“I don’t know, it feels too casual,” Bucky said, looking at himself in the mirror.
You watched from your place on the bed as his room slowly transformed into a hoarder’s den. His henleys and t-shirts scattered about from his constant changing. Every single one was fine, but Bucky was Bucky. He needed something to fixate on to distract from his anxiety. Tonight it was his shirt.
“Bucky, you’re just going to a diner. It’s perfect,” you said, hoping he’d finally pick the shirt he had on.
The blue henley, your favorite. The one you bought him.
You knew how much he adored his red henley, it was somewhat of his comfort shirt. The soft fabric hugged his chest and arms, making him feel safe and warm. One of the only shirts he still had from his days on the run, fresh from Hydra. But it was beginning to grow tattered and worn. You decided to find him a new one, not to replace the red, but to give him more options for when he had to leave the tower.
Maybe you did too good. As soon as he had his hands on that blue henley, you rarely saw the red. Always blue.
“You sure?” he asked, turning to see your face.
“Do I ever lie to you?” you asked, scooting to the edge of his bed.
“Never.”
Bucky strode across the room over to you, reaching for his gloves on the bed beside you. As he slipped them over his hands, you felt a frown pulling on your face.
“Really?” you asked.
Bucky bit his lip, avoiding your eyes. He knew how much you hated those gloves, how you hated the way he hid his arm. It’d been so long since he wore them, finally feeling comfortable with who he was. So why did he feel the need to pull them out now?
“Yea, I just… I don’t know, I think she’d feel more comfortable if I wore them,” Bucky said, reaching for his leather jacket.
This would be his fifth date with her, the girl he’d told you about a week ago. He seemed excited, excited to tell you about her. About their dates, where they went, what they ate, everything. You couldn’t remember her name, no matter how many times he said it. Her name didn’t matter, all that mattered was it wasn’t yours.
Watching your best friend date around was hard. Watching him get ready and leave you alone for the night while he was out with other women. It was hard, it was hard being in love with Bucky Barnes. The pain of watching him leave was bearable, knowing each night he’d come back and tell you all about how bad the date was. How he couldn’t wait to get out of there. Until he didn’t. Until he started telling you how excited he was for the next one. Until he started seeing her. That pain was all-consuming.
With a soft sigh, you got up and walked over to him. You reached out, fixing the collar of his jacket. You could feel his eyes boring into you as you fidgeted with the tags around his neck. In a few minutes, he’d be gone. And you’d be alone again. Without him.
“I don’t think she should decide if you cover your arm,” you said, looking up at him.
A soft smile spread across Bucky’s face. That goddamn smile. Slightly cheeky and open, his tongue flicking across his teeth.
“She doesn’t, doll,” he said. Gently he reached his hands out, resting them at the sides of your face. He pulled you close and pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. Those kisses used to make your heart flutter. Ever since he started seeing her, they just made you want to vomit.
As he pulled back, you felt a tickle growing in your throat. Leaning back, you turned your head into your elbow. A coughing fit racked your body, tearing through your throat in a foreign way.
“You okay, doll?” Bucky asked, resting his hands on your lower back and shoulder.
Slowly, you felt the coughs subsiding. Dying out as you caught your balance, shaking your head and catching your breath.
“Yea, yea I’m fine, Buck,” you said, leaving his arms and grabbing your phone off his bed. “I’m gonna go find Sam, we’re gonna order a pizza.”
“You sure you’re okay?” Bucky said, following you out his bedroom door.
“I’m okay, Bucky,” you said, pressing the button for the elevator. As you waited for the doors to open, you felt another tickle growing in the back of your throat. You suppressed it as the doors opened, quickly stepping inside. Pressing the lounge floor, you turned to Bucky once more, “have fun on your date, plum.”
“Thanks, doll,” he said, with a hesitant grin.
As the doors closed, you stumbled back, grabbing at the handle on the back of the elevator. Another fit of coughs hit you, harder than before. You cupped your hands as you hacked, your back arching in pain. Your hands suddenly felt full.
The coughs once again subsided, and you caught your breath. But looking down into your hands, your face went white.
Three little poppies sat in your palms, crumpled and slightly wet.
Fuck.
—
Days passed and you saw Bucky a bit less as they went by. You tried to distract yourself, throwing yourself into work. Taking on extra missions, opting to do all the paperwork, training extra hard with Steve and Nat. But nothing could take your mind off of him.
The coughing just got worse, with more and more flowers coming up each day. You knew what this was and it wasn’t good. You always heard about the disease but never thought it’d happen to you. Never thought you’d feel the chill run down your back sent by the sight of those first three flowers. Poppies, how ironic.
It was your birthday, a year or two back, but you were too busy to care. And so was everyone else. But not Bucky, of course not. You’d never forget how happy you were when you saw him after coming off the quinjet, covered in grime and sweat. A smile on his face and red poppies in his hands. He’d told you the shop was out of baby’s breath, your favorite. But he always loved poppies. So it became your thing. After every mission apart, you’d get each other flowers. He got you poppies, you got him baby’s breath.
A week after the poppies first came up, baby’s breath joined them.
You knew you couldn’t hide the flowers for long, couldn’t keep holding in coughs around others. Soon they’d grow uncontrollable, and then…. well, you know.
The kitchen was empty as you sauntered in. Digging through the cabinets, you pulled out your tea case. Filled and sorted with different teas you’d collected from different missions all over the globe. Hopefully one of them would help soothe the burning in your throat.
“Hey, y/n,” you looked up from your tea to see Sam leaning across the counter.
“Hey, Sam,” you said, going back to your drink. You reached into the cabinets, grabbing two mugs. It was a habit, whenever you made a cup of tea you’d bring Bucky one as well. But he was out with her. “Tea?”
“Sure, sugar,” Sam said, taking a seat at the island. “Haven’t seen you much outside of missions and training. You’re keeping yourself busy, huh?”
“I guess, have a lot of free time lately,” you said, heating your water.
“Yea, Buck sure has been out with that girl a lot lately.”
“What does that have to do with anything,” you asked, placing your kettle down.
Sam gave you a knowing look, full of understanding and kindness. You didn’t need to say anything, and neither did he. You knew what he meant. So did he. With a sigh, you leaned back on the counter, your arms crossing in front of you.
“He seems happy, I’m happy for him,” you said, avoiding Sam’s eyes.
“Why don’t you just tell him, y/n?” Sam asked, leaning forward in his seat.
“Tell him what, Sam?”
“That you love him.”
You turned away, tending to the kettle screaming behind you. As you poured the cups, Sam leaped from his seat, coming to your side. You just focused on your tea, trying desperately to ignore the burning tickle climbing up your throat.
“Come on, y/n. I know he feels the same way. That man is like a lost puppy following you around,” Sam said, grabbing a pack of tea.
“He’s not in love with me, Sam,” you said, placing your tea packet in the mug. The tickle kept growing and growing, threatening to overflow. Flowers threaten to pour out like the water from your kettle. Pour out and expose your years of buried feelings.
“Come on, sugar, it’s obvious. Just tell him,” Sam said.
Your throat burned.
“I know he’ll feel the same way,” Sam continued.
You placed your mug down, feeling a scratch up your esophagus.
“Just tell him how you feel, y/n. He loves you,” Sam said.
“Then why isn’t he here, Sam?” you slammed your hand on the counter, finally looking up at him. “Why is he out at some shitty midtown diner with another woman, while you’re here drinking tea with me from his mug? Why am I constantly watching him run around the city with different women, waiting for him to come back just to tell me about them? Why am I not with him-”
Before you could finish, you felt a rush of coughs take over you. You fell forward, grasping at the counter, heaving and shaking.
“Y/n, sugar, you okay?” Sam said, placing a firm hand on your back to steady you. You kept coughing, trying to keep from blacking out. Your eyes clamped shut as you felt the rush of flowers flowing from your mouth. Slowly, you coughed up the rest, a few red petals falling from your mouth as the coughs died down. Your breaths were labored, trying to focus as black spots danced across your vision.
“Y/n….” You didn’t want to look at Sam, you knew what you’d see. Horror, panic, concern, sympathy. “Sugar, you have-”
“I don’t know what to do, Sam,” you said, feeling tears start to well in your eyes. “I love him, I love him so much.”
Sam’s arms wrapped around you, gently pulling your fragile frame close. He tried to soothe you as your body shook with tears.
“Sugar, you need to tell someone, tell Bucky. Tell him you love him, tell him-” you didn’t let him finish.
“No, Sam, I can’t. I told you, he doesn’t feel the same,” you said, pulling yourself from his arms as you felt yourself regain your balance.
“Y/n, I know he does, just tell him, please. This will kill you,” he said, grabbing your shoulders. You just shook your head. What good would telling Bucky do? He didn’t feel the same. All confessing would do was make him feel pity. Make him feel as though he had to be with you, or else you’d die. Even then, it wouldn’t keep you alive. If he truly didn’t love you, it would do nothing.
“Will you tell Bruce? He can do that surgery, and you’ll be okay,” Sam said.
“I don’t want the surgery, Sam. I don’t…. I don’t want to not love him. I can’t not love him,” you said, feeling yourself growing tired.
“Y/n, please,”
“No, Sam. Just please, please don’t tell anyone.”
“Sugar…”
“Please, Sam.”
—
A week had passed, and you just got worse. Steve had to remove you from the last mission after you almost fainted in training. No coughing, luckily, but Steve wouldn’t have you out in the field until you got your strength back. Without work or Bucky, you found yourself with nothing to do. Nothing but be with your flowers. Nat and Wanda were called on the mission, along with most of the team. Leaving just you, Sam, and Bucky.
Sam let up on insisting you tell Bucky, or see Bruce, but wouldn’t let you be alone. He watched as you avoided Bucky like the plague. Each time he’d try to spend any time with you, you cut the conversation short, rushing to the nearest bathroom to release the build-up of poppies in your throat. Sam saw how Bucky grew worried, seeing you sulk around the tower, your eyes tired and face growing hollow. Something was wrong.
You could feel yourself fading, knowing soon the disease would overtake you. Soon, the flowers would fill your throat, leaving you to choke and suffocate. To die of your unrequited feelings. Surprisingly, you were calm, almost at peace with it.
It was Thursday, laundry day. Normally, Bucky would help you, but you knew that wasn’t an option in your condition. Walking down the hall leading to the kitchen, you stopped in your tracks at a certain voice.
“I just don’t get what’s going on, Sam,” Bucky said. “Why is she avoiding me?”
You stopped just short of entering the room, hiding behind the wall. Your heart raced as you listened in.
“Did I do something? Did I upset her? It’s killing me, I never want to hurt her,” Bucky said. You could hear the desperation in his voice. The slight tremor as he spoke. You knew that tremor, the one that came out in the middle of the night when he awoke from a nightmare. The one that broke through his words as he begged you to hold him, to not leave. That tremor was fear, true fear.
“I don’t know, Buck,” Sam said. You could tell how badly he wanted to tell him the truth. You silently begged him not to. “Maybe she’s feeling neglected?”
“Because of-”
“Yea.”
Your breath picked up, dreading where the conversation was headed. Your hands began to shake, you felt your throat begin to swell. The basket of laundry felt heavy in your hands.
“I don’t know what I was thinking, I just… I miss her. I hate this,” Bucky said.
“Well, you have been spending a lot of time with someone else. Which if you’re happy with her, that’s cool but-”
“She asked me to be her boyfriend, Sam.”
A loud crash filled the hall as the laundry basket fell from your hands. Your chest burned and you shook as you stumbled back, your hand pressed on your sternum as you desperately tried to get a breath in. Your feet swayed as you walked, baby’s breath falling from your mouth.
Your vision blurred, your head full of cotton. In seconds, you were hacking, poppies all over the hallway floor. Your knees buckled, the coughing sending you falling to the floor. The sounds of flowers pouring out your mouth filled your ears, blocking out everything else. You didn’t hear combat boots rushing down the hall. You didn’t hear Bucky as he desperately shouted your name. You didn’t hear Sam rush to get Bruce.
Your body was heavy, tingling, and growing numb, but you felt familiar arms pull you close.
“Y/n, doll, baby look at me,” Bucky said, his voice shaking with fear. He couldn’t focus on anything but you. He didn’t focus on the trail of poppies behind you, just you.
Your vision was shaky, but between coughs, you looked up at him. He was scared. Terrified. A kind of terrified you’d never seen from him; not from nightmares, not from a panic attack, not from a mission. This was new, this was the worst.
“Doll, baby, come on breathe, you’re okay. Sam’s gonna get Bruce, it’s okay,” Bucky said, holding you and rubbing your back through another fit of coughs. This time he couldn’t ignore the obvious, as you coughed poppies into your lap.
“Y/n…” Bucky froze, looking at you more scared than before. Realization dawned on him. Fuck, this wasn’t good.
The coughs stopped for a moment. You could feel another fit coming, but you took the opportunity to get in a shaken breath. With weak hands, you reached out to fiddle with the silver tags around Bucky’s neck. God, you loved those tags.
“I love these,” you said, resting your head gently against Bucky’s chest. He pressed a firm kiss to your forehead, holding you close as another fit took over you. Flowers covered you both. You faintly felt tears drop onto your head as Bucky rocked you. You heard the sounds of Bruce and the med team rushing down the hall, Bucky begging them to help you, just before you blacked out.
—
You awoke to soft beeping and bright white lights. You’d come back from enough major injuries to know you were in the medbay. Your throat felt cleared, the fullness of flowers just settling in your stomach. You took in as many deep breaths as you could, stretching in your bed.
“You’re awake,” weakly, you turned your head to the side to be met with the sight of Bucky. He was hunched in a small chair, pulled impossibly close to the bed. You soon realized he had your hand tight in his own, not painful but firm. Like he was terrified to let go.
“Yea, I’m okay, that was weird,” you said, finally coming to. You tried to sit up quickly, but your vision blurred. You began to hunch forward, but Bucky caught you. He was there like he always was. “Thanks.”
“Y/n, you have -” he started
“I know, Buck,” you said, resting back on the pillows. “Sam tell you?”
“You were choking on poppies,” he said, taking your hand back in his. “y/n, whoever you lo… whoever it is, you have to tell them. They have to feel the same way.”
“They don’t, trust me.”
Bucky’s brows furrowed, the concern and fear on his face only growing.
“Please, doll, tell them. If not, let Bruce remove the roots. He cleared out some flowers, but they’ll come back. Please, babydoll, please you can’t die. I can’t lose you. Please,” Bucky was desperate, his eyes red and puffy from tears. He ducked his head, trying to hide the new wave of tears threatening to fall. Strangely, your stomach began to settle, the pain slightly dulling.
“It’s you,” you said, looking down.
“What?” Bucky asked, his head shooting up to find your gaze.
“It’s you. It’s always been you. I love you and I know you don’t feel the sa- “ you couldn’t finish. Suddenly, you felt two strong hands pull you close. Your lips were pressed against Bucky’s as he held you in his embrace. He was warm, a calming wave that washed away all the pain filling your body. The cool of his metal hand against your cheek was soothing, helping ground you as he deepened the kiss. Your head was spinning, but all you could focus on was Bucky.
Quickly, he pulled back, his hands frantically brushing over your face, keeping you close.
“I love you. I love you so much, babydoll. I love… god, I do feel the same way. You’re it for me, baby, you always have been.” he said, resting his forehead against yours.
“But what about…” you asked.
“I was stupid, doll. I was stupid and scared. I’m a mess and I didn’t want to trap you with me. I thought I could find someone else, convince myself I could move on. But I can’t,” Bucky said.
Your stomach fluttered, the fullness of the poppies slowly disappearing. The familiar flutters began to make their way back.
“I couldn’t go anywhere with anyone, without thinking of you. That girl, she… she was so interested, I thought I was too. I don’t know but, when she asked me to be her boyfriend, it finally hit me. She looked like you, I was just trying… to distract myself but. Fuck, I love you, y/n. I can’t keep looking for you in every other girl. You’re all I want, doll.”
“You really love me?” you asked, trying to get closer.
“So much it’s consuming me, baby,” Bucky said, moving to sit with you on the bed.
Feeling your strength slowly return, you pulled him in for another kiss. Your lips danced over his, desperate for more. His hand moved to your back, bringing you closer to him. Your lips moved, pressing soft kisses along his jawline. Bucky suddenly pulled back. Your brows furrowed, confused.
“I almost killed you,” Bucky said, dropping his gaze.
“What?” you asked, confused.
“You were so convinced I didn’t love you, so sure that you got… I did this to you. I almost killed you,” he said, shaking his head.
“No, no, plum you didn’t. Sam even told me you felt the same, he told me to tell you. It’s okay, plum,” you said, reaching for his cheeks. “I’m okay, I’m okay. You love me, I’m okay.”
“I’m so sorry, babydoll. I love you so much,” Bucky said, moving closer to you, his hands finding your waist.
“I love you too,” you said, resting your forehead to his. You both took a moment, resting silently in each other’s arms. Finally, everything out in the open.
—
Laying in Bucky’s bed, your fingers danced over the engravings on his tags. The blue henley pulled tight across his chest as he rested beneath you. Familiar and warm.
Weeks passed, and the flowers were long gone. Bucky refused to leave your side, finally being able to hold you how he always wanted. A hand was always on your waist, hips, or around your shoulders. He never wanted to be away from you, holding you close as much as he could. If you ever coughed, even the slightest bit, he went into a panic. But you assured him, everything was okay. You were okay.
You nuzzled closer into his side, taking in the familiar smell of oak and leather that was just Bucky. The fluttering feeling he gave you was back, a welcomed comfort you hoped never left again.
“You really like those things, huh,” he said, smiling down at you. You looked up, pressing a soft kiss into his side.
“Mhm,” you said, leaning in further. “I love this shirt on you, too.”
“Really?” he asked, his fingers gently brushing at the nape of your neck. “You know, it’s my favorite shirt.”
“And why’s that?” you asked.
“Because it came from you.”