex to perform his usual magic trick and bewitch Bucky all over again.

Then Bucky would blow him. Alex never put his mouth anywhere below the belt back then. Only sometimes would he give Bucky a handjob. They’d fuck, with Bucky straddling Alex in the back seat, or bent over the hood of his car, or up against a tree, or with the pavement beneath his hands and knees... There was even a time where Alex sat Bucky on top of a garbage can in a back alley and fucked him that way; legs wrapped around his waist and a dirty lid beneath Bucky’s tailbone.    

Bucky was never allowed to kiss him. That was the main rule. Alex loved to put his mouth on Bucky’s neck, his shoulders; he got off on biting him, sucking just long enough to leave a mark. But he wouldn’t even so much as press his lips to Bucky’s jaw. Anything from the neck up was strictly off limits, going both ways.

Once, he tried to ask Alex why he couldn’t kiss him. As soon as the question slipped past his lips, Bucky regretted asking. Something about Alex’s face turned darker – an expression that Bucky didn’t like, as if there was a certain maliciousness hovering around them that might’ve always been there, but Bucky had never seen before.

Just like that, Alex shut down; his smile, gone. The affectionate tenderness in his tone – for Bucky – vanished. “I just don’t like it,” was the monotonous answer Bucky got. Bucky didn’t want to upset him. Didn’t want to fuck things up after he’d only just finally managed to get Alex. He was desperate to undo his mistake, so he pretended that was okay, and he couldn’t remember a time where he’d ever apologized so quickly.

That was the formula: meet up, drive somewhere, fuck, and be dropped off back at home whenever Alex got too tired for another round. He never texted Bucky aside from that. When Bucky would try shooting him a message, most of the time he didn’t reply. If he did, it was usually because he was alone and felt in the mood for some sexting.

But Alex remained devious: made sure he still said enough of the right things to Bucky, just enough times that Bucky continued to think he had a reason to stick around. For the first time in almost a year, Bucky stopped sleeping with other people. Alex never asked that of him – after all, he was still messing around with his girlfriend – but he didn’t have to.

Bucky just didn’t have the desire to sleep around anymore. While they weren’t technically ‘together’, it sure as hell still felt like it somehow. He could’ve continued to get his rocks off with other people; hell, if nothing else, maybe it would’ve been nice to have a sure thing on the side who at least kissed Bucky once in a while. But they weren’t Alex, and Bucky didn’t want anyone but him.

He wanted Alex to touch him like he cared as much as he always said he did. He wanted to be able to hold his hand and see how well their fingerprints went together. He wanted Alex to look him in the eye when he was inside him, instead of keeping them closed or focusing them anywhere but on Bucky. Bucky wanted Alex to want to kiss him, and he wanted Alex to eventually want to be with him for real.

Because Alex always did such a bang-up job of making Bucky believe the feeling was mutual, even given the messed up circumstances, it gave Bucky that scrap of hope to hold onto with tight hands. It allowed his stubborn mind to still believe that one day, that might happen. He couldn’t let go when Alex was constantly giving him reason to think it was best for him to hold on.

But the summer continued on, and absolutely nothing changed. Eventually, by about halfway into July, those rose-colored glasses Bucky was wearing started to crack. Hanging out with Alex gradually began to take that same toll on him as that night as Rumlow’s had: while it seemed like a good idea while it was happening, and in the moment Bucky did enjoy it, it only carved out his heart and withheld it from him when he would walk away.

Every single time Bucky would get together with him, he’d spend that whole night lying in bed and wondering why he still felt so worthless, even with Alex telling him that he was worth the world.

It wore away at him, even started to change him. The longer they were hooking up, the less sure Bucky was that Alex was telling him the truth. As much as he wanted to ignore it, something about what they were doing just didn’t seem right anymore. Slowly, Bucky’s smile was reduced to something less and less authentic. He slept in later, was always tired all the time anyways, and grew agitated at the simplest of things.

His friends noticed, but Bucky found excuses of his own to account for his behavior; put more effort into trying to mask the pain he was only feeling more with every passing day. Because his friends trusted Bucky to be honest with them, they bought his lies.

Everyone but Natasha. When Bucky couldn’t fight it – couldn’t go at it alone anymore – and realized he did need someone to talk to about what was happening, he went to her. Only after making her promise that everything he was about to tell her absolutely had to remain in confidence, everything came spilling out. Even what he’d done at the party.

It was more than clear that what he was divulging to her was making her upset, but never once did she interrupt him; didn’t change the focus and try to make it about her. The entire time, she remained silent, only speaking if she was prompting Bucky to go on or asking questions pertaining to him. She let him rant, and she let him vent. Sometimes he was fine. Others, he became frustrated and would find himself shouting. A few times, he’d go silent for minutes on end.

By the time he finished, he was sitting on her bedroom floor, and he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to smash something apart with his fists, start laughing hysterically, or curl up into a ball and cry. With her mouth twisted up into an unsteady frown, Natasha scooched over closer, and Bucky wasn’t even sure he was prepared for what she was about to say.

Instead, Natasha – knowing Bucky Barnes best – chose to say nothing at all. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him to her, with Bucky’s head resting on her shoulder. Letting silence say it all, they stayed that way for almost an hour before another word was spoken.

It would be nice if Bucky could say that that night changed everything for the better. That Natasha helped open his eyes to the fact that Alex was clearly using him; that the very next day, Bucky kicked him to the curb.

Yeah, it’d be nice to say that. But sadly, there was more.

Because even though Bucky was slowly but surely wising up to the reality of what was going on, he still continued to give Alex the benefit of the doubt; made more excuses for him, even though a part of him hated to do it. Bucky couldn’t let go of that ray of light in the distance – his desperation to believe that he hadn’t been played all that time. Even with how much he was beginning to dislike Alex, Bucky still liked him, too… and he couldn’t bear the thought that Alex didn’t actually like him back.

Natasha didn’t approve. Obviously. She would’ve been a pretty shitty friend if she had. Though ultimately, she told Bucky it was his decision to make – ‘No one can do that but you, Yasha’ – she also told him exactly what she thought. Just because Bucky was the only one who could choose to put a stop to it didn’t mean she couldn’t still try her hardest to make Bucky understand that he had to get out of it before it got worse.

She was always blunt, and he knew he had to expect as much. Still, hearing someone actually say to him: “He’s a liar! He has absolutely no intention of beingwith you – and I don’t think he ever did…” That fucking hurt. She wasn’t saying it to be cruel, that he knew. If anything, looking back on it, Bucky knows it was something he had to hear. A part of him even grasped that fact at the time, too. But still, he fought it.

At least for another few weeks. Bucky can never be sure what exactly the tipping point was for him. There wasn’t even really a specific catalyst – just that one day, he was still trying to rationalize things in his head, and the next, he suddenly found himself re-examining his life as of late and thinking, What the fuck am I doing? It all hit him like a bag of bricks, and Bucky realized he was very, very fed up.

Everything he’d found a way to make sense of before just didn’t make sense to him anymore. Every excuse Alex had ever fed him, Bucky finally saw for what they were. It was like he’d discovered the switch on the wall and finally mustered up the courage to flip it. Just like that, Bucky’s eyes were open and he could admit to himself: he’d been fucking used. And he was pissed.

He resorted to the silent treatment at first. Bucky wasn’t sure how to confront Alex, only that he knew he had to but he wasn’t quite ready yet. There was still that gut reaction – that flitter in his heart, that surge of happiness – whenever his phone would buzz with an incoming text, Alex trying to see if Bucky wanted to get together. Hard as it was to resist replying, Bucky stuck to his guns. Every attempt at contact went unanswered.

After two weeks of being ignored, Alex had clearly clued in on the fact that Bucky was upset with him. But instead of approaching the situation like he gave a fuck about Bucky’s feelings, instead he sent Bucky a rather annoyed message on Facebook. Alex played dumb, asking ‘what the fuck he did’ to make Bucky ignore him; that Bucky owed him an explanation, ‘What the fuck’s your problem?’, blah, blah, fucking blah.

Bucky was ready then, though. So he replied, short and pointedly: ‘Not talking about this over fb. You free tonight? Need to meet up.’

They did. And that’s when shit hit the fan.

Alex picked Bucky up and the two drove around for a while in a tense silence, trying to find someplace private where they could talk. Once the car was stopped, Bucky was shoving open the door and stomping straight out. Alex followed, and upon demanding to know ‘what the hell’ was wrong with Bucky, Bucky snapped.

Bucky started shouting, pointing at Alex and calling him out on all of his bullshit. He called him a lying piece of shit and a coward; said he knew that Alex never planned to leave his girlfriend or tell anyone about them, but only saw Bucky as a hole to fuck at his convenience. Every word hurt like a bitch, and his eyes shone with hot, furious tears the entire time, but Bucky refused to give in to them enough to let them fall.

The response he got was exactly what he’d been expecting and yet nothing he could’ve been prepared for. Alex was so personally offended that Bucky was the one cutting ties and ending whatever fucked up thing it was they had – like he’d always assumed that was supposed to be only his right, his power – that he didn’t even try to defend himself or continue the charade. He was revealing his true colors for the very first time.

And Bucky realized he’d never really known Alex Pierce. Not at all.

He sneered in Bucky’s face, turning his words back around and hurling them back in his face, mockingly sweet. With a look of pure disgust, he brought up what’d happened at the party and asked Bucky, “You know how many times we’ve laughed about you since then?”

He called Bucky things like gross…and damaged goods…and faggot... Told Bucky that no one would even be surprised if word got out that he was pretty much gang-banged at Rumlow’s. He outright laughed at the notion that Bucky actually thought for a second that Alex really liked him.

And every single thing he said beat Bucky down into the ground; made him feel so fucking small and inferior that perhaps with a single gust of wind, he’d be swept up and catapulted away like every other spec of dirt. The blows were so ferocious, filled with so much hatred, that part of Bucky wished that Alex was cutting open his chest and using his bare hands to rip open his ribs, pull out his heart instead.

That would’ve hurt much less.

Bucky felt like he was dying inside – but that was his own cross to bear. He could suffer without relinquishing any more of his power over to this man. He didn’t want Alex to walk away thinking he’d somehow won. So despite whatever chaos was raging away within him, on the outside, Bucky didn’t give so much as an inch.

He held his ground in the face of Alex’s scorn, and when he finally spoke, it was to say: “Y’know, that’s pretty fucking rich that keep calling me a ‘faggot’ when you’re so fucking deep in the closet you’re finding Christmas presents!”

That set Alex off like nothing Bucky had ever seen before. Interpreting Bucky’s remark as some sort of confession that he was planning to out Alex to everyone, that smug smile of his was immediately wiped clean from his face, replaced with outrage. Striding fast, he advanced towards Bucky, snarling, “Is that a fucking threat, Barnes?” For one genuine second, Bucky thought Alex was about to attack him.

He didn’t. Alex could do many, many disgusting things – this, Bucky was suddenly learning very fast – but physical assault didn’t seem to be on the list. That was when Bucky got his very first taste of the kind of fighting Alex Pierce really does.

“Because I’ll tell you something, Barnes,” he’d said, stepping in so close that Bucky could see every tiny pore on his face, “you even think about spreading any lies about me, I’ll make sure you regret it for every goddamn day of the rest of your life.”

Bucky was gritting his teeth, jaw clenched so tight it throbbed. He would sooner get clocked out than be the one to surrender away from their stare-down, but tears still prickled the corners of his eyes. He was ashamed of himself for letting it hurt so bad, but he couldn’t help it.

Just because he was angry didn’t mean there hadn’t been a tiny part of him that’d been secretly hoping Alex would find a way to prove him wrong; deny the accusations Bucky made, fight for Bucky not to walk away… Something.

While the majority of Bucky couldn’t even be surprised that this was who the guy really was – awful and manipulative and a fucking user – there was still that tiny part that couldn’t comprehend any of what was happening.

“Lies? Seriously? Are you fucking kidding me!?” he choked out.

“Yes, lies,” Alex hissed, eyes flashing. “If I find out you’ve been telling people I’m a filthy little fudge-packer like you, mark my fucking words, Barnes, it’ll be the last thing you ever do.”

And that was when he told Bucky about the supposed video. His perfect blackmail. What Bucky didn’t know, Alex said, was that at Rumlow’s party, when they’d all been holed away in that spare bedroom, one of his buddies had pulled out his phone and recorded the whole thing. This video allegedly starred Bucky in all of his glory – particularly in how eager he’d been to have a cock in every hole he could manage. It had also apparently never been deleted.

“I hear you’ve said even one word about me,” Alex threatened, “and I’ll make sure that shit’s online before the night’s over, you little bitch. Youtube, Facebook, PornHub – you name it, I’ll make sure it’s all over there. And I’ll make sure everyone sees it.”

Alex then turned on his heel, got back into his car, and drove away – leaving Bucky standing there, in the middle of the night and unsure where exactly he even was – before Bucky could say anything about it. The whole thing had been more than enough to make Bucky panic. It took him a few hours of walking around in a daze, not knowing where the fuck he was or where he was going, before he swallowed his pride enough to call Natasha for a ride.

He told her everything that night, speaking a mile a minute. He sobbed into his hands; swore and yelled and eventually beat his fist off the dashboard until she had to pull over and shout at him to stop, grabbing at his wrists and physically restraining him until he calmed down enough to croak out an apology. Bucky was terrified. He’d never been that scared in his life.

Violated. He felt so violated. He already had enough guilt about what he’d done – what they’d all been stupid enough to do – that night. But to know he’d been taped… That those actions were immortalized, at least for the time being… It got him so anxious that Natasha wound up having to pull over again just so Bucky could stick his head out the opened door and puke. He wound up crashing at her place that night because he couldn’t stand the thought of having to go back home and sleep by himself.

Bucky didn’t know what to do for a while. He begged Natasha not to tell anyone. Not his parents, not hers, not their friends, not anyone. She was bound determine to have a word with Alex herself, which damn near made Bucky lose his shit. “You’ll just make it worse – please!” Bucky kept repeating, gripping her arms. “Please, please, just don’t. Please stay out of it!”

Natasha couldn’t stand the state Bucky had been put in, and maybe she took pity on him. Either way, she agreed – only under the condition that she wouldn’t pull anything so long as Alex didn’t. And for a while, Alex didn’t. In fact, Bucky didn’t hear from him at all.

That didn’t help Bucky sleep at night, though, and it didn’t stop him from constantly living like he was suddenly looking over his shoulder all the time. He couldn’t possibly go to sleep at night without first checking as many websites that he could think of, just to make sure he still wasn’t on any of them. If Alex was telling the truth and that video existed, Bucky’s life would’ve been over had it been leaked. One of those things that haunts you, always following behind in your footsteps like a shadow.

Every day, Bucky looped around the same fears, over and over: His family would hear about it, and even if they knew Bucky was sexually active, that was still something he’d never want any of them to see. Would they be able to see him the same? And his biological parents… Fuck, wherever they were, whatever happens to you after death, Bucky hoped to Christ they couldn’t see him then… What would they think? Would they still be proud of him if they were around?

God, oh god, fuck, and what about Rebecca? She’d have that lingering over her, too, no matter where she went. Every school, she’d be the girl with the ‘porn star’ brother. Her own identity would be erased; consumed and relabeled all thanks to Bucky. Would she be embarrassed by him? Would all of them be embarrassed?

And everyone at his school, that’d be all they would talk about. And just because they could go fuck themselves if they thought they had a right to judge him wouldn’t make it hurt any less when he became the subject of everyone’s mockery; the world’s biggest punchline to any and every joke anyone made for months to come. And what would happen when the time came to apply to college? Future jobs? He’d be fucked every single time before he was even given a chance…

That was all that consumed Bucky’s thoughts for weeks. With enough time, he finally made himself crazy with stress. Alone in his room, about two weeks later, it drove himself to his first panic attack. He thought he was having a heart attack. With shaking hands, face paled and heart rake spiking through the roof, he grabbed his phone.

The fear of looking like an idiot stopped him from calling 9-1-1. The fear of having to potentially tell his parents what’d been going on with him lately prevented him from contacting them, who had both gone out with Rebecca earlier in the day.

So, once again, he called the only person he thought could help.

It was difficult to find her name in his contact list because he was fighting tunnel vision. His cheeks were numb, and the only thing Bucky could hear was the frighteningly quick thuds of his heart. When the call got through, his tongue felt heavy, clumsy in his mouth while he trembled and cried and couldn’t breathe and tried to speak. And then Natasha was grabbing the keys and running to her mom’s car within seconds of hearing Bucky’s voice.

At her instruction, she put him on speaker and Bucky stayed on the line with her until she could get there. Bucky didn’t actually talk during that time. Instead he lied belly-down on the bed; face pressed into his pillow and his hands on the back of his head. Wheezing and gasping and choking out sobs and thinking he was about to die at sixteen.

Of course, that didn’t happen. Natasha got there as fast as she could and managed to calm him down. They spent the rest of the afternoon cuddled in his bed and watching TV, with Bucky distracting himself by running his fingers absentmindedly through red hair, while Natasha made sure he kept sipping at the glass of water she grabbed for him.

Bucky remembers how exhausted he’d been that day. It was very similar – even if for different reasons – to how he’d been over this past week: tired right down to his bones, straight up into his brain. Tired everywhere. Feeling hopeless, and petrified, and awaiting the worst to happen, and assuming that worst to be the inevitable.

“I can’t do this anymore, Nat,” he’d eventually whispered, eyes still stuck on the TV. “I can’t spend the rest of my life scared shitless that someday it’s gonna come back to bite me.”

She tilted her chin up to better get a look at the side of his face. Her voice, soft yet firm, floated to his ear: “You have to stand up for yourself, Yasha. If you let him think he has this sort of power over you… You’re right: you’ll never be over it. He has to know he can’t treat you that way.”

Bucky shook his head gently. Didn’t meet her eyes, but did tighten his arm around her, pulling her even closer to his body. He wanted to be able to be that brave. He wanted that more than anything. But he was at Alex’s mercy on this one – one wrong word and he could choose to ruin Bucky’s life. The best thing Bucky could do for himself at that point was comply, no matter how much it ate away at him.

So he had to admit to her, pertinent, “I can’t do that. I’m sorry… I can’t. You just don’t get it.”

“James--”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore.” He finally tipped his face in enough to peer at Natasha from the corner of his eye. Quietly, he added, “Please…”

She hadn’t liked it, but she nodded. With a short okay, she leaned in and pressed her lips to his cheek, before settling back down with it resting comfortably against Bucky’s shoulder. Her arm was still draped loosely over his stomach and Bucky held his breath, waiting for her to say more. But she hadn’t… so Bucky released that air in his lunges and rested his cheek on the top of her head, the two of them going back to watching TV in silence.

Near the end of August, things became impossibly worse. To Bucky’s horror, Alex wound up sending him a text out of nowhere one night, asking to meet up. Bucky had absolutely no fucking clue what reason Alex would have to want to see him, so of course his mind jumped to the worst places. Whatever it was, it had to be about the video. Maybe he thought Bucky had said something to someone. Either way, he knew he couldn’t say no, so Bucky acquiesced.

That night, right in the front seat of Alex’s car, he tried to come onto Bucky. When Bucky abruptly leaned away and said no, Alex offered him a tiny smile, lifting his hands into the air like he was saying, I mean you no harm. To Bucky’s surprise, Alex didn’t seem angry at being rejected; a complete one-eighty from how he’d responded to being shut down less than a month prior. Red flags immediately went up in Bucky’s head, but in the moment, he tried to remain optimistic. Bucky, the poor bastard, still thought he could give Alex the benefit of the doubt.

Alex only made it harder for Bucky not to feel suspicious when he told him in an overtly nonchalant tone, “I won’t force you. If you don’t want to do it, you don’t have to do it.”

God, but Bucky knew there was more. If it ended there, that would’ve been too easy. There was no justification for Alex Pierce to miraculously have a complete and total change of heart like that. It was too easy, too good to be true, because Alex then confirmed Bucky’s fears:

“However… There’s still the matter of that little video… They wanted to put it up, you know. I told them not to. I’ve been the only thing stopping them from posting it, but… I dunno. Now I might be starting to think that trying to help you was the wrong idea. Hmm.”

He’d shrugged, expression so calm and carefree about the matter that Bucky’s throat was tightening with bile. Alex slowly reached back out for him, rubbing at the back of Bucky’s head with a deceivingly delicate touch. The corner of his mouth quirking up in victory, he looked straight at Bucky and said, “Change my mind, beautiful. Nothing you haven’t done a million times before…”

His thumb traced the swell of Bucky’s bottom lip, and Bucky remembered that he would do anything to stop that video from seeing the light of day. He’d do whatever he needed to. So those lips parted, and he pushed down everything in him that protested, as he let the tip of his tongue brush against Alex’s thumb. Gave it a ginger suck rather than a sharp bite.

He wet his lips and undid his seat belt, and he relaxed his throat when Alex pulled out his dick and Bucky took it into his mouth, all the way down. He sucked him off, and he hated the way Alex gripped his hair, and he hated the way his come tasted when he finally busted in the back of Bucky’s throat, and he hated Alex, and he hated the fact that his own cock was so fucking hard by the time it was over.

That only happened one other time – Alex extorting Bucky into giving him head by using the threat of the video against him. By then, junior year had already started; summer gone, now well into fall. Bucky had hoped it was somehow behind him because it hadn’t been brought up since, and if Bucky passed Alex at school, he treated Bucky with that same casual politeness he always had. Just when Bucky thought he could finally start breathing a sigh of relief, Alex struck a second time.

It was a random Friday in October, and against his better judgement, Bucky accepted the offer to meet back up with him. He wanted to be surprised when it resulted in Bucky on his knees behind some seedy take-out joint, wincing at the press of gravel beneath his kneecaps while Alex fucked his throat raw. He wanted to be, but he couldn’t.

That second time had been enough to bring back everything that’d been tearing Bucky apart before, hitting him with a whole new vehemence. He couldn’t handle it anymore – he couldn’t handle the duress of being blackmailed, he couldn’t handle the ever-lingering threat of that video, he couldn’t handle feeling like he had no choice but to be the equivalent of Alex’s sex slave, and he couldn’t handle the fact that – for a second time – Bucky had gotten hard off of it. Not knowing what else he was supposed to do, he caved and told Natasha.

She was so incensed that Bucky didn’t even try fighting her on it when she whipped out her phone and informed him – with no room to argue anyways – that she was calling Clint. Bucky knew she couldn’t sit idly by on the sidelines anymore while her best friend was being abused. He always knew that if he kept going to her about it, there’d eventually come a point where he wouldn’t be able to expect her to sit back quietly and watch it keep happening.

Yet all the same, knowing that moment had finally arrived – that there would be no stopping her from stepping in and getting involved – left Bucky terrified. He didn’t know what she could be capable of, but when it came to protecting her friends, protecting him, there was little he’d put past her. And yet… all the same, he was also secretly relieved at the prospect that all of that shit might actually stop for good. Finally.

Clint was the only other person in their group to find out what’d happened. When he got to Bucky’s, there was a lot to fill him in on, so there was even more for him to process than there’d been for Natasha. They came to the exact same conclusion, though: that Alex couldn’t get away with what he was doing and that they were going to find a way to make that message very clear.

Bucky tried to remind them how fucked he’d be if they provoked Alex into posting the video, same as he reminded them that what was going on was something no one else could ever know about. At that, Natasha and Clint had shared a look, like they were putting together their plan without having to say anything at all. That was the first time Bucky noticed – and feared – how perfect of a team those two could be together.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clint then said, glancing back to Bucky, a note of finality in his tone.

Natasha confirmed, just as seriously, “We’ll take care of it.”

Their methods were unorthodox, and perhaps extreme, but they worked. Clint set everything up. Natasha executed it. Bucky wasn’t there to see the result – though a part of him will always desperately wish he was – and he only found out what happened after the fact. But the short and short of it was: Natasha beat the ever-loving shit out of Alex.

Bucky’s always found the slightly more extended version to be far more satisfying, though: Clint – having at least a bit of a standing with Alex through mutual friends – contacted him on Facebook, asking if Alex had any weed he’d be willing to sell him. It was the perfect setup, providing an excuse for Alex to agree to meet somewhere secluded and not think anything of it, since he often met with all sorts of people in their class to sell them some shit. They agreed on a time and place.

Now, Clint went, but he didn’t even bother interacting with Alex. At that point, it was Natasha’s turn. Clint was only there to stand guard and keep watch, so if he spotted anyone coming near, he could give her a head’s up. Natasha kept it incredibly short but sweet: she strode straight for Alex, and according to what Clint picked up, heard her asking conversationally, “You thought you’d threaten him and we wouldn’t do anything about it?”

And then, without even slowing down, she threw her fist forward and broke his nose. Alex apparently tried to put up a fight – albeit, briefly – but even though he was broad-shouldered and muscular from sports, his fight skills needed major improvement. Unfortunately for him, along with ballet, Natasha had always been very interested in martial arts as a kid. Having been trained in judo until she was thirteen, she was put at a major advantage.

She nailed him once more in the face before swiftly swinging her right leg up and kicking him square in the balls. (‘Much as I would’ve loved to, I wasn’t aiming to kill the guy,’ she later told Bucky when relaying the details.) Alex hunched forward, keeling over and dropping like a sack of potatoes; face busted up and only getting redder as he coughed and groaned in pain. Natasha warned him never to speak to Bucky again before walking away, leaving him much like he had left Bucky stranded all those nights ago.

Alex’s pride was of a much higher priority to him than his sense of vengeance. Thanks to all that male bravado and internalized misogyny of his, he would sooner give in and do what Natasha said than admit to anyone that he’d been beaten up by a girl. So when Monday morning rolled around and he showed up at school with two black eyes and a cast on his nose, he was well equipped with a made-up story.

There were plenty of whispers about it, and no shortage of those who straight up asked him what happened, but all Alex would say was that he’d been throwing around his football with Rumlow and accidentally got pegged right in the nose. That was when Bucky assumed that Rumlow had to at least know something, because he backed up the lie as if he’d had a hand in creating it. Either that, or Alex lied to him about how he actually got it, too. Bucky didn’t care what the specifics were, so he didn’t ask.

What mattered was that after that, Alex stopped contacting him altogether. He wouldn’t even look at Bucky in the halls. The made-up video was never brought up again. For the first time in a while, Bucky could sleep easy at night.

On his end, he promised Clint and Natasha that he’d never go near Alex again so long as he could help it. He was already over it anyways, he assured them; he didn’t like Alex anymore. Maybe in hindsight, he’d been fabricating his feelings just a little – but still, when he said that, he was at least well on his way to truly believing it.

Not even a month later, Bucky – inadvertently – learned just how much Rumlow actually knew. Bucky had been in the library, sitting at one of the desks and perusing some books to figure out which ones he’d wind up checking out to help with his assignment. Rumlow happened upon him by chance, which led to some casual conversation. It didn’t last long, but when Rumlow turned to leave, something made him take pause. After a short beat, he was suddenly turning back around and approaching Bucky’s side.

“There was never any video, you know,” Rumlow whispered. He’d been facing Bucky, but his eyes were also darting about the room around them in a way that made it clear he didn’t want anyone else to hear their exchange.

Bucky’s heart leapt into his throat. He couldn’t believe what he’d just heard, looking up at Rumlow with a confused frown. “What?”

Rumlow bounced quickly off the balls of his feet. Glancing around quickly, he repeated, “There wasn’t any video.” Even more hushed, he leaned closer and added, “C’mon Barnes, you really think they’d put something like that up with them on it, too? Think about it. They were just kidding around, trying to freak you out. Just… in case you wanted to know.”

And without another word, he took off, leaving Bucky to sit there and let the weight of that sink in. First he was overcome with relief, but it was short-lived. Within minutes, it was replaced with outrage. The longer Bucky thought about it, the more Bucky couldn’t believe that someone could ever be so sick as to make something like that up in the first place – not even just for leverage, but at all.

Bucky never talked about it with Rumlow again. He would never be sure why Rumlow went out of his way to go behind Alex’s back. Alex would’ve never wanted Bucky to know that little secret, and clearly Rumlow had been hesitant about telling Bucky in the first place. Maybe it was because he and Bucky had always been cool with each other. Maybe the moral bone in his body – questionable as it could be sometimes – knew what Alex had been putting Bucky through, and even he couldn’t deny how wrong it’d been.

In the same breath, it could’ve also been for personal reasons, too. Maybe he only told Bucky to try and save his friend’s ass from another potential beating – like Rumlow really did know what truly happened to him. Maybe he told Bucky in the hopes that Bucky would just happen to pass the message onto Natasha, to try and ensure that all that shit was behind Alex for good, too. Like a fucked up sort of surrender Rumlow was making on his behalf because Alex was too arrogant to make it for himself: He was just talking shit; he won’t actually do anything, so you don’t have to beat him up again, okay?

Bucky did tell her, for the record. And Clint. It’s not like it changed anything, since the three of them had already put that behind them already. All Natasha said to it was, “Good.” All the more reason to believe Alex would stay in his designated lane and not try to start shit again. All the more reason for Natasha not to have to get involved again, so long as it stayed that way.

With time, Bucky really did get over his affections for Alex. The more distance time placed between them – with every day that turned to a week, each week into a month – the more all of those previously positive feelings were replaced with something ugly. It wasn’t that Bucky was holding a grudge or couldn’t let go of the past. He was beyond that.

On the contrary, it was more a matter of Bucky finally seeing Alex for what he truly was. There was no romanticizing it anymore; once Bucky was over him, all he had left was disdain. Alex disgusted him. And suddenly, the way everyone else was still just as blinded by the picture-perfect façade Alex adorned to the world had never been more apparent. Poor fools. At least Bucky had learned his lesson.

Or… sort of.

There’s silence on the other end of the line. Steve’s breathing is shaky, and it has been for most of the time Bucky’s been talking over the last ten minutes or so. Keeping true to his promise, he hasn’t interrupted once. But Bucky can only guess how much he wants to say. He can’t imagine what Steve is thinking. He isn’t sure he wants to. 

Every sentence, every inch he falls deeper into that rabbit hole confession, Bucky wants to abruptly stop and say fuck it to the rest. But he knows he has to keep going. As hard as it is, he’s got to.

Steve interprets Bucky’s pause as an invitation to finally speak. “Buck…” His tone is strange; angry yet remorseful. It throws Bucky off, in a way that both frightens and confuses him. Still, he’s not ready to hear what Steve has to say. Not when he isn’t finished. “I--”

“I’m not done yet,” Bucky interrupts, wishing he was. “Please, I’m… Not yet. I’m…” He sighs. “There’s still more.”

Another small silence. Steve lets out a sigh. It sounds wet. “Okay,” he whispers.

Bucky closes his eyes, mouth all twisted up. Shaking his head to himself, he lifts his free hand and rubs at his forehead. “I… I don’t even know what I was thinking,” he admits, thinking back again. “Things got good again, and… I was right back to where I was before any of that shit started. I didn’t want a relationship, and it felt… better, not having those sorts of feelings for someone anymore.

“Sometimes, they felt so intense – maybe ‘cause I wasn’t used to ‘em, I dunno… But as great as I thought they were, sometimes they made me feel like I was drowning. Or… suffocating, I guess. Maybe that’s a better way to put it. So when it was over, I felt free again. I – I could do whatever I wanted with whoever I felt like, and shit didn’t have to get messy.”

Bucky swallows. “I need you to understand what I’m saying here, Steve, I… I slept with a lot of people. Most, I – I remember their names. A few, I don’t. That sort of thing. I always used protection, and I would get tested every few months to know I was still clean. After what happened with Alex, though… I…” He shakes his head again. “…I just… cared less. I didn’t give a shit about boundaries.

“I was that guy who fucked around with people I knew had a boyfriend, or girlfriend, or whatever. I didn’t care who my actions might’ve hurt,” he says, disappointed in himself. “Sometimes, knowing that were taken was even a turn-on for me. Like, it wasn’t like everyone I was screwin’ around with was like cheating with me… Just some of them.

“But I didn’t care, not even a little bit. Relationships just seemed like… like such bullshit to me. I didn’t care about them before, but it was like after Alex… it was like I suddenly hated them. I don’t think I even really realized that until right now…

“And then a few months later, a bit before summer, I…” Bucky makes a weak noise, aborting the sentence. Because he’s scared, and he doesn’t know how Steve will take it – and because this is the part Bucky hates the most. “I love you,” he surprises himself by saying.

Steve seems equally as surprised. “I… Can I talk to tell you I love you, too?”

Bucky nods, gripping the phone in his hand even tighter. “Yes. Please.”

“I love you too, Bucky…”

Bucky doesn’t reply for a few seconds. Deep breath in, then out… “I started fucking Alex again,” he then finishes in a rush, knowing if he loses the nerve again, he won’t get it back. There’s an abrupt inhale on the other line, and Bucky knows Steve’s about to start talking. So he knows he has to keep going before that can happen:

“I knew it was a bad idea, I knew it was,” he says. “It wasn’t even like I liked him again or anything either – actually, I still fucking hated him. It didn’t even happen that many times, or even often, but… I… I dunno. I wasn’t emotionally invested anymore, so it all it was was sex. I don’t know why I did it, but… the point is, it happened.”

That’s not quite true. But this is one of those things Bucky knows Steve doesn’t need to hear. He can tell the truth – just as he has been – without forcing Steve to listen to all the details he really doesn’t have to know. The ones that don’t matter, don’t change the outcome, and would only hurt him to picture.

The truth is, Bucky does know why he did it, same as he always knew why Alex went back. They couldn’t stand each other, they both despised the other; only connected at that point by two things, one of which was the animosity shared between them. Yes, all of that was true. Yes, Bucky was still just as grossed out by him as a person. None of that magically went away whenever they fucked.

Their reasoning was different, but still, they wanted. A mutual physical attraction and kink for doing what they weren’t supposed to – that was the second thing that kept them bound together for a while. Bucky was Alex’s worst addiction. Alex, Bucky’s guilty pleasure. What started as a sporadic hook up in a bathroom at a party reignited their old routine. Only this time, things were a little different.

For starters, Bucky’s mindset had changed. There were no more delusional fantasies or childish feelings. Alex still didn’t like to kiss, but lucky for him, Bucky didn’t want that anymore, either. The idea of kissing Alex actually repulsed Bucky, even when his mouth was salivating and he’d be dropping to his knees, undoing Alex’s pants with quick fingers and a hungry look on his face. The last time, Bucky wanted more while Alex wanted nothing beyond the physical. This time, they were on equal ground, with the exact same basal expectations.

The only one being: to get off.

It also made their arrangement much easier to tolerate. Bucky was doing things differently now. Alex was just one of many people he was hooking up with. He didn’t want to kiss Bucky? Fine, Bucky had plenty of other people who’d be more than willing to do that. Alex’s loss. This time, Alex was given no special treatment – no pedestal – and when they didn’t talk for months on end in-between, Bucky never even gave him a second thought.

But the moment he’d his phone would buzz and light up with that telltale text… there was never any second thoughts given there either.

That was the only area where something was still kind of the same. Bucky hated it as much as he loved it. He knew he was doing exactly what he shouldn’t have been; fucking around with the one person he promised his best friends he wouldn’t. Fucking Alex gave him something different, something that seemed a little more primal than what Bucky got with everyone else he fooled around with.

But just like it’d always been between them, for as good as that felt when it was happening, Bucky always walked away sensing that there was something off about it, almost lacking. As if the way Alex made Bucky feel when he was dominating his body had the potential to be something greater, something actually positive and comforting – but couldn’t be because they weren’t doing it right… Whatever ‘it’ was.

So whenever it was over, he’d leave and tell himself, this time he’d smarten up for good. That would be the last time he fucked Alex Pierce. All that ever did was lead them straight into the same song and dance, each and every time: Alex would want to meet up, and Bucky would know it was a shitty idea but go anyways. He would tell himself he wasn’t going to let Alex seduce him again, so when Alex tried to come onto him, Bucky would ‘turn him down’.

In reality, the majority of Bucky was already on board from the second he set his eyes on him – he was just playing hard to get. Because all it ever took was one look, knowing where it would head, to evoke the same reaction out of Bucky: part of him wanted to knock Alex out himself… but the rest of him just wanted to ride Alex stupid.

So they’d go through the motions, stick to their usual script until Bucky would crack, and then it was game over. Bucky was only ever too quick to get to the real fun once he stopped playing coy. They’d fuck around – maybe for ten minutes, maybe for three hours. Depended on where they were, how much time they had, and what they could get away with. Then they’d part shortly afterwards, and Bucky would be right back to square one: scolding himself for being so reckless. Rationalizing it in his head by promising himself it wouldn’t happen again.

He knew the entire time that what he was doing was wrong. It was idiotic. It was sticking Bucky right back into the lion’s den. Natasha and Clint would kill him if they found out, he knew that; they would be so fucking mad, he knew that too. There was a perfectly valid reason why Bucky wasn’t allowed to go near Alex anymore. But god, if that didn’t make him ache for it more. It was deceptive, and sneaky, and so fucked up…

And part of Bucky reveled in that. Breaking the rules and being bad. Being told he couldn’t have something and making it his anyway.

The sex was always so fucking good, too. God knows that only weakened his resolve. Alex long since knew Bucky’s body by then; how he could give it what it liked. It was always rough. Competitive. They’d rip each other’s clothes off with the same fierceness in their eyes, the same scowl on their faces. They’d use their strength to shove the other around; make sure both of them would feel it afterwards.

Bucky would rake his nails down Alex’s back… Alex’s right hand taught Bucky how much he loved to be spanked while the left kept yanking on his hair... They’d bite, suck, lick, bruise… Alex would boss him around, and abuse his little hole until Bucky was drooling.

One time, in retaliation, Bucky got even by pushing Alex onto the hood of his own car so Bucky could throw Alex’s legs over his shoulders, snarling at him to shut the fuck up. Glaring, spit running down his chin, he ate Alex out mercilessly, just so he could prove that no matter how much Alex wanted to fight it, he fucking liked getting fucked by Bucky’s tongue.

And he did… Body writhing on the hood, and Bucky’s name begrudgingly coming out of his lungs in barely-there groans, Alex panted through clenched teeth and had precome shining all over his stomach and he fucking liked it.

For two years, once in a blue moon, they would meet up every few months so they could hate-fuck and get it all out of their system. Bucky still didn’t care that Alex had a girlfriend. All he cared about what his orgasm. They’d pant and curse each other; hurling insults and goading words meant to spur the other on. Bucky could go from glaring at him and spitting out, “Fuck you,” to sobbing out a whine – high and hot – the very next second, breathlessly begging Alex for more.

As for Alex… He could sneer at Bucky and call him all sorts of filthy, hurtful names that he really meant, but he still found himself wanting more and more out of Bucky. He wouldn’t say it, but he loved Bucky’s cock. Was always fixated with touching it, and eventually, getting a taste for it. Alex, as it turned out, was a quick learner with a very skilled mouth on him.

Both of them thought they were better than each other, and neither Bucky nor Alex would admit how much the other turned them on. No matter how wrecked Bucky got, no matter how loudly Alex would make him cry out, there was always an air of defiance to him. Bucky gave it up, and he liked it, but there was still spite – every hitch in his breath, every arch of his back, every spasm his muscles gave around Alex’s cock, all Bucky’s way of reminding him: you still want me, you can fight it all you want but you keep coming back, too. You want me, you want me, you fucking want me, but you’ll never have me like you did before.

And no matter how vulnerable Alex always sounded whenever he’d bury his face against Bucky’s neck, moan uncontrollably into his skin… No matter how much he loved the feeling of slipping into another man, Alex always fucked Bucky like he was trying to prove that he didn’t. They were both determined to beat each other by way of taking each other apart. It made for a great competition while it lasted, no matter how unethical the whole thing was.

But it did eventually come to an end, and that’s the point Bucky wants to stress the most.

“But then you came into my life,” he says, wobbly, fighting back a fresh wave of tears, “and you – you changed everything for me. I love you, Steve. I love you. I swear to you, I swear to god, nothing’s happened since we’ve been together. That whole shit with Alex? That was already over by the time you and me… It was done. I need you to believe me.

“I just – I don’t know if he’s gonna turn around and try to start shit again, and if you heard any of this not from me, I…” Bucky whimpers deep in his throat, bottom lip quivering as he covers his face with his hand; curls his fingers and grips tightly to the roots of his hair. He knows he told Steve to stay quiet until he finished, but now that he’s put everything on the table, the silence is only increasing his paranoia.

He starts speaking faster, frantic and going for broke: “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I never told you any of this. I just wanted it behind me, and it had nothing to do with you so I didn’t… I didn’t want you to see me differently. Because – because listen, okay? Please, I – fuck, I don’t… I got no clue what you’re thinking right now, or if you’re mad, or if you’re disgusted, or what.

“And it’s not like I’m – I mean – like, I’m never gonna feel bad that I used to have sex. He tried to make me feel like shit about that, but I never did and I never will, I – the only thing I regret is what I did with him. But everything else? I refuse, I won’t apologize for that. That was before you, and I wasn’t doing anything wrong, and – look, I just had to tell you all this. I didn’t want there to be anymore secrets.

“I don’t wanna hide shit from you, I don’t wanna hide anything. Even if it means I just went and fucked everything up. Okay? I’m not p-proud of what I did with Alex, but that doesn’t define who I am now. I need you to believe that. And – and I don’t want anyone but you, I’ll never want anyone but you. Just because I’ve been with a lot of people doesn’t mean I’m some sort of whore.

“I’m not a whore, I’m – I’m not some cumdumpster! I’m not!” Bucky rants, volume rising, unable to help himself. Now he’s crying. He can’t help that either. “Just because I liked sex doesn’t mean I was s… some sort of monster, Steve! He made me feel like shit, he always did. Then tonight, at prom, he – when I didn’t let it happen again, he… It fucking started all over again, and it still hurt. I didn’t think it’d hurt anymore, but hearing him say all those things, it was…

“But you, youmake me feel… It’s different with you. It’s always been different. You make me feel safe, and – and when I’m with you, I’m free. I’m always able to be myself, and I’m – you make me happy, Steve, you make me so happy I don’t know what to do with it sometimes!And I – I know how this must sound; how could I possibly know for sure that I love you and wanna be with you forever if I’ve never experienced it before, right? Right? But I do, Steve, I fucking do, and if you don’t believe me, fine, don’t believe me!

“But I’m telling you it’s true. I know how I feel, and I know I love you, Steve. And I’m still me. I’m still me, Steve, so – so if you suddenly think I’m a slut, and you don’t wanna be with me no more, then that’s you’re decision and I can’t do a fucking thing about it. That’s your choice! I just, I don’t want… I don’t know.”

He wipes at his eyes, heaving a breath that hurts his lungs and still sobbing brokenly against his hand. There are more tears shedding than he can keep up with them. Face red, he tips his head back against the cupboard door and gives up; just lets himself cry. The energy it took to get all of that out, it’s left him completely drained. Whatever fight he might’ve had seeped away with every tear rolling down his cheeks.

The fight felt lost before it’d even been started. That was the mentality Bucky couldn’t help but have. That’s what being with Alex taught him, if nothing else: expect the worst and hope for nothing. That way, the results couldn’t hurt. Couldn’t leave Bucky with a hole in his heart that felt suspiciously like disappointment every. Goddamn. Time.

But it’s impossible not to hope when it comes to Steve, and that’s where Bucky’s always been fucked. With Steve, that’s all he knows: hope for a future, hope for all the possibilities that brings, hope, hope, hope. Being with Steve makes Bucky want it all. He can’t lose that. Not when Steve is the one person who’s ever made him feel so alive.

So to be convinced that Steve’s already got one foot out the door and will only run even faster now, well, that’s about the worst pain Bucky’s ever known.

“Bucky,” Steve quietly says, sounding genuinely taken aback, “…is that what you think I’m thinking right now?”

“Aren’t you?” Bucky asks, unable to stop himself from coming off bitter.

There’s a small pause, and Bucky isn’t prepared when Steve answers, “No. I’m – I’m not. Not at all. Buck – my god. Baby…” And that’s when Bucky hears the unmistakable sounds of a sniffle from the other line. Steve’s crying. “Bucky, god, Bucky I’m… I am so fucking sorry. No, no, I could never think that about you. Never.

“I’m just – fuck,” he croaks, “I feel so powerless right now. I…” He sounds like he’s speaking through gritted teeth. “I hate knowing that someone did that to you. You never should’ve went through any of that, you – Bucky, you’re so brave. You’re the bravest person I know. You know that, right?

Bucky spits out a cold laugh. “Oh yeah, so brave,” he mutters. “Went back to the guy who practically framed me, lied to my friends, screwed up people’s relationships – yeah, that’s real brave.”

“No, you are,” Steve insists. “Look, you think I care who you were with before me? Baby, just because I don’t like to picture it doesn’t mean I’m living in some sort of fantasy world. I never once assumed you were some sort of virgin. You never once owed me any explanations; your sex life before was never any of my business. Whether you slept with five people or five hundred, I’d have no right to judge you for that. No one does, you hear me? You said it yourself: you’ll never feel bad about it. I don’t want you to. Don’t ever apologize, Buck – not to me, not to anyone.”

Bucky can’t believe what he’s hearing. This is exactly how he’d been hoping Steve would react: that he wouldn’t leave, that nothing would be irrevocably changed. But it’s still the complete opposite of what he’d been preparing himself to have happen. The last time he opened his heart and hoped someone would fight for him, it’d been shredded to pieces. Steve is nothing like Alex, but still Bucky expected him to bail. To know he’s not, it’s… Bucky’s just… His heart seems to be swelling, and he finds himself crying harder. With an unfiltered relief that nestles into his very bones.

“Steve,” he whimpers.

“I am angry, baby, but I’m not angry at you. God, no, I’m not angry at you, not even a little bit,” Steve tells him. “I’m angry because I want to rip every single fucking limb off Pierce’s body and I can’t. I want to hurt him for what he did to you, and that’s – that’s so wrong, I shouldn’t – I’m still an adult. I shouldn’t want to hurt a - a teenager, but I’m sorry, I’m sorry Buck, I do.

“Lord forgive me, I fucking do,” he sighs, quieter, more to himself. Bucky’s never heard this much anger in Steve’s voice before, not even when he’d tried to end things and it’d turned into a shouting match between them. “I think of what he did to you and – I can’t even stand it. I feel… I want to do something about it but I can’t. I can’t, and I fucking hate it.”

“I’m sorry…”

Steve sighs again, anger ebbing away into something sorrowful. “No, please, don’t say sorry. Please don’t. It’s not your fault. It’s not either of our fault, I just – I don’t care about any of that, I really don’t baby, I just need to know you’re alright right now.

“Buck… Fuck, I wish I could see your face and actually be looking at you while we were having this discussion. I need to hold you. Bucky, I – I need you in my arms right now. I don’t know what to do. Tell me what to do. Whatever you need from me, just… Please, anything…”

Bucky sniffles, hating how limited their options always seem to be the second they need each other most. “…Do you wanna FaceTime?”

“Yes,” Steve says, answering immediately. “Only if you can get away with it, though. But yeah, yeah I’d really like that.”

“Everyone’s still downstairs, it’s okay. Hold on.”

He pulls the phone away from his ear, tapping the FaceTime button when the option menu pops up. It rings all of once before Steve answers. He still appears to be in his outfit from earlier, though he’s since removed his jacket. Hair that’d been primly slicked back before now looks slightly disheveled, like there might’ve been an anxious hand running through it. One of Steve’s nervous habits.

Even with the slightly blurry quality, Bucky can see how red-rimmed his boyfriend’s eyes are; how the normally radiant shade of blue is brighter and even more spectacular than normal. They only get that way when he’s been crying. Bucky hates seeing him cry. Even still, he could never be any less gorgeous. So perfect, it will always take Bucky’s breath away, even when he thought he had no more breath to give.

The sight of him pulls up the corners of Bucky’s mouth, a sad smile that reflects in his own eyes. “Hey,” he whispers.

“Hey,” Steve answers, taking him in in kind. With a small shake of the head, he murmurs, “You’re so beautiful…” When that washes away Bucky’s smile into a frown, Steve looks directly into the camera, a sad sound getting lodged in his throat. “Bucky, you’re beautiful,” he tells him again.

Bucky tries to chuckle. Wiping at his eyes at the same time, he half-heartedly jokes, “Still? You sure?”

“Please stop,” Steve begs. “Please stop saying things like that.”

Bucky’s brows furrow, and slowly he nods. Steve’s right. Bucky got his turn. He anticipated the worst. He didn’t get it. Instead, he got the guy who’s done nothing but prove himself over and over: why Bucky can trust him, why he’ll never leave Bucky behind, why his love for Bucky is unconditional. Bucky convinced himself this would be like Alex Pierce all over again, even if it would’ve made no sense. But Steve Rogers is not like him. Not at all, and he never has been. And now Bucky needs to listen – really listen – to what Steve has to say.

Bucky nods so Steve knows he can continue if he wants to.

“Are you okay from earlier?” Steve starts by asking. “I know I can’t get involved the way I want to, but… is there anything I can do? Do you need me to do something, anything?”

“No,” Bucky answers. “I can handle this. I don’t even think anything’s gonna happen. But… if it does, I just need you to be there. If something happens, please just… don’t listen to any of it. Okay?”

“I never would,” Steve promises.

They stare at each other, falling quiet. Steve offers Bucky another tiny smile, but all that does is make Bucky more aware of just how far apart they are right now. He can see Steve’s face, but he can’t touch him. He can hear Steve’s voice but not feel the heat of the words in his ear. This is one of those times where he really wishes things could be easier. At that, Bucky is reminded of just one more thing that he needs to be honest about.

He chews on his bottom lip, hating in that moment that he remembered at all. But he knows it has to be done, especially after he’s already opened up about everything else. “Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“There’s… There’s one more thing I have to tell you. I’m sorry,” he sighs, “I know it’s like one thing after another tonight, but--”

Steve shakes his head. “It’s okay, hey, easy… Easy…” He smiles reassuringly. “It’s alright, Buck. What is it?”

Bucky stares at the face on his screen, using whatever strength he has left to scrounge up the nerve for this one last confession. Steve thinks he’s brave. Now’s Bucky chance to prove it to himself. He clears his throat, hesitating before his lips part:

“I… I didn’t know how to tell you, but I… I think I want to go to UCLA in the fall.”

Steve doesn’t stop smiling, but at that, it does become a little doleful. He answers, “I had a feeling.”

Wait, what?

Mouth falling open, Bucky stares at his phone – blinking and doing his best impression of a deer caught in headlights – before asking, “You knew?”

“No, I wouldn’t go that far,” Steve says. “Just… I know you. The way you always talk about traveling and stuff? I dunno, you just always seemed to light up a certain way whenever you talked about UCLA; wasn’t the same with NYU.”

Bucky doesn’t get it. If Steve’s had an inkling this whole time, has he stuck around because he’s decided that’s still okay by him? God, Bucky doesn’t want to get his hopes up, he really doesn’t…

“Baby, were you scared to tell me that?” Steve asks with genuine curiosity, maybe even a tiny bit of amusement.

Bucky makes a short, pleading noise. “Well,” he starts, “I – I dunno. Yes? I mean… I didn’t know how you’d take it. Like, asking you to be in a secret and long-distance relationship? Wouldn’t that make me a really shitty boyfriend?”

Steve chuckles, eyes narrowing. “Umm… No?”

“Seriously? You’re really trying to tell me that wouldn’t be too much for you?” Bucky asks, skeptical. How this can be such a non-issue for Steve when it’s been freaking Bucky right the fuck out for the last week?

With a shrug, Steve’s gaze trails away as he shakes his head. On his lips, he still wears that leftover trace of a smile. “I mean, would I be looking forward to barely seeing you? No, of course not. You being so far away would be hard; I’m not saying it wouldn’t be. But you didn’t ‘ask’ me to be in a ‘secret’ relationship with you – I chose to be. We chose, together. You think I’d let a coupla’ miles between us change that? I’d still want to be with you. Why wouldn’t I?”

Somehow, Bucky’s still convinced that Steve’s only on board because he hasn’t properly thought it through. Despite how bad Bucky wants it, he hears himself arguing, “It’s not just a ‘couple of miles’, Steve. We’d be on completely opposite sides of the country.”

“So? It’s not like you’d never be coming back to visit,” Steve points out. “And I’m sure I could fly out there once in a while. We’d still be able to talk on the phone – and hey, actually, we wouldn’t even have to worry about deleting everything anymore, right? That’s always a plus. And…” he chuckles, “…I’ve never quite done the whole ‘Skype sex’ thing, but that’d be an option, too. All I’m saying is, it wouldn’t be easy but I think we could do it.”

When he realizes Bucky’s not smiling back – still at a complete loss for words – his expression grows thoughtful and he asks, gentle, “Baby… You’re serious, aren’t you? You really convinced yourself I’d break up with you over this?”

“Will I sound stupid if I say yes?”

“You could never sound stupid.”

“Then yes,” Bucky admits. Just like when he’d had this exact same conversation with Natasha and Clint, actually saying it out loud and getting this reaction shines so much perspective on things. Bucky might as well have walked into a pitch black room and flipped on the switch; all the answers clearly there, like they’ve been screaming in his face this entire time, except Bucky was too scared to let himself listen. Even though Steve literally just told him he could never sound stupid, Bucky sure does feel like it.

“I just didn’t know how I could ever ask that of you,” he tries to explain. “I know how complicated it already is for us most of the time; I didn’t think it’d be fair for me to suddenly be like, ‘Oh yeah, now let’s just throw a whole country between us!’ You know? You hear shit all the time about how rough long-distance things are. Most of the time, they never seem to work out! I didn’t know if it’d be…”

“You didn’t know if it’d be, what?” Steve tenderly asks. “Worth it to me?” Bucky gives him another weak look but doesn’t answer. So Steve takes pity on him and answers the unspoken question anyway: “You are the single most important thing in my life. Let’s put it this way: nothing else could be more worth it. Okay? I just want you to be where you want to be, no matter where that is.”

“I just feel bad,” Bucky admits. “I want to be there and with you. It doesn’t seem fair that I’m asking for both.” Scoffing under his breath, he mutters, “It doesn’t even seem fair that I want both in the first place.”

Steve replies, “It’s what your heart’s telling you, sweetheart. So I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, okay? You’re gonna listen to it, and then you’re gonna follow it. And everything’s gonna be just fine.”

Bucky regards the face on his screen, uncertain. He tries to sound strong when he asks, “You mean that?” but his voice cracks on the last word.

Steve reassures him with another honey-sweet smile, comforting and honest. “Of course. I think that when two people are meant to be together, they’ll always find their way back to each other one way or another.”

“That’s sort of cheesy.”

“Yeah, but I like it,” Steve replies, shrugging one shoulder. “Plus, I think it’s true.”

It’s starting to sink in… Steve’s one hundred percent serious. He’s been five steps ahead this whole time; thought it through, considered the pros and cons, and is just as committed to making this work as Bucky is. He’s in – he’s not going anywhere and he never plans to. Whatever problems life makes them face, they’ll always figure out a way around them. Together.

That’s what Steve’s saying.

And that’s when an idea suddenly pops into Bucky’s head. One so brilliant that he can’t believe he never even considered it before.

“Why don’t you move there with me?” he blurts out. Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, so Bucky quickly tries to back pedal. Maybe that was a bit too strong. “I mean, I was just thinking that… Like, there’s nothing really tying you to here, is there? We could find a place, something cheap. Even if we had to put our bed in the living room, I don’t care, I – I’ll get a job, and we could pay rent together. Someplace that’s just ours, Stevie. You could always be a teacher out in California, and – and we could actually feel like a real couple out there. Baby, we wouldn’t have to hide no more.”

Genuinely touched – at least, Bucky sure as hell hopes that’s what that look means – Steve smiles, delicate, and asks, “You’d really want me to move out there with you?”

The more Bucky thinks about it, fuck yeah the more he wants it. How had he not thought of this already? It’s such a fucking simple solution! Eagerly, he nods. “Are you kidding me? I’d love to live with you. C’mon Stevie, think about it: it’d be awesome! It’s a perfect idea.”

He’s expecting Steve’s expression to match the excitement of his own. But Steve only continues to stare back with the same steady, warm smile. Warm but regretful. Oh no. Bucky starts to frown. “What, what’s wrong?”

Now there’s guilt in that smile, too – oh no, no, no-- “Baby, you know I would love that more than anything,” Steve starts to say. And just like that, Bucky’s heart sinks.

His shoulders sag. “So that’s a no,” he mumbles, hurt.

“Just listen to me for a second, Buck,” says Steve, still just as patient. “I would love to live with you. And one day, we’re going to, and it’s going to be amazing. I can’t wait for the day when we can make a home and a life together.”

“Then why are you saying no?” Bucky asks. Christ, get a grip, Barnes. He’s practically pouting.

“Because, I… I got the chance to live those years that you’re going to live. I don’t expect you to understand just yet. Someday, you will.” Steve’s brows furrow as he exhales a small sigh. “Look, Buck… I’d give anything to pack everything up and run away with you. Really. You know, to be honest, I’m sure there’ll be plenty of times when you’re gone that I’m gonna kick myself for having said no.”

“Then don’t say no,” Bucky tries. “I don’t get what the problem is.”

“Because… Because as much as I would love to be able to do that, you really need to live this part of your life for yourself,” Steve explains. “I want you to make all sorts of memories that are yours. You – you need to learn who you are, and not just who you are when you’re with me.

“There’s no need for you to feel like you have to pick one over the other, Buck. You can have both – and you will. You’re going to have such an amazing time out there, and I’m going to love to hear all about it, every step of the way. And when you’re ready, I’ll still be right here. Then we’ll start a life together that’s entirely ours, I promise. But for now… this is your chance to really get to know Bucky Barnes; find out who he is.”

Bucky’s bottom lip is trembling. Leave it to Steve to always say exactly the right things that reduce Bucky to an emotional sap, even if it’s not entirely what he wanted to hear. Personally, he’d still love to have Steve join him, but… he also knows Steve has some great points. Points he can’t really deny. Averting his gaze quickly, he wipes at his eyes, warding off anymore tears by exhaling a short chuckle.

“Why are you always right?” he asks. “I hate it when you’re always right.”

Steve smiles. “Hey, Bucky.”

“Mm?”

“I’m so proud of you. Congratulations, baby… You’re going to rock it over there.”

Bucky smiles back, overwhelmed with gratitude, his brain still working away to process all of this. “I love you,” he says. “And you… you still love me?”

“Bucky, of course I do.”

“You do?”

Now slowly appearing troubled, Steve asks, “You really thought I wouldn’t love you anymore because of that?”

“I… I dunno,” Bucky mumbles, embarrassed. “That, plus all the other stuff we talked about, I just… Yeah, I guess, I… Fuck, I’m sorry--”

Steve shakes his head, sighing softly again under his breath. “No, baby, hey, it’s okay. Look at me. Of course I still love you… ‘kay? And tomorrow, I’m gonna love you even more, and even more the next day, and every day after that. Alright? You’re my forever, sweetheart. I’ve been waiting my whole life for you – no way I’d ever let anything take you from me now. Okay?"

Bucky wants to protest, if only to keep hearing that – nothing but that, all night, for hours, until Bucky can see him for real again. Instead, his mouth twitches as he takes that in, too, and he nods again.

“Okay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Steve echoes. “Seriously baby, please don’t worry about any of that shit with Pierce. I don’t see you differently and I never will. In fact, you know what I think, Buck?”

“What?”

“I think you were young and you made mistakes, just like every other human being on the planet. You think I didn’t do plenty of stupid things in my life? I can rival some of your stories, I’m sure.”

Bucky shows a hint of a smile. “You? Being a badass? No way.”

Steve mirrors it. “You say that now, but you’d be surprised. Look, my point is, we’d all go back and do some things differently if we had the chance. Sure, I’m not gonna lie – I wish that you hadn’t ever gone back to Alex again. But I know that won’t change anything, so there’s no point in dwelling on it.

“I think you wanted to give your heart away for the first time, and I think it wound up being to someone who really didn’t deserve it. I think you’re a kind person with a kind heart, who tried to see the best in him when really, he who was too fucking chickenshit to man up and realize what a good thing he could’ve had. I also think that I’m sort of happy Natasha kicked the crap out of him – but technically I really shouldn’t be admitting that, so that’s neither here nor there.”

He winks, and Bucky’s smile grows, shy but noticeably brighter as he bites at his bottom lip.

“There’s that smile,” Steve says, affectionate. “I love when you smile, sweetheart. You know… It was his loss, Buck. But… in a way, I feel like I almost have to thank him. Not for hurting you, but… for being such an idiot. He could’ve had you but he fucked it up. And… you and I might not’ve had our chance otherwise, and…

“I wish you never had to go through any of that, but I’m happy I was given the chance to be able to make every last second of that up to you now. If every mistake in my life, every little bad thing that ever happened was all just a stepping stone to leading me down the path to you, then I’d do it all over again any day.”

Butterflies flitter around in Bucky’s stomach; every time Steve talks like this, it never fails. Bucky will never know what he did to ever be so lucky.

“I know,” he murmurs, “me too…”

“Hey, listen to me, okay?” says Steve. “Thank you… Thank you for telling me all of that. I know that wasn’t easy for you and I know it’s been bothering you for a while. All I ever want is for you to feel safe, Buck. No matter what’s bothering you, no matter what’s going on, I want you to feel you can talk to me. You don’t need to bottle things up, sweetheart. There’s nothing we can’t work out together. I’m always gonna be in your corner, always.”

Bucky nods. It’s only in this moment that he realizes… he really believes that now. He thought he had before – thought that was something he knew this entire time – but evidently there was still a part of Bucky that’d been closed off. As much as he loved Steve and trusted him, he hadn’t trusted him one-hundred percent, though he’d thought he did.

Bucky can tell the difference now.

A lot of people would’ve walked away. A lot of people would’ve judged Bucky in one way or another; turned his confession – his vulnerabilities – into a reason to crucify him. Steve responded with nothing but open arms. He’s never treated Bucky any other way.

He’s truly shown Steve every side of him now, good and bad. Ugly and beautiful… and Steve still only sees the good in him. In his eyes, Bucky’s no less beautiful than he’s always been. Steve ran his fingertips over all of Bucky’s jagged edges and decided that he’s still perfect, still so precious, even with all his imperfections.

And now more than ever, Bucky realizes that this is what complete and utter trust feels like. Every worry and insecurity he ever had, right from the very beginning, no longer matters. Steve’s right, Steve’s always, always right… Whatever it is, they’ll get through it together. Bucky can finally believe it now. No more doubts. They’ll always find a way.

“I promise,” he says. “I won’t hide anything anymore... Steve… Thank you. I don’t even know what to say right now, just… Thank you, Steve.”

For setting me free, for teaching me what it is to live, for letting me be yours…

“I love you, Buck,” Steve swears to him. “You never need to thank me for treating you the way you should’ve always been treated. Pierce was a fucking idiot for not appreciating you, but I’m gonna make sure you never feel like that again, okay? You’re a goddamn Prince, sweetheart, and,” he places a hand to his chest as if taking an oath, one side of his mouth upturned, “I’m but your humble servant.”

Bucky sniffles again. Unable to help it, a grin spreads across his face as he starts to laugh. “You’re such a dork,” he says, adoring.

“No, I’m serious,” Steve insists, “it’d be a privilege to spend the rest of my life worshipping you.” And then his smile simmers down, tone gentling as he murmurs, “Kissing your feet, or… anywhere I wanted, anywhere you’d let me… Prove to you how a real man loves. I can do that, sweetheart. I will do that, if you let me. Will you let me?”

Bucky’s not sure whether Steve’s trying to turn him on, or if he’s simply waxing poetic in all seriousness and the fact that it’s arousing as hell is nothing more than a happy coincidence. Whatever the intent is, it’s working. Endorphins rush throughout his system, placating Bucky’s body and mind; only further reinforcing that surreal realization that everything is actually going to be okay…

His mouth feels a little dry, and Bucky finds himself having to lick his lips. Obediently, he tips his chin to resemble a nod. “Yes sir,” he susurrates, voice softening and dropping in pitch beyond his control.

Satisfied with Bucky’s response, Steve smiles with one firm nod. “Good. That’s what I like to hear. Now – you really should get outta that bathroom and downstairs to your friends.”

“But I don’t wanna hang up,” Bucky says, definitely pouting this time.

Steve laughs, staring at the screen adoringly. “I don’t either, baby, but – c’mon, you’re there to spend time with them, not be locked upstairs all night on your phone.”

Bucky knows he’s right. Again. Still, though. “But I miss you.”

“I miss you too, but you’ll see me tomorrow,” Steve reminds him. “I’ll be up bright and early just to make sure I’m ready whenever you are.”

“Fine,” Bucky says, relenting with just the quietest sigh, done mostly for show.

Steve’s eyebrow arches. “I’m sorry, are you back-talking me?” he teases. “Is that what’s happening right now?”

Biting his lip, Bucky tries to fight the smile that evokes from him. “No sir.”

“I didn’t think so. Alright, go on baby – and hey! Remember what I said: you’ve got nothing to worry about. Everything’s going to be just fine. So don’t ruin your night by thinking anymore of it, okay? Just have fun.”

“Okay. I will. I’m probably gonna leave my phone up here to charge, so I’ll text you before I head to bed, okay?”

Steve nods. “Alright, not a problem. I might already be sleeping by then, but shoot it off anyways if you feel like it. It’ll give me something nice to wake up to.”

Rising to his feet, Bucky replies, “Okay, sounds good. Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

Bucky smiles. Amazingly, it feels so much easier now. Like how it did before. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Steve says, smiling back. Bringing the phone closer to his face, his lips purse as he kisses the air directly in front of the camera. Bucky blushes, giggling deep in his throat. It’s cheesy as hell, but then again, pretty much everything about Steve is. That’s one of the things Bucky adores about him so much.

So he returns the air kiss, giggling again when it makes Steve grin. They tell each other they love each other one more time – Bucky can’t help that he repeats himself a lot when it comes to that – and then finally, they hang up. Slowly bringing down his hand holding the phone, he stares off and, just like he’d done after speaking with his best friends, replays the highlights of the conversation over in his mind. He gauges how he’s feeling.

There’s still some trepidation regarding Alex; the fear of what may or may not happen. That’s a given. But beyond that… He feels… His brows knit together. Huh. This is the first time in over a week that Bucky feels like his head is clearer again. Like… he can finally see things rationally again, and put them into their proper perspectives.

He’s… Actually, he’s calm.

Calm. Wow. Bucky thinks – he thinks he might not actually be afraid anymore. There’s nothing to be afraid of now. All because he did what he should’ve done all along and talked things out rather than try to bury them away for so long.

His brows are still knit, but the corners of his mouth turn up as he exhales, short and quiet. Bucky smiles. For a split second, he starts to remind himself, he doesn’t have to do that, there’s no audience…

But this time it’s not about that. He doesn’t have to, but he still is. He wants to.

He keeps smiling, and he realizes he’s doing it for himself.

Bucky’s glad he decided to crash there with his friends, because he winds up having the time of his life. He doesn’t feel much like doing anymore drinking, since he doesn’t want to risk a potential hangover come morning. Everyone else continues on around him though, and that’s fine. 

When Quill winds up pulling out his baggy and rolls a spliff, that Bucky does join his friends outside to get in on. It’s been a while since he’s smoked anything other than cigarettes, so he winds up coughing more than usual, prompting Quill and Clint to bust his balls. The high eventually settles over him, and back in the basement, Bucky vegges out and just relaxes for the first time and god knows how long. Eyes bloodshot and mouth dry as fuck, Bucky feels his pulse in his head, and he’s nice and loose. Light.

It sort of reminds him of what subspace felt like, just a bit, in terms of things seeming a bit fuzzy. Kinda dreamlike. Not like it comes close, though. Nothing could, that’s for fucking sure. God, that’s the best high Bucky could ever experience. He hopes Steve can help take him there again sometime soon.

And he definitely knows it’s the pot talking, but he also can’t help from wondering if Steve ever smokes pot. It’s kind of weird to imagine, but strangely hot. Bucky doesn’t do it very often himself, but still… He wonders what Steve would say if Bucky ever asked him to do a shotgun together…

And then Bucky gets distracted when the pizza they ordered arrives, and the rumbling in his stomach wins over anymore thought. Renata and Grigory eventually return home, but they only come downstairs long enough to say hello, give their daughter a kiss on the cheek, and then say goodnight. The rest of the night is spent laughing, and reminiscing, and putting on bad movies in the background, and even raiding Natasha’s junk food cupboard at, like, three a.m.

Several times, Bucky’s tempted to run up to Natasha’s room and grab his phone. But every time that impulse rears its head, he stops himself, remembering what Steve had pointed out earlier. Bucky’s supposed to be spending time with his friends. This summer will be the last they all have together like this. Sure, they’ll always be best buds, and they’ll still hang out plenty, but it won’t be the same. Not like this.

And Bucky doesn’t want to look back on this night and feel like he let that precious time go to waste. Besides, like Steve told him, they’d be seeing each other soon enough anyways. So his phone remains upstairs, and Bucky remains right there with his friends. And though he misses the shit out of Steve, there’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

Eventually, by around the four-thirty mark, most of the gang is passed out; bodies randomly littered throughout the spacious basement, some with pillows and blankets on the floor, others sprawled on a couple of different couches. Quill’s somehow managed to squish himself onto the recliner, with his legs dangling over one side and his head over the other. There’s no way that can be comfortable, but he’s snoring loud enough, so… To each their own, Bucky guesses.

Only he and Parker are still awake and actually watching the end of the last movie they’d put on. Technically, Clint and Natasha are still awake, too – but technically, sitting off in the corner and making out for the past forty-odd minutes doesn’t really count as ‘hanging out’ with them. But given how many years it’s taken the two of them to get their act together, Bucky knows better than to make them stop. He doesn’t have a death wish.

They all decide to call it a night once the credits start rolling. Even though there’s an unspoken rule that Bucky always sleeps in Nat’s bed with her if he’s staying the night, Bucky naturally assumes that perhaps Clint will be taking his usual spot tonight. Rather than say anything, he starts scoping out a spot on the floor for him to make camp. When he goes to the closet to start pulling out a comforter for himself, though, Natasha shoots him a weird look.

“What’re you doing?” she asks.

Bucky glances over at her, matching her expression. “Grabbing… a blanket…?” he replies, not understanding her confusion.

“Dude, there’s already a duvet on my bed. It’ll be a zillion degrees if we have that, too. You can’t be that cold.”

“Uh…”

Natasha shrugs. “I mean, you can sleep down here if you want to. Just don’t know why you’d want the floor when there’s a perfectly good bed with your name on it.”

Turns out things are still a little too soon for Clint to have bed privileges. Bucky also can’t help but suspect that Natasha would’ve offered it to him anyways, given the night she knows he’s had. At first, Bucky spares Clint a wary side glance, starting to say that it’s fine; he doesn’t mind sleeping on the floor. He’s not sure what exactly those two even are now – whether they’ve decided they’re dating, or if it’s too soon for that, too – but if there was ever a moment to not want to step on anyone’s toes, Bucky knows it’s now.

But Clint waves his hand and cuts him off, “It’s fine, dude, don’t worry about it. Just don’t get any ideas,” he adds as a joke.

Bucky smirks. “Damn, well there went my plan.”

Clint flips him off, only pretending to grumble about it a little before another lingering kiss from Natasha shuts him up and mollifies things pretty quick. Bucky, the third wheel of this moment, watches the two as his smirk blossoms into a grin. He coos out, “Ooooh,” but before he can get any further, Clint points at him and says, “Nope, not a word.”

“Oh, come on,” Bucky whines.

“It’s too late for that, and frankly, I’m way too drunk for any good comebacks, so no,” Clint says.

“Yeah, well, you can’t silence me forever,” Bucky replies, Natasha already tugging him towards the stairs while she murmurs her goodnights to whoever else is still awake. “I have rights!” he calls over his shoulder.

“Jesus, Barnes, shut the fuck up!” Ben groans groggily from across the room, woken up by their banter. With a hushed apology, Bucky and Natasha glance to each other and then pick up the pace, running up the stairs on their tippy toes, trying and failing to not crack up.

When they get back into Natasha’s room, she calls dibs on the bathroom first. Bucky uses the opportunity to scoop up the bundle that is his jacket (with his cleaned up plug hidden within the folds) and move it over to the floor on his side of the bed. While he waits for his turn, he strips out of the rest of his clothes. Left in nothing but his boxer briefs, Bucky takes a seat on the side of her bed and picks up his phone to send off that promised goodnight message to Steve.

Upon turning on his screen, Bucky notices two things straight away:

The first, that he has a voicemail from Steve.

The second, that there’s a text from an unknown number.

Frowning, Bucky swipes open his phone and goes into his messages. The number may no longer be in his contacts list, but it’s still one that Bucky recognizes.

Sorry.

It’s from Alex. That’s all it says.

Bucky must’ve missed something. Either that, or it’s some sort of trap. A million scenarios start racing through Bucky’s head, when behind him, the bathroom door opens up. Still staring down at the tiny words on his screen, Bucky says, “I got a text from Alex…”

“Oh really?” Natasha asks, pulling the blankets down her bed before climbing in. “What’d he want?”

Her tone is way too conversational. She’s not even trying to act like she’s surprised – which makes no sense, since surprised doesn’t really cover it for Bucky. Turning to properly look at her, Bucky narrows his eyes. “Why do I get the feeling you already know?”

She laughs. “C’mon James, I only pretend I know everything. Seriously, what’d he say?”

Not fully convinced, Bucky holds out his phone so she can read it for herself. “What am I even supposed to make of that?” he asks. “Like, is that supposed to be serious? Or is it like a, ‘Sorry I’m about to fuck you over’, or…? Like I actually have no clue where this even came from.”

“Hmm,” Natasha hums. One singular note with barely any effort. Yeah, this definitely isn’t all that shocking to her somehow. Scooching further down the mattress so she can lie back and rest her head onto her pillow, she shrugs one shoulder and nonchalantly says, “He must’ve gotten my text.”

Eyes bulging, Bucky exclaims, “You texted him?” Natasha looks to her door quickly, then back to Bucky, making a hasty motion with her hand and shushing him. Right. Her parents are just down the hall. Quieter, Bucky hisses, “When the hell did you do that? Why would you even do that? You trying to get me killed?”

“Oh for god’s sake, take a chill pill,” Natasha replies, rolling her eyes. “It was while you were still upstairs. Don’t worry, I didn’t say anything bad.”

"How do you even know his number?"

"I have my ways."

"'Kay seriously, Nat, what'd you say?"

Shrugging again, that slight smirk returns and she innocently answers, “I may have just told him that if he didn’t apologize and keep quiet, I’d have absolutely no problem having another word with him in private. And that this time, everyone would find out about it.”

Bucky’s mouth is hanging open in disbelief. “You threatened him?”

“Insurance purposes,” she states simply. “C’mon, like you really care? At least now you can know for sure he won’t tell anyone. Besides, we’ll all be outta there soon anyways. Trying anything at this point would only fuck him over as much as it would you.” Yawning, she pulls the duvet up to her chin and rolls onto her side. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

She has a point. There’s no way Alex would risk ruining everything he’s worked so hard to build for himself when there’s only a few weeks left of school and the threat of Natasha making him regret his choices hanging over his head. The guy said it himself: he planned to leave high school with nothing but his accomplishments to his name. No way he’d sully that now.

And after all, Alex won’t ever admit it, but at this point he doesn’t have to: there’s very little that scares him, but one guarantee that does is Natasha Romanoff.

So basically, she just saved Bucky’s ass. Again.

Only this time, Bucky won’t repeat his past mistakes. The very last of fears alleviated, Bucky leans over and hugs her, cheek pressed to her shoulder.

“Thank you,” he murmurs.

Her eyes are already closed, but there’s a smile on her face when she replies, “You’re welcome. No go use the bathroom if you have to. I wanna turn the light off already.”

She’s asleep by the time he comes out a few minutes later, the lamp on her bedside table still on. Smiling to himself, Bucky turns it off before feeling his way around to his side and crawling in next to her. Instead of closing his eyes, Bucky unplugs his phone and accesses his voicemail. Turning down the volume so it won’t wake Natasha, Bucky gets settled on his side and slides the phone between the pillow and his ear.

He assumes Steve phoned to say goodnight. But when the voicemail starts, there’s the shortest of pauses before Steve starts singing, softly, lovingly:

“You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are grey…”

Bucky closes his eyes, smiles spreading back across his face as his heart threatens to burst. Steve is such a fucking dork. And Bucky is head over heels for him with absolutely no shame.

“You’ll never know, dear, how much I love you… So please don’t take my sunshine away…”

Bucky hears Steve inhale a feathery light breath, and then he says, “You are my sunshine, Buck. Sweet dreams.”

The voicemail ends. Bucky replays it again. And again. And again. Steve’s voice in his ear, and his words stitched into Bucky’s heart. Moonlight streams in through the cracks in Natasha’s blinds; spills across Bucky’s face, and he listens to Steve sing over and over about how Bucky is his sunshine. It’s fitting, Bucky thinks, that Steve should see him like that. After all, to Bucky it was always Steve who’d hung the moon. 

And as he eventually begins to drift off, Bucky thinks of Steve, and he thinks of Natasha – of his friends, or his family, of school, even of Alex – and he realizes how lucky he truly is. Tonight, Bucky had believed it was only a matter of time before his whole world burned to the ground around him. But really, it had given him a precious gift, something Bucky sorely needed: the opportunity to tear down the confines of his past and give him the chance at a fresh start. It gave him hope. Suddenly, the future isn’t scary. Not at all.

In fact, he might even be looking forward to it.

Bucky falls asleep still smiling.