Words: 3.8K

Warnings: Language

"Bucky... Bucky, no! You can't go that way: it's too dangerous," Steve's anxiously trying to warn his friend from your other side.

"He's right," you pipe up and Bucky glances at you momentarily. "You'll be dead before either of us can save you. And honestly, you kinda deserve it after that stunt you pulled earlier when you fucking shot me in the head."

Bucky throws his hands up in argument—his game console controller going up with his metal arm. "I told you I was sorry! I thought you were a Nazi." His raspberry pink lips take on the shape of an adorable pout.

You gawk at the man sitting next to you in his blue beanbag chair. Yours is yellow, Steve's is... well, it's pink. It's the only other color at the store, and you refused to take it.

"You thought I was a Nazi? Buck, my character's been wearing the same goddamn costume for three weeks now. How could you mix me up?"

Steve slurps on his iced macchiato that Nat picked up for him at Starbucks. Between slurps he says, "That's a lie. He just wanted payback for you taking the last bagel out of the pantry."

With a gasp you turn towards Bucky. "I told you that wasn't me! I don't even like cinnamon raisin!"

Steve's paused the game with a chuckle. He watches with big, amused blue eyes as his best friend Bucky flirtatiously bickers with the lovable, quirky girl Steve's known for almost five years now. Bucky's known you for nearly two. The three of you have become very close. You hardly do anything without the others.

"That's a lie and you know it. I see you eat Raisin Bran all the time."

"There's no cinnamon in Raisin Bran. That's why I like it. Cinnamon and raisins don't go together," you roll your eyes at his stupidity.

Bucky shoves your shoulder. "Bullshit. It's delicious."

You shove him back, trying hard not to laugh. "It's disgusting."

"You're disgusting," Bucky teases.

You stick your tongue out at him. After smiling wide, the skin near his denim colored eyes wrinkling, he sticks his tongue out back.

"Can we please just finish this level? I told Tony I'd meet him in the lab at four."

"Oh shit, what time is it now?" Bucky suddenly sounds panicked. He starts turning around to find the nearest clock. You don't think there's one in here: it's easier to spend hours playing stupid games when there's no real way to realize how much time you're wasting.

"What's stressing you out, Sarge? Gotta fancy date or something?" you tease Bucky with a snigger. You curl back under the blanket that you two share.

"Well, uh, actually..." his tone is already making you panicked. Wide eyed you turn your face away from the brightly lit TV screen. Bucky scratches the back of his neck with the nonmetal hand. "I do."

Steve chokes on his coffee. "You what?"

"WHAT?" you sputter at the same moment as Steve.

Bucky's nicely shaven cheeks are growing pink. You should've known there was a reason why he shaved. He never does it anymore without bribing from your part. Chuckling awkwardly, Bucky sets down his remote. "I said I've got a date."

"Who the bloody hell with?" you don't mean to sound so... so angry, but you're not good at hiding your emotions very well.

Bucky shrugs as if he doesn't know. But then he says, "A woman from T'Challa's compound. She's here for a few months and wants to go out to dinner."

"So it's a professional thing," you try to reason wistfully. All the while, your heart is thundering helplessly in your chest.

Bucky shakes his head. "Not really..."

"Wow." Steve hums before going on to say, "That's surprising."

"Why?" Bucky replies, his eyebrows furrowed.

You decide to answer for Steve. "Because you never made any indication that you wanted to date anyone, let alone ready for that type of thing. Are you sure you're ready?"

"Yes. I'm sure." He pauses, eyeing you skeptically with those insanely gorgeous baby blues. "Why? Do you have some reason to think that I shouldn't go?"

You grit your teeth. "No. I just want to make sure that you're sure." You have to bite your tongue to keep from going on. You want to scream at him—to tell him not to go. You want to slap him in the face and force him to look at you the same way you look at him. You want to throw yourself into his lap and make him fall in love with you like you've fallen so hard for him.

But none of that happens. Bucky stands up from the floor with a slight smile. "I gotta go get ready. I don't wanna be late. It's been a while since I've done this, but I don't think showing up late would be a good thing."

Steve smiles gently at his friend. You know something's up with Steve. He should be acting more excited. And if this was about Bucky's health, he would've said so. No, this is different. Steve isn't happy about this date, but you're not sure why.

"Well, have a good time, jerk."

Bucky smirks. "Thanks, punk." He stuffs his hands in his jean pockets before looking down to where you sit—now so much colder without his body heat beside you under the blankets. "You okay if we finish this some other time?"

"Yep." You keep it short and sweet while trying so hard not to be salty.

Bucky smiles, seemingly blind to your heartbreak. "Thanks, doll. And don't forget about our workout tomorrow afternoon. I'll treat smoothies this time."

"Okay."

Bucky leans down to squeeze your knee softly before he leaves. He then disappears from the game room with his hands in his pockets and hair swishing in the air behind him.

It's very quiet after he's gone. Then suddenly, Steve decides to speak.

"Y/N," his voice is gentle and meek—almost as if he's afraid. You look over at where the large man sits in the comically too-small beanbag, but don't find it nearly as funny anymore. All you can think about is Bucky and that other girl. "Are you okay?"

You're almost shocked by Steve's question. But then again, he is one of your best friends. He's probably known you've fallen in love with the other best friend for a while now.

"What are you talking about? I'm fine." You roll your eyes and get up from the chair. "Kinda stupid to keep hanging out here though if he's gonna be gone. We'll play tomorrow or something. Or maybe not. I don't know." Angrily you shut off the machine.

Steve watches you with a face full of pity. He rises to follow you towards the door. "Y/N, if you wanna talk about it..."

"Talk about it? About what? Bucky's date? Hell I don't care about his date. I don't care one bit. Not about him or the bitch he's taking out. Nope, not at all." You impatiently pound on the elevator call button and wait for it to arrive. "God, why is this thing so fucking slow?" you grumble to yourself impatiently.

Steve lets out a long, exasperated sigh. "I need to go see Stark. But if you need anything, just give me a call." He watches the side of your face. "Alright?" His hand touches your arm.

"I'll be fine. Tell Stark hi."

Steve shakes his head a bit. You're in denial, and he knows it. He wants to help you, but you won't even admit to anything.

He turns to go down the hall, glancing back at you for a bit, before heading off towards the labs.

You ride the elevator up to your room. There you sulk for a while, wandering aimlessly and cursing under your breath, before you see that it's almost five. Bucky's date is probably soon.

"Friday?" you question aloud.

"Yes miss?"

"Is Barnes still here?" You sit down onto your bed with arms crossed.

"Yes, Miss. He's heading downstairs now."

Quickly you run from the room. Down the stairs you fly until you're breathless on the ground floor. Looking around for any sign of him you see none. So you flop down onto one of the couches and pretend to be reading the magazine left on the coffee table.

The elevator doors chime open just as you're catching your breath again. You pretend not to notice him, but it would be impossible not to. You can sense his aura from a thousand leagues away. He's brooding yet kind; soft yet firm. He's everything in the whole wide world wrapped up into one deliciously handsome package.

"Oh hey Y/N."

You risk a glance upwards. The sight nearly takes your breath away. He's wearing a tie—a fucking navy blue tie—and fancy black pants. His sleeves are slightly rolled up and he carries a jacket draped over one arm. His hair is trimmed, just slightly, and combed back away from his chiseled face. His jaw is shiny with a bit of water from a face washing, and it makes the high bones of his cheek stand out that much more.

"What are you doing down here?" he questions with a slight tilt of his head.

You hold up the magazine. "Reading." You pretend to be confused as you look him over. "And what are you doing?"

Bucky smiles and gestures for the door. "I've got that, uh, date-thing: remember?"

"Oh right. The date." You hold the magazine back up to your face. "Well, anyway, have fun."

Bucky comes over to stand above you. Pushing the magazine gently out of his way, he presses a kiss to the top of your head. Your heart jumps up in your throat. This is what he does every time one of you goes away. He says it's for good luck: he says it's just in case he never sees you again. You thought that it meant he loved you. But now, now you're not so sure.

"Have a good night, doll. Don't eat my bagels." He shoots you a sexy wink over his shoulder as he briskly walks away and out through the doors that'll lead him to the garage.

A sigh flutters from your parched lips. Tears well up in your eyes, but you will them to stay in place.

How could he do this to you? After all you've been through... after all this time. You'd always assumed, dreamed, fantasized that when he finally was ready to date; he'd pick you. Why wouldn't he pick you? You were the one who held his hand through all the bad times. You were the one who helped him remember that good times were there. You spent hours talking and laughing. You spent months training side by side. You spent years learning everything about each other so that you could become better partners, better friends, and better best friends.

Now it all just seems like a shattered dream. You've been pining after him for so bloody long. You had hope that one day, one day in the future, he'd be enough at peace with himself to realize he felt the same way. But now it's clear that he doesn't, and he never will. He left without so much as a second look at you. No, you're nothing more than a second best friend to him after Steve.

In a fit you chuck the magazine at the wall across the room.

"Ouch. What did Good Housekeeping ever do to you, sport?"

You stomp up from the couch and towards the kitchen. "Go away, Clint."

"Yikes. Okay." He turns on his heel and hurries back for the stairs.

You dig around for something to eat. You stumble on a package of bagels in the cupboard with a note taped to the front.

"Bucky's bagels. Y/N—do not touch!" There's a fucking winky smiling face, too.

The bastard.

You snatch two of the bagels and stomp out of the pantry.

Up in your room again you sulk in silence. You try to preoccupy yourself with some TV, but everything just brings you back to the thought of Bucky out there right now with someone else. Some other girl is making him laugh, touching his arm, holding his hand, kissing his lips...

Oh god. You've tried so hard not to cry, but now that you have, you can't stop. Angry and confused you try wiping the tears from your cheeks as they fall. But nothing is stopping them.

Five hours pass and you're still in the same place—lying on your bed, facing the wall.

"Friday?"

"Yes Miss."

At least she won't abandon you, you think to yourself in your state of self-pity.

"Is Bucky home?" your voice is nearly a whisper.

"No, Miss. He's still out."

You close your eyes. He's still gone. It's been too long for dinner. You hoped he'd leave before the end of the meal; running home to your arms to tell you how much he'd missed you.

No such luck.

At the twelfth hour of the night you still can't sleep. Steve's texted you, even showing up at your door, but you turn him away each time. Then when the rest of the compound seems to be quiet, you sneak back downstairs to the main floor. In your silky blue pajamas and white slippers you go back to that couch that faces the front door. You crawl onto it, pulling up a blanket, and roll onto your side. If you're not going to get any sleep, you may as well do it down here while you wait for him.

But wait... what if he doesn't come back tonight?

Oh god. That's the worst thought you've ever thought in your whole life. What if this other bitch takes him home? What if he spends the night with her?

And you thought kissing was bad.

You turn your face slightly into the throw pillow. It smells like clean cotton and coffee, which almost makes you smile. The fans on the ceiling above you serve as a droning lullaby that ultimately calms you enough to the brink of sleep.

Edging just partially on unconsciousness, you're only slightly aware of the presence of someone as they walk through the front door. You aren't totally present until that person is standing above you with their body warmth and dark shadow.

Eyes snapping open, you look up into Bucky's frowning face.

"Y/N? What the hell are you doing down here? It's four in the morning," Bucky whispers as if disturbing you somehow, even though you're clearly awake.

"Oh, I—I couldn't sleep," you stutter out. Not really a lie, so it'll do. "I thought maybe this would help."

He stares at you for a moment. "You were waiting up for me." It's not a question, but a statement. He's a smart, intuitive man.

You shake your head. "I wasn't."

Bucky shifts slightly more to one side. The light from the lamp behind him casts over your face. He can see the smudged makeup under your eyes from the tears. He gasps and drops to his knees at your side. Hands cupping your cheeks he questions, "Oh sweet girl, what's wrong?" His metal thumb paws at the tearstains. "Was it another nightmare?"

You shake your head and move his hands off of your skin. You can't have him touching you, not when you know he can't be yours. "No." You sit up and tuck the blankets tighter around your body.

Bucky stays kneeling on the ground. "You were crying." He tries to reach out for you again, but you hastily draw away. The frown that paints his pretty face is heartbreaking. "Y/N, what's going on?" Those big blue eyes stare at you for a few moments as he tries to figure it out. "Is this about me going out?" his voice is quiet—meaning he's not entirely sure. He could still be convinced otherwise, but you don't exactly have the strength to argue now.

"I'm tired, Bucky. Just leave me alone." You reach to pull the blankets back up to your chin and lay down.

Bucky's grip around your wrist stops you. "I'm not gonna leave you alone: not like this. Something's upsetting you." He pauses, taking a hard swallow. "And I'm pretty sure it's me."

Two tears stumble out of your eyes. Bucky's already shattered face morphs into something sadder as he sees you cry. "No, no, please don't—please don't cry. Please don't be upset," he chants helplessly. Again he tries to reach for you, to comfort you, but you shove him away. The hard thrust to his shoulder makes his heart break. "Please tell me what's wrong, doll."

"Don't call me that," you snarl. Bucky's taken aback by your tone. It totally contradicts the sadness in your eyes. The curl of your lip is acidic.

"But—but I've always called you doll." Bucky regards you with confusion. His head to one side, he never expects what you're going to say next.

"Yeah, and I've always thought that you loved me, but I guess I was wrong. So I'd appreciate it if you'd stop fucking with my feelings."

Hands to his chest you push him out of your way. You stumble off of the couch, legs wrapped in blankets, before making it to the elevator. You punch the call button with raging breaths and a broken heart as you hear Bucky scrambling to reach your side.

"Wait, wait, wait. Wait! Y/N, wait." You feel his cold metal hand on your shoulder. Grabbing his wrist, you turn around ready to knee him in the gut. He's faster though, and manages to wrap both arms around your midriff and hoist you mid-air before you can attack.

"LET ME GO!" you growl.

Bucky walks you back to the couch. Plopping you down, he cages you in with an arm on either side of your face as he leans over. "No. You're not going anywhere until you explain what the hell you meant by that."

"I said what I said. You know what it means, prick." You cross your arms and Bucky scowls.

"So what you're telling me is that you're mad at me now because you think I've been leading you on? Like—like a game?" In his eyes are sadness and a bit of regret, but mainly confusion. He still doesn't understand?

"I don't fucking know! I know you call me cute names and kiss my forehead and shit. I know that I fell in love with you a hell of a long time ago, and I've been waiting and waiting for you to be ready to fall in love too. But what do you do? Oh you date some stupid bimbo and stay out with her doing god knows what all night while I sit around wishing I was dead or you were dead or—or the whole world was dead because nothing fucking hurts as much as this."

Bucky stares at you. With your faces so close together, you can feel his heavy breaths.

"You... you love me?"

His voice is a quiet, honeyed whisper that holds all sorts of hopeful undertones.

"Unfortunately, yes."

Bucky's small smile is wiped away. "Why unfortunately?"

You roll your eyes. "Because I thought that after all this time, the two of us together, you'd want to be with me. But clearly you don't."

"Clearly I don't?" Bucky repeats. He shakes his head. "And you got all that from a date? A single date I went on?"

"Well, yeah. It's kinda a big deal, Bucky. You haven't been on a date in like a century. If you liked me, you would've let me know. And now I know that you don't. So if you'd just let me leave..." You try to dart underneath his arms and escape, but he stops you by holding onto your sleeve.

"Y/N will you stop for one goddamn second and listen to me?"

"No! I don't want to."

Bucky grabs your face in his hands, sort of like he did before to dry the tears, but now he's got his face three inches from yours and his grip unwavering.

"If you think that there's anyone else in this world I'd rather be with than you, you've never been more wrong."

You blink—looking dazed and confused.

"Y/N, I went on the date because I thought I should. I thought it might be fun; I thought it'd be a good time. But if I had known that you had feelings for me..." he takes a deep breath, staring into your eyes. Losing track of his last thought, Bucky starts over again. "You're my best friend, Y/N. I never wanted to force you into anything that you didn't want. I've spent years now, years, fighting these—these feelings for you. I didn't want to feel them at first, because I didn't want you to ever have to have the burden of loving someone like me." His fingertips dance across your cheek. He watches the soft skin of your face with a smile. "Eventually I gave into it. But I promised myself I'd never let you know. I wouldn't change anything between us. I was always going to be there for you, somehow, but if by some godsend miracle you wanted me... well, then I'd be the luckiest man alive."

Thickly you swallow. You're trying not to be hopeful yet until he reaches the end of his story. There could be a different point here, a totally different outcome, than you're expecting. "So you're saying...?"

"What I'm saying is I love you." He holds you by the back of your neck and smiles into your teary eyed face. "I'm sorry you thought I felt any other way, but I did it on purpose: I was trying to save you, to save what we have together. But if you love me too, if you really do, I know I'm ready to be the man you deserve."

A little laugh bubbles out of your lips. When you nod your head, a stray tear falls. "I really, really do."

Bucky chuckles with you. Then, amidst both the giddy little giggles, Bucky captures your lips up in his for the most beautiful kiss the world's ever seen. There are tears still wet on your cheeks that give saltiness to his otherwise sweet flavor. The first kiss is long, soft, and simple—but it's everything you've been waiting for. His hands on your face, yours bundling up in his shirt, and the smell of his cologne drifting all around.

You're both grinning like idiots when you part. But then Bucky's looking confused as you raise a hand slightly back. Smacking him along the side of the handsome head, you warn him, "Don't you ever pull something like that again, asshole."

Bucky's head falls back with a laugh. His arms, both the metal and the man, wrap tightly around your waist. He buries his face into your chest where he promises sternly, "Never again, doll. It's me and you now." His fingers grasp tightly into your skin, and with your cheek turned to the top of his head you close your eyes and smile. "Just you and me, doll... you and me."