It’s all Steve’s fault.
When Steve gave him the notebook, of all things, he almost laughed at the irony. He told Bucky how it helped to write the things that felt important, or things that would help him navigate the world better— something about filling it with things that made him want to give this world a second chance. Bucky couldn’t help the dread he felt by that expectations, but the little sketches Steve had done within the first few pages of the book sparked something in him to at least try.
So here he was, attempting to draw Sam Wilson’s eyes for the millionth time. He let out a grunt of frustration and flipped the page to start again. It was difficult and stressful and nothing like what a hobby should be, but Steve said to fill the book with things that were significant to him, so he was trying to do just that.
The thing is, Bucky didn’t expect Sam to be the person that would make him hate the world a little less. The man was stubborn, but he was equally, if not more, heroic and intelligent. Sam let empathy and kindness guide his every decision, never immediately approaching a situation with violence. Bucky couldn’t be blamed for falling in love with him, especially when that patience and compassion was (almost) always directed at him.
He was currently in their living room trying to perfect the eyes of his muse when the man in question came back from his run. “Whatcha up to, Buck?” he asked, noticing the notebook in Bucky’s hand. It isn’t lost on Sam that he tenses as soon as he notices Sam looking at it.
“Nothing, just journaling,” he lied. “Raynor’s orders.”
“Huh, surprisingly good advice coming from her,” Sam said smiling as he took out his water bottle from the fridge. Bucky immediately looked at the floor to avoid seeing him drink it. “Do you think it’s helps, you know writing everything down?” he asked earnestly, starting on making breakfast.
Bucky knows that Sam’s occupying himself so that the question doesn’t seem loaded, knows that he’s giving Bucky the choice of answering without the pressure of his eyes on him. His heart sinks a little at how perfectly well Sam knows him, and how accommodating he is to Bucky without being pitiful.
“Yeah, it does.” he replied and decided that Sam deserved a little truth, “It really helps me focus on all the good stuff a little more.”
“That’s really great Buck. And you know, it’s okay if it’s not all good things,” Sam reassured. “Complaining can be therapeutic, in small amounts that is,” he said with a little laugh.
“Good to know,” he said, standing up from the couch to help Sam in the kitchen. He put the notebook in his back pocket and continued, “I actually do have a few complaints about the way you—.”
“Not about me, Barnes, I’m perfect,” Sam said dismissively while swatting Bucky’s hand away from the blueberries. Bucky held back the urge to agree with him.
“Those are for the jam!”
“Too late.”
Sam watched as Bucky shoved the blueberries in his mouth, his eyes widening comically. “What the fuck, man.”
Bucky smiled at him, trying to commit his look to memory; he took another berry, heading to his room to attempt capturing another one of Sam’s endearing expressions on paper.
«»
It took Bucky a week to perfect Sam’s eyes, and another one to perfect his body. However, he was now approaching the third week of trying to draw his smile, or more specifically, the man’s lips. He silently cursed at his talent, or lack thereof because, fuck, why was this the hardest part?
Bucky knew why he couldn’t draw them and the thought of remedying that terrified him, because there was no way he could look at Sam’s lips without wanting what he did. Maybe he’d just have to settle for drawing him without them. That’s a look. Right?
He opted for subtle glances throughout the week, but it probably didn’t come across like that, if the looks Sam was shooting him was anything to go by.
Sam seemed confused by Bucky’s new staring habits, probably not used to having him look so intently at somewhere other than his eyes.
Both of them were on the couch, Sam lying with his feet tucked under Bucky’s legs. “You good?” Sam asked, stopping his rambling about the plotholes in the movie to raise his head up from the couch. “Why are you looking at me like that?” he asked, his voice soft.
Bucky shifted uncomfortably, “Uh— what do you mean?” he tried. Sam sighed at that and sat up to face him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I don’t, actually.” Bucky tensed at the implication of Sam figuring everything out.
Sam sighed at that, sounding withdrawn. “Okay, do you want some OJ?” he asked, standing up to walk towards the kitchen and dropping the conversation entirely as he pulled out the bottle of orange juice.
“I’m good thanks,” Bucky replied as he willed himself to not look away this time. He clenched his vibranium arm as he watched from the couch as Sam brought the bottle to his lips.
“I— uh I’m going to sleep,” he said, standing up abruptly. “Night.”
“It’s 6 in the evening Buck,” Sam replied, sounding amused. “But goodnight old man.”
Bucky shot him a glare at that and made his way to his bedroom. He immediately pulled out his notebook from his back pocket and started sketching, feeling relieved as everything came together. He finally got it.
«»
Bucky was extra careful with the book now, choosing to leave it in his room instead of carrying it with him everywhere. The risk of loosing it around the apartment and having Sam finding it was too great. He had to be safe. At least he tried to be.
«»
Everything fell apart when they came back from their last mission.
Bucky flung himself on the couch as Sam smiled and called him dramatic. “Did you use my laptop?” Sam asked. “I have to send the mission briefing to Fury and my phone’s dead.”
Bucky nodded towards his room from his place on the couch, too tired after everything to move.
He’d been dozing off when he heard Sam’s voice again, “Is this me?”
Bucky slightly raised his head to look over the back of the couch. His heart dropped as he saw Sam standing by his bedroom door, the open notebook in his hand. This can’t be happening.
He stood up immediately and walked towards him, “Sam let me explain,” he tried, his flesh hand trembling as he tried reaching for the book.
“Hey— wait I’m sorry,” Sam said as he saw Bucky’s panicked state, “It was open on this page next to the laptop, I didn’t mean to invade your privacy like this,” Sam explained, handing him the book. Bucky flinched when their fingers touched and Sam immediately moved his hand away to rub the back of his head. “I’m sorry Bucky.”
“No, I’m sorry Sam, the last thing I want is to make you uncomfortable.” Bucky said, his eyes on the floor to avoid Sam’s gaze.
“Bucky,” Sam stepped closer to him and put his hand on his vibranium arm, “Hey man, look at me. You have nothing to apologise for.”
Bucky wanted nothing more than to just lean into the touch, but he knew he couldn’t have that. Sam was too good, he reminded himself, Sam didn’t deserve to be weighed down by him in any way.
“You’re a really great artist Bucky,” Sam said when he realised Bucky wasn’t going to respond.
“No I’m not, I just drew them because—“ he immediately stopped himself from continuing that sentence. Sam saw the drawing Bucky did two days ago, the one he abandoned when they got the call from Fury about the emergency mission. The drawing in question was Sam on his parent’s boat, laughing with his head tilted back.
Sam had to know about Bucky’s feelings for him at this point.
“Them? Can I see the others?” Sam asked, voice kind and patient. “Only if you’re okay with that, obviously.”
Bucky didn’t see the point in telling Sam ‘no’, and more truthfully, he didn’t think he could tell Sam ‘no’. He passed the book to Sam who took it cautiously. Sam flipped through slowly, his smile ever present as he continued and Bucky had to stare at the wall behind him to get rid of the feeling in his heart.
“When were you gonna tell me?” Sam said, his smirk implying that he isn’t just referring to the sketches.
Bucky’s breath hitched at that, “So you do know?” his chest tightening at the confirmation in Sam’s words.
“Know what?” Sam said as he stepped even closer, “That you used me as a muse because I’m irresistible,” he said jokingly, “Or that you’re in love with me?”
Bucky held his breath as Sam reached for his flesh hand, “Tell me I’m not wrong,” he said, the smirk gone and his eyes searching. “Please?” he whispered as he intertwined their fingers.
“You’re not,” Bucky said, voice barely above a whisper, feeling simultaneously braver and dizzier with Sam so close and their hands clasped together. He shifted all his focus on how right his hand looked held by Sam’s.
“Good,” he smiled. “Because I love you too.”
“What?” Bucky eyes snapped up.
“You heard me.”
“Can you— can you say it again?” Bucky asked, feeling braver by the revelation.
Sam pulled him closer to kiss his cheek, “I love you,” he whispered, smiling against Bucky’s skin.
“Then kiss me.” Bucky breathed, bringing his hand behind Sam’s neck. And Sam happily obliged, snaking his arms around Bucky’s waist. He pressed his lips against Bucky’s and ran his hand under his t-shirt, feeling the warmth of his skin. He revelled in the way Bucky gasped against his lips and used it as an opportunity to deepen the kiss.
Bucky pulled away first, eyes glistening from the sheer want coursing through him. He smiled brightly at Sam, leaning forward to press a light kiss to his lips, “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.”
“Bet I’ve wanted it for longer.” Sam said, looking shy now.
“Not everything’s a competition,” Bucky shoved him lightly but Sam just used the momentum to pull Bucky towards him, kissing him again.
“I love you Sam,” Bucky whispered.
“Love you back sweetheart.” Sam smiled, “I’ll learn to draw to prove it.”