I didn't feel like editing this. It's 2 am. I'm on my period. I'm sick. I'm fucking tired. This may be a cry for help... Help.

Tell me if there are any glaring plot holes already.

Bucky's POV

"Bye honey!" Misti called to me as I walked out of the house. I attempted to give her a friendly smile, but I'm pretty sure it came off much more forced than I intended it to.

"Bye," I grumbled. I trudged to my car and threw the backpack in the passenger seat, slamming the door shut.

I didn't really have a reason to be mad, I just was. Ever since... the accident... I was rarely happy. I'm usually not to be very friendly because of it. This tends to push people away.

Except for that stupid little punk, who seems to be annoyingly persistent.

Speak of the devil.

"Hey! Punk!" I called out to Steve. He looked up from the ground quickly and tore out his earbuds.

"Hey Buck!" he exclaimed. I grinned.

"Get in the car idiot." I gestured at him. He rolled his eyes and ran around the car launching himself into the passenger side.

"Why are you walking, Stevie, you have like another three miles to go," I scolded, smacking him lightly in the back of the head.

"It was nice out," he defended, glaring at me.

"Just lemme pick you up in in the morning," I offered.

"No, it's not that long of a walk," he protested.

"It's fine. And it's like four miles. That'll be torture in the winter." Steve's stared at the floor in front of him, eyes darting around the car as if he were attempting to think of a way out of the situation. "Hey, you okay? I don't need to pick you up if you really don't want me to." He shook his head and plastered on a fake grin.

"No seriously thank you, Buck. That would be great," I tried to flash him a genuine smile, but I think it came off more as concerned.

"MUSIC!" I yelled after a minute or so, throwing my phone in his direction. He anticipated the attack and easily blocked it with his hand.

"Why do you have to throw everything?" he mumbled with a huge grin on his face, picking the phone up off the floor.

We spent the rest of the ride scream-singing to Panic! at the Disco.

"I LOVE HER ANYWAY!" I yelled. Steve grinned at me and hopped out of the car. I clambered out after him. We had been parked since the beginning of the song, but of course, we couldn't leave until it was over.

"Ok see ya, Stevie," I exclaimed as he started to walk towards the school. He stopped and turned to face me.

"You wanna come hang out with me and some of my other friends? You could get to know some more people and-" He started. I interrupted him.

"I'm good. I'd rather... stay out here for a bit." I shrunk slightly, feeling awkward under his confused stare.

"Okay... bye." I unzipped my backpack the minute he turned towards the school and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"I KNEW IT!" Steve yelled. He ran across the schoolyard and I tensed, waiting for something to hit my back.

Steve crashed into me, and I fell to the ground.

"Oh my god Buck I am so sorry." He jumped off of me and reached his hand down to help me up. I rolled over and cracked up, clutching my sides.

"Buck, you're bleeding." He dropped to his knees next to me, reached into his backpack, and pulled out a t-shirt. "I'm not used to being this big I forget I can hurt people like that." He pressed the shirt to my cheek. When he pulled it away, a bloodstain covered where it touched my face. I felt pain prickle my hand and knees, but I didn't care. This was just so goddamn funny to me for some reason.

"Do you have any bandages?" He asked.

By then, I had calmed down enough to choke out, "The glove box." I tried to sit up, but he guided me back down.

When he left, I inspected my hands. The right was scraped up a bit, no real damage. On the left, no damage was done to the hand, as it's metal, but the glove was torn a bit, revealing the silver.

I quickly glanced over the rest of the arm for damage, found none, and placed my palm on the ground before Steve came back with the bandages. I attempted to sit up again.

"Buck! Stay down!" Steve laughed.

"There's gravel in my hair Stevie let me up." He apologized, swore, and let me up. "Hey, no big deal. I tend to be very overprotective of my hair."

"Understandable. It's nice." Steve ran his fingers through my hair before tying it up into a messy bun. For some reason, my instincts told me to lean into his head, but I forced myself not to.

"Buck! Hold still!" I let him put a bandage on my cheek, but jumped up before he could inspect the rest of my body. I kept my left hand balled in a fist as I walked around to the passenger side and pulled a spare glove out of the glove box. I quickly switched the gloves, threw the tattered one on the floor, and slammed the door shut.

"You ok?" Steve asked. I smiled at him.

"Yeah, thanks. Now, why did you barrel into me?" Stevie rubbed the back of his neck while we began to walk towards the school.

"I don't know I saw that you were about to smoke, and I started to run to you and by the time I recognized that it really isn't my place to choose if you smoke or not it was WAY too late. Anyways I'm really sorry I need to stop meddling in other people's stuff I tend to do that a bit too often and-"

"Hey, it's fine Stevie. I'm alive. And you're right I started smoking about a year ago, and I haven't been able to quit."

"Well, maybe I could help you..."

"I think we'd need to be friends for that." I teased.

"Shut up."

I absentmindedly followed him across the parking lot as I listened to Stevie rant about the low quality of the colored pencils he ordered.

"Seriously the color doesn't match the outside AT ALL. Usually, it does even with the low-quality ones. But nope." I smiled while watching his face change with the different emotions he felt when describing his art supplies. "And they don't erase very well, which I guess colored pencils aren't really made to erase but I could use all the help I could get because I fuck things up so much."

"Language Rogers," I interrupted. He rolled his eyes and continued.

"Really I prefer drawing without color though. I have a really nice set of charcoal..." I zoned out while staring at his mouth. And... his perfect lips.

I have a policy about staying away from football players. They usually have a certain toxic masculinity that prevents a real relationship. But I can still admire the artwork.

And he is so GODDAMN BEAUTIFUL.

"Earth to James?" Steve called, pulling me out of my reverie. I blinked, shook my head, and turned to face Stevie.

"Bucky this is Clint, Nat, and Sam. Guys this is Bucky." Steve introduced. I grinned at Natalia.

"Наталья Романова я не видела тебя виду того что Волчанска. Как ваши дела?" I rambled to her, ignoring the confused looks from the others.

"Я иду путем Наташу Романофф сейчас. столкнулся с некоторыми проблемами, когда я вернулся в Штаты. в любом случае я хорошо. как вам нравится жизнь в США." Natal- I mean, Natasha replied. I smiled.

"Я догадаться, это нормально. Я служила в армии некоторое время, пока меня не выписали за то, что я потерял арм в результате в взрыва. Хотя, они бы добрались до меня за то, что Пан, если бы этого не произошло. Я предпочела бы, если вы не говорите остальным об этом, хотя." Nat frowned as I spoke.

"Hе волнуйся, я не Стукач. Хотя которые перчатка не может быть удобной. Это ужасно, что они не позволят тебе служить, потому что ты-Пан. в любом случае это выглядит как и все остальные становится безумным на нас так, может быть, мы должны сохранить догнать для последующего."

"Sorry 'bout all that," Nat said, switching back to English. "Bucky and I were friends in Russia."

"You lived in Russia?" Steve questioned.

"Yeah just for a few years." That clearly didn't clear up any confusion, though the others dismissed the entire exchange.

"Let's all compare schedules. We didn't get a chance to yesterday." We all pulled our schedules out and set them on the table.

I had a surprising number of classes with them. Natali- Natasha (it'll take a while to get used to that) and I are in Forensics, American Literature, and Choir together. (Yes, our school offers Forensics) Clint and I shared American History, Forensics, Health, and Choir. I had Health and American Literature with Sam.

Steve and I had almost all of our classes together. The only difference in our schedules was that I am in Spanish while he is in Drawing, and I am in Health while he is in French.

"Let's go," Natasha sighed, dragging her backpack and herself off the chair. We all gathered our things and trudged to our homerooms.

Ugh, I'm volunteering at two separate camps next week so I'll have stuff to do from 8:45-3:30 (which doesn't seem very long now that I think about it but whatever) Plus I'm doing a daily drawing challenge thing with my friend and I am super behind.

Life is great.

Also, I highkey ship frerard but this is a discussion for another day.

Love y'all

~Kate