Chapter 2
It’s a lazy Saturday afternoon. Bucky and Steve are mentally preparing to go outside and spend some time in the pool in Bucky’s backyard, but it’s still too scalding outside for Steve’s skin, so they waste time with the window open, watching an old episode of Friends that’s airing on TV.
Bucky’s scrambled motivation for school was used up in the first week. A month later, he’s running on fumes. He has a cigarette between his lips, Steve got his sketchbook out and is doodling him, for as much as Bucky knows. Steve hates it when he peeks. Drawing consumes Steve whole; Bucky can come and go, put on Bring Me the Horizon and start singing out of tune, but Steve’s eyes won’t leave the page for a second.
“Do you think about someone else why we do it?” Steve asks, disturbing Bucky’s nicotine bliss unexpectedly. The question is mostly limited to Brock, but that doesn’t need to be pointed out loud. While Bucky also knows, out of politeness, he should lie, but Steve asked in a way that doesn’t require a definite answer, since it sounds more like a test, so he uses Steve’s mistake in phrasing to escape the sandtrap as good as he can.
“Sometimes,” he admits, huffing out the smoke. The fan does a good job blowing it away from them immediately.
Steve sighs, flexing his muscles, or the little he has. It’s not the bothered reaction he’d been expecting, and admittedly, that makes Bucky suspicious. He’d been sitting there with his back crooked for about two hours, it was about time. He never lets Bucky comment on it or try to set him right, always throws a fit like a little child whenever Bucky tries. That’s why Steve also gave up quick on talking him out of smoking, except now, he doesn’t let Bucky kiss him until the smell is gone. “I think about Peggy.”
Bucky tries hard not to cough his lungs out. “The Peggy? Beach house Peggy, the one in my Lit class?”
Steve groans, annoyed, and Bucky chuckles before taking another drag. He hears the bedding shift and sees Steve turned away from him.
“Aww, come on, I just didn’t think you still… Hey, you’re stubborn as fuck, I leave you that.” If it hadn’t been written all over Steve’s face, Bucky probably would have never found out about his crush on her in the first place. Steve had been head over heels for her when she was flat-chested and had cute chipmunk cheeks. She’s on top of their grade every year, honor student and all. In a nutshell, the opposite of Steve Rogers. Define star crossed lovers, or, well, sad high school crush. On some level, that calms Bucky. There’s someone else means that whatever they’re doing isn’t the real thing. A comforting thought, honestly.
“I bet she’s great in bed,” Bucky mutters, rising up and crossing his legs to flick off the ash on the floor. He’d clean up eventually, maybe even today.
“Shut the fuck up,” Steve replies.
Bucky continues chuckling. “What? I mean, come on. Can’t we be two normal dudes fantasizing about stuff like that?” He answers the question himself. Not if those two dudes are fucking each other. Maybe that’s the price he’s gotta pay.
Steve gets up, ignoring him and walks to the window. A fresher breeze blows inside, and the sun looks tamed for the day. “Worst is over. We going downstairs or not?” Bucky nods, extinguishes the cigarette and follows him wordlessly. They strip their shirts off and drop them aside. Bucky watches Steve plunge into the water; it’s loud, awkward and probably painful, but he rises from the water looking relieved, shaking his bangs from his face like a wet dog. Bucky follows. Not to praise himself, but his jump is more graceful than his friend’s. Steve’s face reads show off when Bucky reappears next to him. The water is cold, but it does a good job waking them up from the stiff day.
There are steaks in the fridge waiting to be grilled tonight, since Nat brings along Clint and he brings along the pot. And they have to enjoy that there were urgent matters his father needed to attend, right in The City, but instead of driving back, he’s more of a fan to stick around in a hotel for the night. Sadly, he’s been home more frequently as of late, resulting in more fights and causing Bucky’s anxiety to peak at school. Not like he needed it, on top of handling Rumlow’s buddies eyeing him condescendingly.
They lay back most of the time, swimming relaxed rounds and splash at each other, having regular fun before they move to a corner for make out purposes. The taste and smell chlorine is highly unpleasant, but who gives a shit when Steve is grinding against him and moaning into his mouth? Who gave him the right to sound that delicious when he's horny? Who gave him the right to keep that a secret for so long?
"Hey, no pool sex just yet," Steve mutters, shoving Bucky away with a smile. Bucky feigns outrage, since Steve was the one leading him on, but understands. It isn't like a sore ass is a great weekend souvenir, as they’re trying to enjoy the good weather while it lasts.
"I cooled down by now, wanna grab the steaks and get the potatoes ready?" Bucky offers. Steve agrees, and they occupy the kitchen until Clint and Nat arrive.
The farther strives in with, "Any surfaces I should avoid? Please tell me now." Bucky immediately turns to Steve.
“You should sit on the floor,” Steve advises him, making Bucky chuckle as he carries the meat over. It’s a lie, they haven’t fucked like rabbits or anything lately. And apart from a few exceptions, it’s just blowjobs. Steve has a very skilled mouth on him, though he’s never accepted Bucky’s offer to return the favor so far. Not since Bucky’s first drunk attempt.
Bucky handles the grill, some ultra-modern bullshit with approximately twenty settings and buttons and fuck knows what, but at the very least, the results are good. Even Steve manages half a steak and some of the grilled vegetables, and if that isn't a compliment, Bucky has to rethink his values.
They light up the fire pit and open up the marshmallows while Clint rolls the joint. Nat hums against his shoulder, to the song playing from the outdoor speakers, and Steve soon enough joins.
Both of them dived deep into the sea of indie, but for as much as Bucky knows, Twenty One Pilots is playing. Clint eyes him, looking jokingly pained at the soundtrack supply as he gets it done with and lights the joint against the bonfire. The smell of marijuana waves over to Bucky quickly, salty and strong. He takes it from Clint, who pulls his pierced marshmallow away from the fire and bites into it. Wordlessly, Nat drags it over to her mouth and gets her share, never mind that she has her own to worry about. Bucky takes a long pull until the fire in his throat feels beyond nasty, then passes it on to Steve.
Now, Steve is a lightweight, no matter what it comes to. He’s tipsy after one beer and sedated by the third, two long pulls (if his asthma allows him) make him go out like a light. It inflicts Bucky be more careful about his intake. It’s a thing; they watch out for each other. And he thinks back to the aftermaths of Peggy’s beach party and plays with the thought that it was just an extension of an unspoken promise. Steve takes it this time like a champ, doesn’t cough until he’s struggling to get the leftover smoke out of his lungs, but no one comments on it. Nat makes herself a S’more in the kitchen, Clint and Bucky pass the joint to each other until she’s finished, and she gets the rest. For a while, they just let it sink in.
Nat and Steve do an incredible job of following through the entire rap part of ‘Car Radio’ until something from Death Cab for Cutie comes on. And that’s as deep as his knowledge goes. Who even let Steve pick out the music in the first place? Oh, right. The second Bucky attempts to put on something from his own repertoire, there’s loud protests from every corner. So his iPod remains untouched most times they meet up, because you try and argue with Natasha fucking Romanoff and Steve fucking Rogers.
It’s a great feeling. He feels so incredibly heavy, like lifting a finger would require all of his strength, but his heart flutters like a freed bird. His smile is permanently transfixed, and so is Steve’s. His friend punches him softly, but the impact throws Bucky off balance and he almost falls out of his basket chair.
“Aww, you punk,” he mutters, the words making it past his lips much slower than they should.
“Speaking of which,” Clint throws in wise-assly, “’punk’ refers to one’s younger homosexual lover as well.” He grins like that’s the funniest thing he ever said, sunken deep into the loveseat he shares with Nat. Both Nat and Steve simultaneously give him a judging look that draws the corners of his mouth back down again, while Bucky titters to himself.
“So it fits,” Nat says, adding color to Steve’s face. He looks exposed, and Bucky doesn’t want Nat playing with Steve like that.
“Aw, come on,” Bucky whines jokingly, drawing his roasted marshmallow away from the fire. Somehow, Natasha makes him feel particularly responsible about the shifted dynamics, and for some reason, she’s very displeased. They kind of figured out the bad stuff, so why the big deal? Bucky doesn’t get it. The pot softens Natasha, so she drops it for now.
“Anyone care for a drink? Still got some rich people liquor no one would notice if it disappeared,” Bucky lies, because last time, he’d been threatened to spend the rest of his summer at his mother’s house if it happened again. Bucky is a bit sluggish and spills more vodka than he pours, but it looks pretty decent when he’s done. Natasha doesn’t waste her time, taking two shots seconds apart from each other, while Clint and Bucky have a simple beer to get their mouths wet again.
Bucky made sure there wasn't more vodka in Steve's drink than necessary for the right amount of a kick and he secretly keeps eyeing him over stupid discussions about life and God and love, and Bucky isn't paying much attention to what he's saying, pretty fucking gone already. But it doesn't seem like either of them are all that focused on what’s actually said, until Nat ― drinking them under the table ― makes it her job to tuck them in when the gibberish gets too much, shoving Clint inside first. Judging by the lights that go on, he and Nat are taking the guest room, which leaves Bucky's bedroom to Steve and himself. Then, Nat picks up Steve and when Bucky wants join carrying him up, she stops him, dropping Steve's sluggish body right on the couch. Steve doesn't put up any fight, although he seems conscious.
“What are you doing?” Bucky tries weakly, but she simply shakes her head.
“Go upstairs, I don't want to see you right now,” she hisses, waving him off. Bucky swallows the lump in his throat and does as told, because he isn’t in the condition to fight Natasha right now. To be honest, there is no optimal condition to face that silent storm of a woman. He stumbles on the last step, cursing quietly. Natasha doesn't notice, but when he shifts to get up soundlessly, Nat speaks up.
“Goddammit Rogers, why are you so stupid?” Bucky hears Steve's moan in response.
“Don't need you to watch out for me. I can take care of it myself,” he says, surprisingly sober for how he looked just now.
Natasha laughs dryly. "Clearly, it looks like all you ever wanted." Bucky doesn’t follow, isn’t sure whether he’s supposed to know what it’s about. He shouldn’t be eavesdropping anyway. Although moving now would get him into a more awkward position that not doing so. Curiosity keeps him transfixed, and partly the effects of the drugs.
“It’s the best I can get.”
“Then break it off.” Nat suggests coolly. Bucky raises suspicions in the back of his mind. Heavy suspicions that are the only thing that fits, unless Steve is in two very complicated relationships right now. He doesn’t want to sound like an awful friend, but what are the chances of that?
“I think I'm in too deep, might as well go all the way.” Oh boy, he can be in pretty deep. Bucky’s incredible self-restraint prevents him from laughing out loud in the last second, but a sobering thought helps, too.
It doesn’t make sense. If Steve is forcing himself to be a very good friend… isn’t that going a little too far? And wouldn’t Bucky notice if Steve wouldn’t enjoy it, or is he that deluded? Considering, he barely noticed it the first time. He cringes, because that makes him even more conflicted and disgusted by himself.
“You're the only one who ends up hurt here.” Nat argues.
Steve snorts agitatedly. “How do you know?”
Nat sighs, Bucky frowns. He's always felt strongly for his best friend, but it was never meant to be with him like this, the sex and all that jazz.
"Does it feel that way to you?" she asks, softly. “I know you're such a tough one and you can withstand anything, but you came to me after it happened and you were so fucking scared... You think it's okay when he treats you that way?”
That’s where Steve went the next morning. Bucky doesn’t mind all that much that Nat wants to kill him anymore. Bucky has no right to hurt because he was hurt, that’s not how it works. And for fucks sake Bucky, do that to Steve of all the people? Giving Tony Stark a long overdue punch in the face would have done the job.
“He’s not that bad. I suppose that’s the most I can expect after his shitstorm of a relationship.” A pause. Bucky's eyes sting and it's impossible to swallow. “He changed, do you see that? And I still... Fuck.”
“Yeah, I do. Of course I do. Remember when he nearly gave up on calling himself ‘Bucky’? And you stubbornly kept on calling him that.”
“It’s because Brock called him Jim. Couldn’t give him the satisfaction.” God, Bucky wants to make them stop, but now that it’s so quiet, he’d be heard if he moved. He presses his palms to his ears, so that only muffled sounds get through to him, and he misses some part of the conversation. A soft laugh from Steve, if it gets through correctly.
Blood rushes through his ears. He becomes self-conscious of his breathing pattern, tries to push the air inside and out as quiet as he can. After a while of this accidental meditation, Bucky can’t bear the unknowingness for much longer. He sets his hands aside.
“Okay. Sleep well?” Steve says with a hint of wrapping up the conversation. Bucky’s pulse throws a fit.
“Aye, Captain,” Nat replies jokingly. That’s Bucky’s cue. Blankets shift and skin rubs against leather; gross sounds echo as Bucky rises up and jumps up the stairs before Nat follows up.
Through the slit in the door he hears Nat walking into the guest room and a thump as she shuts it. His own bedroom is hot, stuffy but most of all, empty. He doesn’t sleep well.
Bucky is reminded once again that Tony often can’t seem to stuff it. He goes on and on about this senior who forbid him to park wherever the fuck he liked, never even trying to quiet himself down before Mr. Banner does it for him, and Bucky thanks him in silence. He likes Tony in limited proportions, because he rarely amuses anyone but himself. At least he hasn’t picked up on Bucky’s rock bottom mood yet, else the questions would start and he’d eventually dig up.
Out of the lab, he sees Steve running down the corridor. He’s torn between running away or towards him, but Peggy Carter takes that conflict right from him, throwing him off guard in the same breath. She chats Steve up, and Bucky can see him blush from right there on the spot. She seems just polite, or at least he hopes as he walks into the nearby bathroom before he can come up with a smarter plan. The confession Steve delivered to Nat doesn’t correspond with what he told Bucky earlier, about being into Peggy and all. So he can’t make out anything about the situation at hand.
“Gonna powder your nose or just keep staring at my junk, twat?” he hears as if he woke up. The guy taking a piss in front of him, having apparently no respect towards female genitalia gives him another look, and Bucky leaves sooner than he can reply anything snarky and risk being splashed at or whatever.
Good thing Steve is always there when it’s most inconvenient. It bothers him a lot that he’s still chatting with her. A picture he’s unused to, guiltily missing the Steve with his head down. This one stands proudly despite a slightly deformed back and respiratory problems, like he could go without Bucky in an instant. All confident in his body and happy. From where he stands, he looks admittedly handsome, something Bucky never minded before. Hell, he’s not blind, he knew he didn’t care about gender since he was thirteen and Steve was never considered ugly in his head, it just so happened that he never filed him into the ‘attractive’ category.
Steve turns, sees Bucky, waves and leaves for class. So should Bucky, probably, if he wasn’t thrown off by the cut short gesture. Obviously, the cheeriness isn’t his doing (or fault), so it must be something Peggy said to him. The rage green monster is sending his compliments. Despite the frustration building up, he’s straight in these halls, so he can’t exactly just go for it and prove a point to her. There’s a huge gap between what is and what Steve apparently feels, and another planet between what Bucky wants and what he feels. Bucky would have preferred finding out one after another instead of this confusing info dump shoved onto him. It makes him unsure whether he wants to pursue what they have. Because it really depends on Steve how far he can open himself up to him, in that more-than-butt-naked kind of way. He’s unsure if he wants to. At least with Brock, it was easier. He told him to leave if things got complicated at the very beginning. But with Steve, that would be cowardly to do.
Class, right.
The near-empty halls fix his priorities, even if only temporarily. Peggy probably doesn’t notice the glare he shoots forward, oblivious to his inner turmoil as he is to this class.
It’s Natasha who he seeks out eventually.
She’s burning smokes behind the school building and joins her quietly. Before he even speaks, she raises the hand with the grit squeezed between index and middle finger, and says, “Not before I finish this.”
So they smoke. A little further ahead is a group having their share of nicotine for the day, stupidly laughing at a video someone is playing on their shattered iPhone screen. On days like these, he tugs Darwinism close to his chest and prays, until it hits him that one of them is a good friend of Brock and shooting him nasty side looks every now and then. How much would he get into trouble if he pressed the cigarette bud into his ugly neck?
Nat exhales her last breath particularly at them, throwing him out of the glare he was holding on to.
“What is it?” she asks, tossing the butt away. He takes a few more pulls out of his own before following.
“I don’t want Steve hurt,” he says, practically out of nowhere. But Nat doesn’t need much exposition on this, nor did she ever. She’s good at picking up things quickly, and he’s grateful she doesn’t punch him in the nose for this. There will be a time in the nearby future where she most likely will.
“I get that,” she replies easily.
“But I’m also not sure if I… want this.” He’s turning his back at the distracting boodle of dumb-asses to get his mind focused a little better on the situation. It’s strange, because all day he has been thinking little about anything else, yet now that he has to rationalize it without giving away that he eaves-dropped, it’s one hell of a task.
“Too soon after Brock?” she tries helpfully.
“Yeah, but. Also no.”
She raises her eyebrows and nods, as if to say, ‘Yeah, well, that explains it.’
“I’m not so sure we’re doing this right. We never talk afterwards.” Steve is deflecting, Bucky wants to say. It’s too much responsibility knowing Steve likes him, wants maybe more than friendship and Bucky doesn’t think he can do that again, or ever, all while giving him half of what it means to be together. Why can’t it be that simple? Why can’t they go back to easy stuff that hurts less and doesn’t allow him to overthink?
“You getting suspicious all on your own?” Bull’s eye. She’s either aware and expects a confession or she never doubted he was going to listen.
“No,” he admits. “I overheard you when you guys were over at my place.”
“Meaning now that you know what he feels you don’t want him anymore.”
“I never wanted him like that unt–”he breaks himself off before he says too much. “I don’t feel comfortable discussing this while they are here.” He points behind him as Nat’s face shoots closer to his.
“Or maybe you don’t want to admit to yourself that you felt something similar.” Her voice is quieter and supposedly calmer, but something shifts unpleasantly in his chest that begs to differ. He’s downright scared and he knows she doesn’t need much more than a finger to cause him pain, and for Steve she would do much more than that. His fear turns into anger, like it always does. He doesn’t budge.
“Kidding me? He’s my friend. A brother, if you like.” Bucky grits through his teeth. He doubts he’s convincing anyone here. He notices that Brock’s pack finally sets off elsewhere, which admittedly calms him down.
Nat crosses her arms. “I absolutely don’t. Ever watched Game of Thrones?” Nat’s dry humor doesn’t do him any favors, as it makes it harder to stay focused instead of letting a laugh slip through.
He did watch it, though. “Tasha! Help me out here.”
She sighs into the sky and shrugs, completely giving up on him. “You’re an ass, that’s all I can say. You can’t admit it to yourself, so you won’t admit it to him either. If you have some leftover decency, you’ll break it off before it’s too late.” she argues, and it hurts that she’s right. With him, there’s no good end to it.
“How much will you hate me if I do?” he asks tentatively, not entirely serious.
She raises her eyebrows. “Plenty. But even more if you don’t and Steve finds out what it’s like dating you.” She hits the nerve, stirs up the broth that is history.
On the bright side (when has he ever known to be optimistic?), if Nat says it, he can take it as gospel. There is no possible way for this to end well, so he might at least avoid the collateral damage, even if it means he might lose Steve completely. He hugs Nat before getting to the parking lot and drive back home. After all, they both got back on track after dating, but then again, she was never in love with him.
It’s better this way, he doesn’t want his friend hurt because of him. God, he jumped into his fights over and over again, never even expected a thank you from the guy, anything but for him to try and dodge his next hospital visit or at least postpone it to next Thursday. He does care, thank you much. Now why is it then that this comes so incredibly hard to him? Do Steve a favor, do himself one, for fucks sake, and make everyone happy at once.
If only.
He unlocks the door and collapses right against the wall in the hallway. Homework can fuck off for a while, and he celebrates the emptiness of the building in silence.
Bucky considers the risks. Neither of them are open about their sexuality, to no one except for their shared group of friends. Brock’s bunch kept their ugly mouths shut because Brock was in it, too, because exposing one would mean exposing the other, but alter one little detail, make one false accusation about Bucky making an unwanted move at Brock and that being the end of the story… If Brock wanted, he could have made Bucky’s life hell. What a small condolence he didn’t.
But the closet thing puts Steve at risk, in the first place. Make hima target. Steve can say he can defend himself all he wants, but if anything happened to him, that would be on Bucky. It’s for the best, for anyone possibly involved, and Bucky just has to get over himself and do the right thing, be noble the way Steve is, who puts himself last for Bucky’s needs when he needed it so much. That still costs him so much.
The word he’s looking for is altruism, something he utterly lacks. Some people say it’s genetics, maybe it’s just an emotionally detached father and plenty of absence notes from a cheating, unhappy mother. They pursued their own happiness, never got much past the step of the noble gesture of giving birth to him. On one hand he’s happy Rikki and Bonnie got the luxury of care and love, but he suspects its more input from his mother’s latest finding in a replacement of a collapsed college marriage, or namely Andrew. Looking on the other side though, he envies that the girls got a decent family to grow into. All he’s reaping is the benefits of a seldom lively place, past the calls from the other resident disturbing the peace from time to time. He almost wants winter break to come sooner, get away from these ugly mint colored walls and into the cozy suburban cottage his mom’s husband set up for them. He’d have to endure the happy marriage surrounding him, but still, he would be mass murdering birds with a pebble. Steve, his father, school… Every last problem.
His phone vibrates. By the time he gets it out of his pocket, there’s five messages from Steve piling up. In short, he’s invited to Peggy’s obsequy regarding the beginning of another school year and is kindly asked not to tell Tony about it. Seems that there’s issues with his cousin and subsequently with Tony himself. It’s complicated.
Bucky replies before it hits him that he shouldn’t have. On the other hand, writing back ‘we should talk’ sounds like the dumbest thing if he wants to avoid fuzz. The last one says, dude, i’m making progress on the peggy front. i think i only stuttered like what, twice?
impressive, Bucky plays along. If Steve wants to pretend that Peggy is still in the cards, it makes sense. It keeps Bucky from thinking this is serious, even if by now, that’s pretty redundant. Or maybe Bucky is wishfully hoping. Steve never explicitly said anything about feeling anything particular towards Bucky. Maybe he’s reading it all wrong. But does it matter? He has to call it quits, no matter whether it’s real now and Steve loves Bucky or whether they’re both equally confused and in reality neither knows what they’re doing.
Steve writes a little more about the party and the thing with Tony’s cousin, and Bucky inserts the appropriate emoticons and short replies to keep the conversation going. He doesn’t want it to end, despite his lame input and the selfishness burning him up. He wants to hold Steve, listen to his endless rants. He’s close to hitting the call button to hear his voice but doesn’t. Putting himself out there that openly again when he already knows the ride is over does come off a little masochistic, and it serves less than one person, so he buckles up tighter. Going back to simple would be great, meaning being deluded as hell to not even notice that his boyfriend is making the closet his permanent stay while secretly cheating on him while they date.
There is no other way than to break it off. And yet would it be so much easier not to.
For the evening, he stays abstinent from alcohol, no matter how much easier it would be with his old buddy Jack. What didn’t work last time won’t suddenly prove itself better this time round. And the setting is similar; Peggy’s beach house is filled with friends and strangers alike, and people hang out in the patio, this time with blankets covering their shoulders. He does join for a few rounds from Clint’s bong, listens to his idea to implement shower ideas for futuristic inventions until he sees a particular mass of blond hair and bony limbs hanging out inside the house. He’s chatting with Peggy again, she seems to smile and he grins fucking proudly. For a second, Bucky throws his head back and considers to leave them be, until his fogged brains make place for jealousy, his old nemesis and remind him that he shouldn’t feel so lighthearted about it. He wishes he would. Just sit out here, watch the two talk, hope they hit it off some day and she realizes how great Steve is. Now reconsidering it, they wouldn’t do that bad together at all. What bothers him is that Steve picked now to overcome his shyness towards her, because they both seem to have a pleasant conversation and he’d hate to interrupt.
No, he really would.
He empties Clint’s beer to avoid his mouth drying out and exchanges a look with Natasha, wishing for an easy way out of this. He doesn’t want to be alone. But he stomped into the porcelain shop, might get the broom now and fix the damage. Well, not exactly. He’s just making sure that everything is wrecked well enough for someone else to scope up the pieces. Someone who actually deserves Steve Rogers.
Walking in reluctantly, he assesses the situation between them and malignantly hopes he is interrupting some very good flirting while he’s at it (he’s not ready to give over Steve that easily, regardless of how much he values Peggy as a friend) and places his hand innocently on Steve’s shoulder, at which he stops mid-sentence.
“You got a minute?” Bucky asks neutrally, avoiding suggestive or making it an actual issue. Steve will find out soon enough.
“Uh, yeah?” Steve replies, seeming torn between Peggy and him for a second. Bucky doesn’t try to reveal anything, just waves him outside to the shore. Steve quickly picks up his jacket and follows him past the patio outside, and they start walking in the cold sand towards the sound of the waves.
“Should I be scared, Buck?” Steve asks jokingly, hands buried deep inside his pockets. The wind blows past his swimming shorts and ruffles through his hair, and he looks adorable in the dimmed lights coming from the house. Everything inside him revolts against doing this. But there’s something he learned about break-ups, and maybe his mother is not the best mentor at this, but he figured it’s better to make it quick and painful than to draw it out until it agonizes the very soul.
“We can’t do this,” he says, and it doesn’t come easy. It’s not even loud enough, and with a silent prayer he hopes Steve heard him, while not wanting that all the same.
“What?” Steve replies, seeming perplex and frowning at him. Whatever Bucky saw a second ago, that shine coming from his friend, it’s gone now.
“I mean-”
“I heard you. Why?” Bucky isn’t going to get hung up on the fact that it’s not what Steve originally asked.
“I was drunk, I wasn’t – and I’m probably still not – over Brock, and I shouldn’t have done what I did to you.” Cold water licks his naked feet, and if it only could just swallow him up...
Steve shakes his head vehemently while Bucky is still talking. “Wait, I thought we were past this, I was fine with it, remember? Where is this coming from?” Bucky might be mistaken, but his worst fear is that it’s tears collecting in Steve’s eyes.
“It doesn’t make it right.”
“Well what is right?” Steve’s voice is hoarse and he’s an inch too close to Bucky. One fucking inch that makes resisting so fucking hard. Just wrap his arms around Steve and tell him he didn’t mean it, that he’s sorry, that he won’t do this…
He stays grounded, he promised it to himself.
“I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to be the cause of the same pain that I am in.”
“Well, how noble of you, jackass. But I’m not buying your shit. I told you I didn’t mind.” Each word is angrier and a little more desperate. Bucky knows the real side of things, wonders how long Steve has actually been lying to him about his feelings. “Unless it’s me you hate so much, please get your shit together instead of running away from a drop of responsibility.”
Bucky tries, and tries harder, but the rage isn’t subsiding. Some part of him is sure Steve knows where he was aiming at, but he tells himself that’s not the reason. It’s not responsibility he’s scared of.
“It’s not because of me!” Bucky shouts, completely oblivious to possible bystanders and not nearly enough interested if there are any.
Steve’s eyes widen and his mouth gaps open for a second, letting the accusation sink in. Then he lowers his head, looking up to Bucky from the lower angle, but it’s Bucky who feels smaller all of a sudden. “The fuck? Now it’s me?”
“I heard you. I heard what you said to Natasha. This isn’t the relationship you want with me.” Bucky says. It slips out faster than it should have.
“So what? Last time I checked, you weren’t in for this for my sake?”
Bucky grimaces at the loss of more arguments, while it looks like Steve still got plenty. “Can’t you see that I’m doing you a favor?” he tries.
“A what? Are you fucking insane? I want this, I WANT this. Did I forget to mention that I-”
“Do you have feelings for me?” Bucky wrings out before he can hear it one more fucking time. He wants Steve to say it, deny or confirm it. Either way does it, just give him something to work with, give him some clarity in this mess. There’s no win in this situation. He’s either going to hurt Steve by telling him that it’s over or figure out this thing was pointless from the start.
“Seriously?” Steve exhales angrily.
“Please…” Bucky tries.
Steve makes a circle in the sand, hands in his hair and teeth pulling his bottom lip.
“I do.” he confesses. “I love you, Bucky. You happy? Got your answer? Still going to dump me because you don’t trust yourself one bit?” he asks, darkness swinging with his voice. He switched from the violent, emotional approach and went for passive aggressiveness. One more layer that rips Bucky’s grip on Steve away.
“I have to.” Bucky insists. It is the only way. If Steve feels this way and Bucky doesn’t, it means that this isn’t mutual, or honest, or fair. Although not expecting a perfect relationship, he considers those things crucial to a successful one, especially since none of those were included in his last. And Bucky knows that. It changed him, as his friends nicely put it. He’s not what Steve deserves, and Bucky can’t give him better because he doesn’t know better. He’s never had one that functioned, even Natasha, who could stop any plight single handedly didn’t make it past the one year mark, and even though they were younger and less experienced back then, they wouldn’t do better a second time around. But Natasha learned her lesson; she got Clint now, and he is just what she needed, what both of them needed. Which only makes Bucky all the more miserable.
“Well fuck you,” Steve replies, walking away and back to the house.
Bucky got a confession that was probably long overdue, but the completely wrong way. And instead of bringing them closer, all it did was split them apart. And the worst part? It hurts like fucking hell.