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It was bad enough that Wanda had dragged you to this thing.
Your sweater was hanging off of your shoulder at a weird angle, unwilling to sit straight on your body as people rammed into you every twenty seconds. The cup in your hand was smashed and dripping as you clutched it tightly between tense fingers; you had yet to even take a single sip. Your skin was sticky with sweat and spilled alcohol and your head was pounding with the bass of the speakers and you were alone in a room of dozens instead of tucked into bed a few miles away.
All of that was bad, but the worst part was that he was here.
James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky. Buck, as Steve liked to call him. President of Sigma Epsilon—possibly the douchiest frat on campus—and infamous for sleeping with any girl that batted her eyes at him the right way.
Or, as you knew him before the start of senior year, Bucky from Brooklyn.
When you caught his eye at this stupid party in a room full of people you had never met, however, he certainly didn’t look like Bucky from Brooklyn. No, that Bucky was sweet and let his head fall back when he laughed. He cupped your face in his hands when you smiled and kissed you until your lips went numb. His touches were gentle and his words were adoring and he was everything that this Bucky could never be.
You weren’t surprised that you hadn’t met him until last summer; even though you’d been going to this school for the past three years, your circle was small and it had nothing to do with fraternities. It wasn’t until Wanda, Alpha Phi extraordinaire, replied to your roommate posting that you were finally exposed to the wonderful world of Greek life. And thus, exposed to the real ‘Bucky from Brooklyn’ that you just about fell in love with on your study abroad program last summer.
And what a summer that had been.
You could still taste the wisps of sunshine and citrus when you thought about it—still feel the warm breeze that flitted through linen and caressed under clothes on sandy beaches. You could still feel Bucky’s touch as he held you, live music on the street flowing through swaying bodies and lighting up cobblestone roads. And you could still remember the way he sounded when he told you he might love you if you were anywhere else, the words a reminder that a summer fling was just that—a fling.
The words were necessary though; they helped you come to terms with the fact that you would never see Bucky again. Until tonight, his arm wrapped around another girl the same way he had held you, his lips nearly always touching the rim of his red solo cup.
He hadn’t even reacted when you locked eyes.
Which simply affirmed the thoughts that lingered in the back of your mind the second you saw him by the beer pong table: Bucky Barnes would never have given you a second glance if you met under any other circumstances. If you met in a lecture hall, he would have asked you for homework and ghosted you right after. If you bumped into him on campus, he would have cursed you out for spilling his coffee. If you had tried to get into this party without Wanda, you would have been turned away at the door.
But with the backdrop of the Italian countryside, Bucky Barnes had fallen into the illusion that your sweaters and your early nights were somehow desirable. Well—a frat party was certainly not the Italian countryside, and Bucky was certainly not looking at you the same way he had a few weeks ago.
“Hey, bitch!” Wanda slurred, a boisterous arm thrown over your shoulders. “You look so… stiff. I think we gotta fix that!” she sang out. Her cup pressed to your lips. “Drink! I promise I’ll buy you breakfast in the morning.”
The smile you offered her was more of a grimace, but she was too drunk to notice as you pushed the cup away. “I’m already drunk,” you lied, yelling over the music.
“Whose trunk?”
“No, I said I’m already drunk.”
She giggled, gripping your chin in her hand and pressing your cheeks together. “You’re so cute. Like a little baby.” And then she was gone, lost in the crowd and living for it.
You could feel his eyes on you again. You were leaned against the far wall of the living room and probably looked as miserable as you felt, and he wouldn’t stop stealing glances. Which just made it worse because why wouldn’t he just come and talk to you.
Silly question. You knew why.
Wanda had given you the rundown of the Sigma Epsilon guys on the uber ride over. None of them stood out until she mentioned Bucky, and then your heart fractured a little because Bucky couldn’t be that common of a name.
“Bucky Barnes,” she had said, eyes wide and accusing, even when he wasn’t there to defend himself. “Stay away from that one. Literally the biggest jerk I’ve ever met. Can’t keep a girlfriend and doesn’t want to keep a girlfriend. He’s made like all of my friends cry. And that’s after he’s slept with them of course.”
But he had kept a girlfriend. You. Last summer. And he had made you feel a type of serenity you thought didn’t exist; he touched you as if you were precious and he looked at you as if you held the world.
And now, he was acting like you were just another stranger at a party.
You dropped your gaze down to the amber liquid rolling around in your dented cup. You had one arm crossed around your middle and the other one creating the distraction—Bucky would send you a look from over the rim of his cup, you would pretend the alcohol spinning in circles was the most interesting thing in the room.
This was stupid. You should just leave, but you didn’t want to abandon Wanda. She was a lot to handle, but she was a good friend and she was trying really hard to help you put yourself out there—something you admitted you were trying to do this school year.
It was just unfortunate that the first frat party you went to was a glaring reminder of your epic, summer romance. And not in a good way.
You pushed yourself off of the wall and set out to find your roommate. You’d tell her what was going on and she would be more than understanding; she was the one warning you to stay away from Bucky in the first place. She probably wouldn’t comprehend a single word that came out of your mouth right now, but you’d have the conversation again over brunch.
Shoulders and elbows pressed you into the crowd, the music blaring and disorienting as you peaked over heads to find Wanda. People stepped on your shoes and brushed against your back until you finally broke free of them and found yourself at the base of the stairs—the epicenter of making out, apparently.
You weren’t sure if these people all knew each other or if they partnered up based on their intoxication level, but you knew you wanted absolutely nothing to do with it. But as there was a chance Wanda had gone upstairs, you gripped the handrail and tried to sidestep the couple on the first step.
You didn’t make it far; a firm hand on your bicep had you yanked back down before you could even find the stability to take another step. Your back found a biting pain in the wall you were slammed against and the breath on your neck was jarring and unwanted.
“You’re new,” the breath puffed out. “I saw you come in with that Aphi girl. You wanna tell me where you’ve been all these years?”
You pushed against the man, forearms jutting out at his chest. “Get off of me.”
“Aw, where’s the fun in that? You come to a frat party and you don’t even wanna make a few friends?”
“I said get off,” you grunted. Your arms were now adorned with his fingers as he wrapped them around you; your back was pressed further into the wall. “Seriously, I’m not interested. Leave me alone.”
He laughed, the scent of alcohol burning your nose. “I like a challenge.”
You were a second away from raising your knee up to make a quick getaway, when the frat guy towering over you was thrown to the ground. He stumbled, shoulder forced harshly into hardwood until his stupid, screen printed t-shirt was flat against the ground. His cup went flying shortly after, the clear liquid soaking into his jeans.
“You really think you’re hot shit, don’t you, Todd?”
You didn’t think you’d ever hear that voice again—the one with the raspy edge and the boyish charm that made your chest feel tight. The voice that told you you were beautiful under the twinkling lights at that winery you got too drunk at. The whisper that held a weight you weren’t prepared to carry, lips pressed close to your ear until the pressure was purposeful.
“Get the fuck up, man. I’m not playing around.” The voice was more harsh than you remembered it to be; it was cruel and uninviting and it wasn’t there for your comfort. “Yeah, stand up and get out.”
Bucky.
When you were finally able to tear your gaze away from the struggling form on the ground, it was Bucky that stood there, seething and tense. The man behind the voice.
“What the hell is your problem, Bucky?” Todd, you figured, grumbled. His hand was pressed up against his nose, the bruise already forming from its smack against the ground.
Bucky’s jaw ticked. He hadn’t looked at you yet. “You’re my problem. Get out before I call Steve over and tell him what you were doing.”
“Really? Steve? What, you gotta crush on this chick or somethin’? Since when did you become Mr. Moral Compass?”
A chair shuffled against cheap carpet. A cabinet in the kitchen creaked. Removing your eyes from the side of Bucky’s face, you noticed that most of the room—if not all—was transfixed on the scene by the stairs.
Bucky wasn’t aware yet, too angry and zeroed in on the man hobbling up from the floor. You didn’t even think he’d noticed that his drink was on the ground, liquid filling in wooden crevices. He only snapped his eyes up when a small sound escaped the back of your throat; he looked around and took in the scene—the attention.
“She your girl, Barnes?”
A beat, and then, “‘Course she’s not my girl. The hell are you going on about?”
It shouldn’t hurt this much. You hadn’t even expected to get within ten feet of Bucky at this party, so it shouldn’t hurt that he wouldn’t look at you and that he spit those words out with such disgust. But your chest burned at the fire in his tone, the way his lips formed the sentiment creating an uncomfortable heat that would take years to tame.
Because those lips had been on you. They had kissed the warmth from your cheeks by the window of the too-small hotel room in Venice. They pressed to yours in a sticky mess of gelato and giggles on a beach you forgot the name of. Those lips that acted as if they didn’t know you had worshiped you on foreign sheets and in between back alley walls. They made promises lost between breaths that you would only find again when you were old and gray, like whispers thrown down a tunnel of memories.
So yeah—it hurt.
“Then why’re you on my ass about her?”
You had almost forgotten that you were there; so lost in the memory of the Bucky you had known, you had removed yourself from the one standing directly in front of you. He had shifted in your dissociation, blocking you from Todd’s view and causing you to blink at his back.
You watched his shoulders tense as he replied, “I’m not on your ass about anything other than us getting suspended. You go around flinging yourself at chicks and we’re gonna get reported.”
“Yeah, sure thing,” Todd laughed, slumping against the far wall with a drunken smile. “You’ve never been pissed about that shit. You just don’t wanna admit that the great Bucky Barnes is finally whipped.”
“I’m not into her. I don’t even know her.”
“So it’d be cool if I took her upstairs then? Asked her what was under that pretty sweater?”
“You better stop fucking talking,” Bucky spit out, hand twitching in a way that made you suck in a breath. You held it there, letting the pressure build as Bucky ran the hand down his face and shot out, “Just get out. I’m not gonna ask again.”
“That didn’t really seem like an answer—”
Bucky cut him off with a grunt. “Yeah, Todd, go ahead and take her upstairs. But do it when we’re not throwing the biggest party of the year. I have no idea who this chick is and I don’t really give a damn what you two do, but I do care about the frat, got it?” You released the breath with shaky lungs, lip quivering unwillingly. “Just good fucking luck getting anywhere near her when she’s dressed like that.”
The dam broke.
Everyone that was watching the scene before grew disinterested as the tears made an appearance in your waterline; no one wants to watch a drunk girl cry, even if you weren’t actually drunk. That, and apparently Bucky had reached his ‘asshole quota’ and they were all satisfied by his response. Bucky would never like a girl like you anyway. That much was painfully obvious.
In an attempt to save yourself from any more embarrassment, you slid against the wall and made a beeline for the front door. Bucky caught your wrist before you could even get a foot away, and you were just about over people grabbing you tonight.
You wrenched yourself from his grip. “Don’t touch me. And get the fuck away from me.”
“Y/n—” he began, but the sound curdled in your veins.
“Thought you didn’t know me,” you seethed, cheeks glistening under the red lights of the room. “Thought I was just some prude threatening your party.”
“It’s not like that—where are you even going?”
“Home,” you simply replied, your shoulder harshly pressing into his chest as you brushed past him.
“You shouldn’t drive. You’ve been—”
“I don’t really think you get a say in anything I do.”
“Will you stop cutting me off? Just hang on and lemme—”
You found yourself in his grip for the second time that night, his arm wrapped around your stomach, his strength raising you off of the ground just enough to not let you walk on your own. You pushed at his forearm in a futile attempt to press away from him, but you’d been in this position before and knew you were stuck. He’d done it at that museum you refused to leave last month, a teasing remark about wanting you in bed lingering in your hair.
Now, he was lifting you off of the ground to maneuver you through a crowded, sweaty party. And people saw. You knew it, he knew it, and yet, he didn’t stop until he reached the front door and politely asked the girl leaning against it to please move out of the way. She threw you an odd look and then threw another one at Bucky, but Bucky only offered her a charming smile.
She would definitely be telling her friends about this.
The door creaked and the tears on your face stung with the frigid temperature outside and you began kicking your legs because being outside meant more chances to get away from Bucky. He held you firmly to his chest with ease anyway, only grunting a little when one of your kicks connected with his shin.
“Let me go,” you struggled. “I was trying to leave, anyway. You didn’t need to throw me out of your stupid party.”
Bucky paused, letting your feet finally meet the grass by the oak tree in the lawn. “Throw you out? I wasn’t tryna throw you out, sweetheart. I’ve been tryna talk to you all night.”
You whipped around in his arms, pushing against his chest until your back audibly met bark. “What are you talking about—’trying to talk to me all night’. Is that what you call pretending that I don’t exist and then humiliating me in front of all those people?”
“I’ve been looking at you all night! Every time I tried to get you to go upstairs you looked back down at your damned cup. Every time.”
You couldn’t believe his idiocy. It was as if coming back home had sucked all of the common sense from his body, as if just living in this frat house made his IQ drop.
“And, please tell me Bucky, why would I want to go anywhere with you when you had some girl hanging off of you all night? After you haven’t called me a single time since we got back home?” you posed, head cocked to the side in a cruel sort of anger.
Bucky scoffed. “You’re the one that broke up with me. Remember that?”
You blinked, hard. Words escaped you, throat dry and mouth agape. “No, I didn’t.”
A long pause.
“What?”
“I didn’t break up with you. I called you. Multiple times since I got back to campus.”
“No, you did,” Bucky whispered, like it burned his tongue. “You did. Because I never would’ve—I mean, I haven’t seen you in weeks.”
You bit into the skin of your bottom lip, your dried tears a sour taste in your mouth. Of course you hadn’t broken up with Bucky. You left the program early for family reasons, but you never broke up with Bucky. He was the one that ignored your calls—the one that practically cemented the end of your relationship with his parting words.
“I wish we would’ve met another way.”
Because meeting you in Italy made you a different person, apparently.
“I’m aware,” you countered, the sarcasm not quite as prevalent as you had hoped. “Look, Bucky, I get it, okay? You’re some big man on campus with a frat and a reputation and I just don’t fit into that. I didn’t mean to encroach on your space or whatever. I’ve never even been to a frat before this one and I can promise you, I won’t be back. So I’ll leave and you can go in there and tell all your friends about the crazy chick that wouldn’t put out and keep on pretending that I don’t exist.”
Bucky didn’t move an inch, feet rooted in the unkempt grass of the lawn. The song changed inside, something much louder, more bass. You spared him a glance from the corner of your eye, and were met with the posture of a broken man. Not what you were expecting. You uncrossed your arms.
“I didn’t get any calls. I checked as soon as you got back to the states. Every day, actually,” he admitted.
“Well—” you began, lost in the awkwardness of the night air. “I called you. Not that it matters. You’ve made your opinion of me quite clear. I’m not really sure why we’re dragging this out.”
“Because I miss you,” he said, clearer than anything else tonight. “Because I thought you broke up with me and I didn’t want those guys in there to know who you were when you weren’t already mine.”
“I was yours.”
Bucky lost his breath behind an anguished shake of his head. “You still are. Always gonna be.”
You pushed yourself up from the tree, facing Bucky head on for the first time since Italy. “I’m not sure what happened after I went home—what… assumptions and decisions you made. But I’m not going to be a secret you keep for your reputation. This guy—” you raised your hands, tracking over his body “—this Bucky that’s already danced with three girls since I got here and acted like he didn’t know me? He’s not the same one that I met over the summer.
“This Bucky is going to ask me to sneak up the stairs so no one sees me just so we can hook up in his bedroom. He’s not the one that knocked on my door every morning for a week straight just so I’d talk to him. And it’s fine. It was a summer fling, right? But this isn’t the life I want. There’s a reason I’ve avoided these things for so long.”
“What are ‘these things’?” He spoke with an uncomfortable rasp to his voice, like somehow you were the one that was hurting him.
“You. This party. All of it. I’m not really interested in a constant back and forth relationship where you tell me you love me and then blow me off the next day.”
“I didn’t get any of your calls,” he repeated. “Must’ve dropped since they were international.”
“I heard you the first time.”
“No—you didn’t. I didn’t get any of your calls and I miss you. I thought you broke up with me.”
Bucky took a step forward, and then another, until he was close enough that you could feel the warmth emanating from his body. He still smelled like how you remembered—like bergamot and a hint of citrus. No alcohol. You flickered your eyes up to his in confusion and desperate for something, maybe comfort, and were met with an intense gaze that sent you nerve endings into a frenzy.
And it clicked. He looked at you like that back then—last month. Like he wanted to kiss you so bad that he ached for it. Like you were an answer to something he didn’t even know he was questioning, a home in a place so far from everything he had known. And you weren’t in Italy this time; Bucky was looking at you like this at home, and he still smelled the same.
“But you said—I don’t understand, because you said…”
Bucky finally touched you in a way you remembered, delicately tipping your face up with his finger curled under your chin. “What did I say?” he asked, low and adoring, willing to give you anything. “Because, sweetheart, whatever it was, I can promise you I didn’t mean it like that. You’re all I’ve thought about since you sat next to me on our flight back in May. Can’t get you outta my head.”
“When I was leaving you said you wished you met me in a different way. Like you—like you didn’t want me once we got back here. And I thought I was looking into it wrong but then you didn’t answer the phone so I knew I was right.” You let the words tumble from your lips when you promised you never would, but Bucky was looking at you like he used to, and you couldn’t seem to help yourself.
Bucky’s fingers traced your jaw, moving softly against your skin before trailing up to get lost in your hair. He cupped your cheek in his palm, relishing in the feel of you, committing the act to memory. He tutted to himself, furrowing his brows with a shake of his head.
“I meant that I wish I’d met you sooner, like at school. I’m a business major, sweetheart—terrible with words.”
You almost laughed. “But you never called me.”
His thumb brushed against dried tears. “I was waiting for your call. I don’t know if you know this, but you’re kinda too good for me. Thought you might’ve figured that out once you got back home.”
“But then inside—” you continued, almost gasping for breath when Bucky’s other hand came up to fully encase your features. You weren’t even sure if he was listening to you, his eyes soft as he took you in, as if you were the most important thing he’s held in his hands. “—inside you told all those people you didn’t know me. You were cruel and everyone was looking at me like I was pathetic.”
“I know, sweetheart, I’m sorry,” he shushed, head dipped down to reach your eyes. “I never woulda done that if I’d known you were still mine. I was just trying to get that asshole away from you.”
You shook your head, still unconvinced. “I told you I’m not going to be a secret. You already announced that you want nothing to do with me so I’m not really sure about this—”
Bucky pulled away and tugged at your wrist in one fluid movement, yanking you over the roots of the oak tree until you were securely in front of him. He propelled you forward despite your protests, hands on your waist in a fond grip that sent a comfortable shiver down your spine.
He reached over your shoulder and flung the front door open, pushing you back into the mass of bodies and alcohol until you were in a more open area. His hands never left your waist as he glanced around the room, and you were suddenly very afraid that Bucky planned on fixing his mistake now. In the middle of this party.
“Bucky,” you hissed, already sensing eyes on you. “Bucky, this is not what I meant.”
“I got this, sweetheart. Don’t even worry about it,” he spoke by your ear, determination and a smile trickling past bumping music.
“I wasn’t worried. I think an apology and a few days of groveling would—”
“Hey! Todd!”
If the party wasn’t already boiling, the warmth seeping into your cheeks would have been enough to fight off any leftover chill from the fall air outside. Todd whipped around with wide eyes, clearly afraid that his assault from earlier wasn’t finished. And in a way, it wasn’t.
Bucky tugged your back closer to his chest, shouting over your head until the group by the kitchen was looking as well. “This is my girl, got it? So you stay the fuck away from her or I’ll beat your ass next time.”
Todd’s eyes shot down to you before flitting back up to Bucky in a fearful kind of frenzy. He was obviously just teasing before, but the fact that he had actually messed with his fraternity president’s girl made him visibly pale; they had just stopped hazing him as a pledge.
“Okay, man. My bad.” He looked like he might throw up.
“Good,” Bucky affirmed, and he didn’t even acknowledge the other eyes around the room—the ones accompanied by raised brows and open mouths.
He simply turned you around in his hands, dropped his forehead to yours, and kissed you.
As if it were summer.