He could still remember the first time he saw him. He could still remember the first thing he thought. All those years ago, when a boy with dark hair had helped him up of the cold ground, he had looked at his eyes and he had thought they were the brightest things he had ever seen (Steve didn’t know, but when the boy introduced himself as James, he was thinking that no amount of darkness could dull the stars in Steve’s eyes)
In their fourth year of school, Steve had learnt James’ middle name, and had laughed in delight, calling him Bucky (he didn’t know, but the other boy’s heart leapt when he heard the way Steve said it)
When they were fourteen, Steve watched the way Bucky’s lips would stretch to let out a laugh and close when he frowned, and he thought that he’d be able to recognize those lips in a sea of stranger’s lips (he didn’t know, but Bucky thought the same thing about the laugh lines around Steve’s eyes)
When they were sixteen, the skin on his left hand was hyper-sensitive as Bucky’s hand brushed his as they watched the fourth of July fireworks (he didn’t know, but in between the bright explosions in the dark sky, Bucky would steal a look at Steve and marvel in how the dull moonlight made his eyes shine)
When they were eighteen, Steve would look to the ground when Bucky would wink at a giggling girl they passed in the street, always managing a smile when Bucky turned back to him (he didn’t know, but when Bucky saw Steve’s grin, his heart would fall, because maybe Steve didn’t love him like he loved Steve)
When Bucky had come home drunk one night, mumbling something about the cold, Steve had thought, as Bucky had crawled into his bed and curled up against him, that the next morning he’d embarrassedly laugh it off and blame it on the alcohol (he didn’t know, but Bucky had woken up well before Steve and had taken a while before untangling their limbs, watching the way Steve’s body was bathed in broken rays of sunlight)
When Bucky had helped him up in that alley, blood in his veins hot from the fight, Steve knew that his skin burned when Bucky touched it from a different type of adrenaline (he didn’t know, but it was only the sight of Steve on the ground that pulled Bucky out of his thoughts to hurt the man much worse than he had)
When Bucky had told him he was being shipped out to war the next morning, Steve had felt that little bit of hope die in his empty chest (he didn’t know, but it killed Bucky to have to tell him that he was going, because they both knew that he might not be back)
Much later, when he was alone in his tent, Steve thought that his new body would be easy to get used to compared to the thought of never seeing Bucky again (he didn’t know, but Bucky was miles away, shivering in the cold and longing for the warmth of Steve’s arms around him)
When Peggy had told Steve who had made up his audience that rainy day, he had felt his heart stop at the possibility that Bucky could be gone (he didn’t know, but Bucky was laying, strapped down to a cold metal table, screaming his name)
When Steve had finally found Bucky and saw him on that table, his eyes hazy and confused, his heart had broken, but he never asked what they did to him (he didn’t know, but Bucky never would’ve worried Steve with himself because for once, it wasn’t about him)
When he was aching and scared, dropping his shield and seeing Bucky pick it up, he thought that he held it with such ease, and for a stupid second, he thought that maybe they could trade places sometimes, but he never got time to tell him before they were suddenly hanging off the side of the train (he didn’t know, but Bucky’s hands shook with the knowledge that Steve would blame himself as he fell, and he hardly felt the cold biting into his skin)
When Steve had drunk enough to make a normal man blind, he found he was still able to replay Bucky’s last moments in his head with a sharpness that made his stomach turn (he didn’t know, but somewhere, Bucky was waking up with a metal arm, yelling a name his mind almost recognized)
When Steve had decided to put that plane in the water with him in it, he thought, with a warm feeling in his stomach, that at least he’d see Bucky again, and maybe that’s how it was meant to be (he didn’t know, but Bucky had forgotten all about him already)
All those years later, when Steve had managed to pull the mask off The Winter Soldier, panting as he watched the assassin turn around, he felt his heart stop again, words getting jumbled as they tried to leave his throat (he didn’t know, but when he had said Bucky? in that voice that the old Bucky would melt over, The Winter Soldier had felt a spasm of nostalgia, a hint of a memory that he was from Brooklyn, a hint of a memory that he had heard that voice before)
When they met again, Steve had let his shield fall, the only time he ever gave up a fight, because he’d rather be dead than see Bucky’s lost eyes grow cold as they looked at him (he didn’t know, but when he had said I’m with you till the end of the line, Bucky’s heart had faltered and he felt a hint of a memory, somewhere before this life, a promise between two boys that he didn’t know)
When Steve had woken up in hospital the next day, he’d have given anything to see Bucky next to him with a grin on his face and a smart comment (he didn’t know, but The Winter Soldier had jumped to follow Steve into the ocean, because he could’ve sworn that he’d seen two stars in each of his eyes as he fell)