Chapter 10
Three weeks. That’s how long it had been since you had seen or had an actual conversation with Bucky. Every time you closed your eyes you pictured him walking away from you as you helplessly slid down the brick wall of the bar. Pictured him standing there throwing your painful moments back into your face like it was nothing. Pictured him yelling at you on that drizzling night that he loved you. That he was in love with you.
Time was supposed to heal all wounds.
Bullshit.
Three weeks had gone by in the blink of an eye and all you felt was a deeper ache in your chest each time you thought of him, each time you saw alcohol, each time you saw the sky darken to shower the city with rain. If you were being honest everything reminded you of him. Your couch where you had first made out. Your bed where you had spent so much time curled up in his arms having sleepovers. Your phone which had once held a lock screen picture of the two of you during happier times. Even seeing Natasha reminded you of him.
It didn’t help that each day she urged you to call him, to talk to him, but you couldn’t.
He had tried coming over a few times, but you had always made Nat send him away. That didn’t stop him from calling you, leaving you voicemails to talk to him that broke your heart each time you heard his voice crack or from him texting you.
When you couldn’t stand it anymore you had finally gotten the courage up to call him one night when you knew he’d be busy leaving him a voicemail that simply said you were fine and you didn’t think being friends with benefits was a good idea anymore. That hadn’t stopped him from trying to get in contact with you though.
Where once your days had been filled with constant texts of inside jokes and memes, phone calls that lasted throughout the night, ritual movie nights that ended in sleepovers your days now consisted of you going to work and coming home. Your nights consisted of staying in your pajamas locked away in your room.
Natasha kept her mouth shut not reminding you that she told you so, that she had warned you about getting hurt, but every time you saw her you could read it in her sympathetic eyes. Could hear it in her voice when she talked to both Steve and Bucky on the phone at night when she thought you were asleep.
Rolling onto your side you stared at your bedroom wall mindlessly. Part of you knew that after three weeks you should be getting your shit together, but you couldn’t.
“Get up,” Natasha commanded and not even the use of her scary voice could make you roll over to face her.
“Go away,” you mumbled.
Ignoring you she moved to the edge of your bed sitting down. “Y/N,” she sighed. “I know you’re hurting, but locking yourself in your room isn’t doing you any good. Go take a shower and get dressed we’re going out.” Her tone left no room for argument.
“No,” you hissed, attempting to keep your voice low. “Absolutely not. You said we were going out not that we were going to Steve’s place.” Crossing your arms over your chest you peered over Natasha’s shoulder wondering if you ran now how far you could get before she caught you.
An exasperated sigh slipped through her lips as she lifted her hand up to knock on Steve’s door.
“Relax, Y/N. Bucky’s not here. Do you really think I’d drag you here and force you to talk to him?”
Yes you wanted to tell her, but the door swung open revealing Steve on the other side.
“He’s not here is he?” You blurted out, heat flooding your cheeks when you saw him exchange a look with Natasha. You were being paranoid, you had no reason to doubt her.
“No,” Steve said, stepping aside to allow you both in.
Glancing around his place you followed them into the kitchen shaking your head when he offered you a drink. Chewing on your lower lip your attention swung between Natasha who was leaning against the counter inspecting her nails and Steve who was standing to his full height and avoiding your gaze. Your heart rate spiked the longer each of them stayed silent. The palms of your hands grew sweaty.
“Uh so what’s the plan for tonight?” You asked, only to be met with silence again. “Either one of you wanna tell me what’s going on?”
“Y/N?”
Freezing at the sound of the voice that filled your dreams and your nightmares you clenched your eyes willing to keep your tears hidden.
“You lied to me,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I expected this from her, Steve, but not from you.”
Trapped between the kitchen and Bucky you were stuck. You should have been used to the feeling by now, but you weren’t. Feeling like a caged animal you weighed your options, each of them worse than the last. Staying in Steve’s apartment wasn’t an option, but to leave you’d have to pass Bucky which also wasn’t an option. Glaring between Steve who was giving you sympathetic eyes and Nat who wouldn’t meet your gaze you flinched when you heard Bucky clearing his throat behind you.
“They didn’t say you were going to be here,” he said softly and even without turning around you could picture the sheepish look on his face, picture him running his hand through his hair nervously and in that moment you hated how well you knew him.
“I’m not. I’m leaving.” With downcast eyes and a frown on your face you stepped around Bucky blinking back the tears when you caught a hint of his cologne. Your heart seized up and you wanted nothing more than to look at him, to wrap your arms around his shoulders and bury your head in his neck. But the thought of being near him right now made your mind fill with the memories of that night.
Your hands were slippery from sweat as you struggled to twist the doorknob. Feeling Bucky’s eyes on your back you choked on a sob, your shoulders shaking as you finally managed to open the door. You didn’t make it more than five steps into the hallway before you felt his hand on your elbow.
“I really didn’t know you were coming,” he said softly, stepping in front of you and blocking your exit.
His hand was still on your elbow, his voice still able to make your knees grow weak. Swallowing down the lump in your throat you bravely lifted your eyes to his. It wasn’t fair. Three weeks of not seeing him and he still looked good even with dark circles lining in his eyes, even with hair that was growing longer, shaggier. He needed a haircut, needed some sleep, but he still looked beautiful and you hated him for it especially when you looked like a mess with your uncombed hair, your puffy eyes, the ratty sweatshirt you had thrown on in haste.
There were so many things you wanted to say to him, so many conversations you had started in your mind, but standing in front of him all of that disappeared and you were suddenly at a loss for words.
Clearing his throat he gently squeezed your elbow, but still didn't let go. "How have you been?"
Three weeks of not seeing him and that was his first question? Had the circumstances been different you might have found it funny, but right now it was just depressing. Shaking his hand off your elbow you took a step to the side groaning when he followed you.
"Seriously?"
"Talk to me," he begged, his voice cracking with emotion. That was all it took for the tears you had been trying to hold back to come rolling down your cheeks. And when he stepped forward wrapping his arms around your shoulder pulling you closer you didn't have the strength to fight him off. Burying your head in his chest you let the tears fall freely as he rubbed your back. "'M not leaving until you talk to me, Y/N. Please."
Aside from his voice and the ugly sobs wracking your body the hallway was silent. No blaring televisions drifting through thin walls like at Bucky’s place. Nobody coming and going, no rattling keys, shouts of joy, hushed conversations. It was only you and Bucky in an empty hallway struggling with the realities of your fractured friendship.
You wondered if Steve and Natasha were listening to your disaster of a conversation. The thought had your body stiffening.
Wiping your eyes you stepped out of his arms. "How long?"
"What?"
"How long have you been in love with me?"
"Since I was nineteen."
"Since... you were nineteen," you repeated slowly. Taking a step away from him you weren't sure if you were relieved or disappointed when he didn't follow you. Your head was dizzy with floods of memories. Every time he had held you when you cried, every laugh you had shared from too many late nights and too much caffeine, every inside joke, every time you had reached for his hand during walks on slippery sidewalks, during the scary rides at Coney Island, during nights when you couldn't sleep. Every shared straw, every hug, every cuddle session and he had been in love with you during all it.
"If you've been in love with me since you were nineteen why the hell did you wait until that night to tell me?" You asked, your voice calm, though under the surface you felt anything but. "Why didn't you tell me when you were nineteen? Or when we were both single? Or when I asked you to sleep with me? Or before we slept together! You had so many chances to tell me, Bucky and you chose to tell me because you couldn't handle some guy talking to me? Do you understand why I don't believe you?"
"You think that was how I wanted to tell you?" He shot back, taking a tentative step in your direction before pausing when he saw you shake your head and move further away from him. "I should have told you sooner, but, fuck, there was never a good time. You think this is easy for me? You're not the only one who's scared and hurting, Y/N!"
"I am not scared," you snapped, glaring at him.
"Yes, you are," he shot back.
He was right, you both knew it and it pissed you off. At times it was a blessing the way he could so easily read you, but right now, right now it was a curse.
"No. I'm. Not," you seethed, emphasizing each word. "You want to know what I am? I'm miserable, Bucky! You're my best friend and I miss you. I miss you so fucking much, but I don't know how to talk to you when all I can picture is you walking away from me and lying to me," you sobbed.
"Honey," he choked out.
"Don't," you whispered. "I-I just need time, Bucky."
Turning your back and walking away from him was the hardest thing you had ever done in your life. And the cruelest. Walking to the elevator, tears streaming down your face, your body shaking with each ragged breath you wanted to turn around, to see him one last time, but you meant what you said, you needed time. He was the first guy to ever tell you he loved you and while it should have filled your stomach with butterflies, should have been a moment to remember, to look back on fondly it was tainted with jealously and misunderstanding.
"How long are you going to ignore him?" Steve asked gently.
Tugging the blanket tighter around your lap you shrugged your shoulders. A week had passed since your fight with Bucky. Seven long days of wanting to pick up the phone and call him, of wanting to stop over at his apartment, but you couldn't. Not after finding out he had been lying to you for years about his feelings.
"It's not that easy."
"It is. You're just being stubborn," Natasha chided, plopping down on the couch next to you.
Glaring at her you shook your head willing your tears not to fall. "How am I being stubborn? He lied to me."
Clearing his throat Steve shifted on the couch turning his body so he was facing you. His face was serious, his blue eyes flicking to Natasha who gave a subtle nod of her head. "He didn't lie to you, Y/N," he started. "He really has been in love with you for years."
Speechless you shook your head. "But then... I mean...." Stumbling over your words you clenched your eyes shut the new information making your head spin.
"Everybody knew," Natasha added. "Except you."
"Not helpful."
The realization that he really was in love with you filled you with a myriad of emotions. Memories flitted through your mind in quick flashes. Bucky holding your hair back after you got food poisoning, showing up at your mom's apartment with a basket of your favorite chocolates and movies, the softest kleenex and your favorite sweatshirt of his after your first breakup, holding you through the night and letting you rant. Always answering the phone when you called even if it was late at night and he was tired, saving you a piece of your favorite dessert, sitting through countless romance movies when he'd rather be watching anything else because he knew how much you loved them. Bucky Barnes was in love with you.
You knew that you owed him a massive apology, but there was still the issue of your best friend being in love with you. Shifting uncomfortably on the couch you tugged at your blanket. "I can't face him," you murmured. "How are we supposed to be friends after this?"
Shoving the blanket off your lap you stood up pacing in front of Nat and Steve who seemed to be involved in their own silent conversation.
"Tell him the truth," she prodded. "Tell him you love him too."
"I do love him, but as a friend. I'm not in love with him."
"Are you sure about that?" Steve asked softly.
His words were enough to stop your frantic pacing. Opening and closing your mouth you replayed his question in your mind. Were you sure? Running a hand through your already messed up hair you sunk down onto the coffee table. Your eyes were glassy with tears and as you looked first between Steve and then Natasha you shook your head no.
"All the love songs and movies make it seem so easy to know when you're in love. And I always thought when I met him I'd just... know. Like... like there'd be music playing in my mind or... or we'd touch or kiss and there'd be fireworks exploding behind my eyes. And as much as I enjoy kissing Bucky," you murmured, biting your lip as heat crawled up your neck. "I don't see fireworks."
"Love is more than fireworks and music, Y/N," Natasha said.
“Then what else is it? Because I don’t think of him when I hear love songs, but he’s the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I go to sleep. But that’s not love! That’s just us being friends,” you said, wiping at your growing tears. “And... and maybe I don’t see fireworks when we kiss, but I do feel something. He’s the first person I want to talk to when something bad or good happens. And maybe sometimes when he smiles at me or looks at me I get butterflies in my stomach, but... I mean...” Your words trailed off as you looked up at your friends. Their expressions were expectant, as if they knew something that you didn’t and they were waiting for you to catch up.
“What?” You muttered, your voice tense when they still didn’t say anything. Getting up from the coffee table you shook your head no even as everything in your body was screaming yes.
“Oh god,” you whispered, the realization hitting you in the face like a cold splash of water. Whirling around on your feet you stared at your two friends, your eyes wide, heat warming your cheeks as you muttered an oh again.
“I’m in love with him.” The words felt so natural coming out you were embarrassed it took you so long to realize it.
Falling in love for the first time wasn't anything like the movies or songs made it out to be. It wasn't always happy with sunshine and butterflies. It was messy and complicated. Confusing and frustrating. Sometimes it was fights in hallways and outside of bars. Other times it was sleepy kisses stolen in the dark and desserts shared in crappy diners. It was secret smiles that hinted at years of inside jokes and late night whispered conversations so you didn't wake anyone up. It was stolen clothes and bad decisions and promises of always being there for each other. Falling in love for the first time was a hundred little things that only meant something to you and Bucky.
"About time," Natasha teased, but her words barely registered as you scrambled in search of a pair of shoes. Slipping your feet into a mismatched pair you barely took notice. There was only one person on your mind, one person you needed to see you just hoped it wasn't too late.
Shivering in your pajama shorts and baggy tee shirt you pounded on his door. Your bottom lip jutted out as a fresh round of tears spilled down your cheeks to stain your shirt. You were a mess of nerves and embarrassment and shame and fear as you stood outside his place.
“Hi,” you whispered, your voice cracking on the one syllable word. “C-can we talk?”