Bucky had been told he was brave his whole life. From a cut on the knee to enlisting in the army, he had been nothing if not brave. He never thought he was, though. Somehow, everything he did had seemed selfish to some extent. He had realised it when he had enlisted in the army, young and stupid, not fully understanding how much would change even when he warned Steve it would. And Steve was the reason he did it. To keep him safe, to come home to him. He did it so he could make sure Steve didn’t have to, and every time he and Steve would fight about it, he’d convince himself he was doing the right thing for Steve. But he knew it was the right thing for him, because how could he live while constantly worrying that his next moment could be Steve’s last? How would he bring himself to keep fighting if the fight was the reason the one he loved was dead? It was selfish, he knew. And every time someone called him brave, it got harder and harder to tell the difference.
He knew it now, looking at Steve. He was sleeping, lips slightly parted, eyes shut softly and chest rising and falling steadily. He knew what it meant to be brave. He’d had a lifetime to work it out, to understand that when he had jumped into the water after Steve and left him on that riverbed, it meant he’d probably never see him again, and that was him being brave but selfish too, because he had taken away Steve’s choice. He had realised that, sometimes, being brave meant taking yourself out of the equation and doing the thing you were completely terrified of, not because you wanted to, but because you had to. Because it was the right thing to do. And that had brought him to Steve’s doorstep after all of it, years after he’d left him, because he knew that even if Steve never wanted to see him again, he had to hear it from him, he had to tell him himself. Bucky couldn’t decide for him. Knowing that he was doing this for Steve and only Steve, somehow made it seem less selfish, somehow made him feel brave. And even though his hands were numb and his voice had shook, he knew, even when he tried to convince himself it was a bad idea, that he had to do this.
‘Buck.’ Steve’s voice was rough as he stirred awake, catching Bucky’s attention and smiling slowly. The Brooklyn lights outside their apartment glowed brightly, spilling in through the window, disregarding the darkness the night was determined to spread. ‘What were you thinking about?’
Bucky let his thoughts scatter as he met Steve’s gaze.
‘You tired?’
Steve’s smile softened. ‘You okay?’ It wasn’t often that Bucky deflected so blatantly. Bucky quirked his mouth into a grin and nodded.
‘’Course.’
Steve paused. ‘Come on, tell me.’ He sat up, tugging on Bucky’s metal arm until he caved and got up to sit next to him on the couch.
Bucky knew Steve knew him better than he knew himself. It had been hard to remember, to try and be the person he used to be, but as time passed, it got easier. He remembered things in pieces, tiny, irrelevant things like the first movie he ever saw, the way he loved Stark’s exhibitions, the way he would always keep his bedroom window open on hot nights. Living with Steve was easy at first – he was always there to clarify memories, always there to talk about their life before. But then it grew harder, because every time Bucky would brush past him, he had to pretend like his skin didn’t burn, because he didn’t think Steve was affected by him at all. And all the while, Bucky was in love with him, thinking that Steve wasn’t. It hit him a few weeks after he had left him on that riverbed, that maybe they had been together before all this, that he had loved him then and still loved him now. He knew it was true, but his memories came whenever they wanted, and he could never remember his time with Steve. Maybe it was because Hydra had burnt out the brightest part of his memory, the one thing he had tried to hold onto the longest. Steve.
And then a long time later, one day when Steve had gone out to get breakfast, a memory came to him that made him freeze, made him drop the mug he was holding and grip onto the nearest solid thing to keep him from falling. His and Steve’s first kiss, the feeling of their lips brushing, breathing in the breaths that Steve breathed out, heartbeats pounding frantically against ribs like caged birds. And when Steve had come home, Bucky watched the ease he moved around him and it killed him, because if Steve could go on pretending like he wasn’t in love with him, maybe that’s what he should do, too. So he did.
For the longest time, it had been killing him slowly, both waiting for the other to say something, to do something that would tell them they both still felt the same way. But now, looking at Steve’s expectant gaze, Bucky realised something else. Steve would never tell him how he really felt. He knew he wouldn’t. He’d do what was right, he’d would wait for Bucky to say something about how he felt or he wouldn’t say anything at all. He would go on pretending that he was okay with them being like this, something in between, something more than what they started as with but less than what they could be. What they both wanted to be. And Bucky knew what he was doing all too well. This was Steve being brave.
He knew that Steve thought everything was too fragile to be changed, and maybe it was, but Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He wanted more than the feeling his memories gave him again, he wanted the feeling of Steve’s sweaty skin against his, he wanted his heart to flutter with something more than painful longing, he wanted to be able to tell Steve he loved him, he’s always loved him even when he didn't know it, even when he forgot him. He wanted to hear him say it back. He wanted to finally say how he's wanted him.
Bucky turned to look at Steve, and the pounding of heart made it hard to talk without stumbling over words. The city lights made Steve’s eyes bright as he shifted, watching Bucky’s stare and trying so hard not to get his hopes up. Maybe this time, he’ll say something. Maybe he finally remembers. Steve couldn’t handle the pain of pretending he wasn’t in love with him, and neither could Bucky.
He had to be selfish one last time. He had to be brave one last time. So, instead of talking, Bucky moved in and waited for Steve to do the same, wide eyes and hard breathing as he tilted his head slightly and placed a soft kiss on Steve’s lips. For a terrifying second, he thought he had read everything completely wrong. But then Steve’s hands were gripping his top so tightly and he was pulling him closer and kissing him back and Bucky thought that being selfish and being brave weren't so different.