Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Bucky didn't understand what exactly had happened between him and Steve. Only that something had changed. On the surface, everything looked the same. Steve still waited for him outside first period, leaning against his lockers with that same easy smile. They still sat next to each other in class. They still ate lunch together every day. Steve still walked him toward his classes whenever he could, talking enough for the both of them whenever Bucky didn't know what to say. But underneath the surface was a new awareness. An electric current that hummed between them, even when they weren't speaking. Sometimes, when he thought Bucky wasn't looking, he'd find Steve's eyes on him, a soft, thoughtful expression on his face. The first few times it happened, Steve's eyes widened in surprise before he quickly looked away, the tips of his ears turning pink. After the tenth or eleventh time, he stopped looking away. He would just offer a small, quiet smile, the kind that made Bucky's heart feel too big for his chest. It wasn't as though Steve had never looked at him before. Steve had always looked at him. Like he was worth paying attention to. But now it was different. Now that Bucky had seen a glimpse of how Steve saw the world through his drawings. How he had seen him. There was a new weight to the gaze. A weight that made his heartbeat quicken. That made him aware. Curious what Steve was seeing. 

Bucky found himself noticing things he'd somehow overlooked before. On Tuesday he became aware of the way Steve absentmindedly reached up to smooth his blond hair back whenever he was concentrating, the curve of his bicep rippling with the movement. On Wednesday he caught himself watching the way Steve chewed thoughtfully on the end of his pen during class, brows drawn together in deep concentration until he finally solved whatever problem had him stumped. On Thursday, he'd found himself mesmerized by the way Steve would sometimes talk with his hands when he got excited about something, a wide, unselfconscious grin on his face. He started collecting those little details without meaning to. The way Steve’s eyes lit up when he saw him. The way Steve would crease his brows when he was worried. The way the blue of his eyes changed depending on the light. Somehow those little observations settled somewhere inside him, tucked away like a precious treasure. 

Steve seemed to be doing the same thing. More than once, he would surprise Bucky with an observation so small, so specific, Bucky couldn't figure out how he could have possibly noticed. “You were tapping your fingers to that song Mr Smith played in class." Steve said casually one afternoon as they walked down the hall. "Did you like it?" Bucky froze. He hadn’t even realized he’d done it. “I-I did?” Steve just nodded, smiling. “It’s a good song.” 

The next day, Steve looked at him for a long moment before tilting his head. "Your hair's getting longer." Bucky instinctively reached up, running a hand through the dark strands. It did feel a little shaggier than usual. A flicker of anxiety ran through him. "Is that okay?" Bucky asked before he could stop himself. Steve's expression was one of pure surprise. "Okay? Why wouldn't it be okay?" He shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "It looks good, Buck." Heat bloomed across Bucky's face. "O-Oh." He dropped his hand immediately, suddenly far too aware of the strands brushing the back of his neck. “Thanks.” Steve just smiled. 

Thursday afternoon brought rain. It started halfway through second period, a steady patter against the classroom windows that slowly grew louder until it became a constant backdrop to the lesson. Without thinking, Bucky found himself watching the droplets race each other down the glass. The gray sky. The trees swaying in the wind. The world outside blurred into soft streaks of silver. "You always look out the window when it rains." Bucky tore his gaze away from the window. “What?” Steve's voice was barely above a whisper, careful not to interrupt the lesson. "Every time it rains," Steve said with a small shrug. "You always stop what you're doing for a minute and watch it." Bucky blinked, taken aback. He'd never realized that. But Steve was right. He did like the rain. He liked the way it washed the world clean, the way it muted all the noise. The way it made him feel like he was hidden, tucked away from the rest of the world. “I guess I do.” Steve just smiled, the sight making Bucky's chest feel warm. “I like the rain too, Buck”. For reasons Bucky couldn't quite explain, that made him smile. 

Despite the quiet moments Steve kept giving him, Bucky couldn't keep the memories from the weekend from appearing in his mind. They surfaced without warning, usually at the worst possible moments. Steve would smile at him, gentle and kind, and for the briefest instant Bucky would remember the fantasy Rumlow had forced his mind to conjure. Steve’s strong hands touching him, opening him up. Eyes watching him as he unravelled. The shame hit him so suddenly it stole the air from his lungs. He’d have to look away, unable to meet Steve’s eyes, convinced that somehow Steve could see the thoughts written across his face. 

Other times it was something even smaller. He would sit in class and suddenly feel like he couldn’t breathe, like the weight of the collar was still around his throat, a rough edge pressing against his skin. Bucky's hand would instinctively drift to the base of his neck before he caught himself. His fingertips searching in a split second of panic for leather that wasn't there. It was gone. He knew it was. Even so, his fingers still lingered there until his pulse slowed again, until the reminder solidified. 

At home things were unusually quiet. Like Pierce had informed him last Friday, Rumlow was busy all week on work assignments, and Bucky didn’t see him even once after having woken in his arms Monday morning. Pierce was also surprisingly absent, spending most of his time locked away in his office, the low murmur of phone meetings sometimes seeping through the door. Bucky was left to his own devices, a ghost in his own house. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten so much time to himself. For once, the house didn't feel like it was holding its breath. The tension in his shoulders loosened. He did his homework without listening for footsteps in the hall. He read a new book he’d borrowed at the library in the living room uninterrupted. He even gathered the courage to use the TV to watch a movie. The freedom felt surreal. Every now and then he'd still catch himself freezing when a floorboard creaked or a door shut somewhere in the house, his heart jumping into his throat before he remembered. Rumlow wasn’t there. Pierce was still in his office. The realization never stopped feeling new. 

By Friday morning, Bucky was a bundle of nerves. Every time he glanced at the clock, his stomach fluttered. The party was tonight. He’d barely allowed himself to think about it after telling Steve he would be going on Monday, but now that it was here, only a few hours away, the thoughts came rushing over him all at once. Part of him couldn’t wait. For one evening, he’d get to do something normal. Be outside the house without supervision. Watch people laugh and dance and socialize outside of school. He’d never experienced anything like this before. Another part of him wanted to disappear. There would be strangers. Loud music. Crowded rooms. Expectations he didn't understand. What if someone asked him to dance? What if he said the wrong thing? What if he stood in the corner all night and everyone realized he didn't belong there? 

Then there was Steve. That thought alone was enough to steady the anxious flutter in his chest. Steve would be there. He wondered what costume Steve had chosen. Would he be something silly, or something cool? Maybe his mother had helped him make it. The thought made Bucky smile before he could stop himself. But then he remembered his own costume, probably still lying in Rumlow's room, abandoned after last weekend. His smile faded instantly. Dog ears. A tail. The leather collar. His fingers brushed unconsciously against the base of his neck. The memories forced their way into his mind. Kneeling on the floor, being led around on a leash. Begging for Rumlow to fuck him. Every degrading thing he’d been made to do just to hear the words. You can go to the party. He swallowed hard against the bile rising in his throat. No. He pushed the memories down. He wouldn't let them ruin this. Tonight wasn’t about that. It was about spending time with Steve outside of school. About pretending, if only for a few hours, that he was just another seventeen year old going to a party. He had earned this. He wasn’t going to let himself think about the price he’d paid to be there.

Bucky reached his locker, expecting to see Steve already waiting, bouncing on the balls of his feet, probably already talking a mile a minute about the party. But the usual spot he would lean on was empty. Bucky stopped. His eyes searched the hallway almost immediately, expecting to spot the familiar blond hair somewhere nearby. But he wasn’t there. A strange unease settled low in his stomach. Maybe he'd overslept. Maybe he'd gotten sick. Maybe... The thought came uninvited. Maybe this was finally it, the moment Rumlow and Pierce had warned him about. The moment Steve realized Bucky was too much trouble. The moment he'd given up on him. He forced himself to unlock his locker, pretending the knot in his stomach wasn't tightening with every passing second. 

As the minutes ticked by and the first-period bell grew closer, the unease began to solidify into a cold knot of dread. Students hurried past, their laughter and chatter a distant hum. Bucky stood frozen by his locker, a statue of indecision. He should go to class. That’s what he always did. But the thought of walking into that classroom and not seeing Steve sitting there, of not having that solid presence anchoring him to the room, felt impossible. Before Steve, walking through the school alone had simply been normal. He'd eaten lunch by himself. Sat through classes in silence. Kept his head down until the final bell rang. He hadn’t realized how much that had changed. 

The bell rang, ripping him from his thoughts. With a quiet exhale, Bucky closed his locker and forced his feet to move. Every step towards the classroom felt heavier than it should have. The classroom was already filling when he slipped inside. Conversations drifted between desks, chairs scraped across the floor, someone laughed loudly near the back of the room. It all felt distant. Bucky made his way to his seat by the window, moving automatically. Steve's chair beside him was empty. He stared at it for a moment longer than he meant to before lowering himself into his own seat. Mr. Smith set his coffee down on the desk and began taking attendance. Bucky just stared down at his desk, not really seeing. "Barnes." 

"...Here." Then a few moments later. "Rogers." Silence. Attendance passed, and the teacher started talking about what they would go through today. Bucky wasn’t listening. Then suddenly the classroom door burst open. "Sorry!" Steve called, slightly out of breath. "I'm sorry, I know I'm late!" Every head in the room turned, Bucky’s eyes snapped up, suddenly wide and alert. Steve stood in the doorway, cheeks flushed from running, blond hair thoroughly windswept. His backpack hung lopsided over one shoulder, and there was a streak of bright blue paint across one cheek. Mr. Smith sighed, though there was more amusement than annoyance in it. "Nice of you to join us, Rogers."

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve said with an apologetic grin before hurrying to his seat. He slid into the chair beside Bucky, still catching his breath. "Holy shit, I made it," he whispered, mostly to himself. Bucky looked at him for a long second. The knot in his chest loosened so suddenly it almost hurt. A dozen questions crowded behind his lips. He wanted to ask where he was. He wanted to ask if he was okay. He wanted to say that he was glad he was here. Instead he settled for “You have paint on your face.” Steve's hand flew to his cheek, wiping at it. He looked at the smear of blue on his fingertips and laughed quietly. “Oops, must’ve wiped my cheek while I was painting.” Bucky just nodded, voice failing him.

"I was finishing my costume this morning, and I looked at the clock and realized I had, like... ten minutes before school started. Had to run the whole way." Steve laughed at himself, but the laugh faded when Bucky didn't respond. "Wait 'til you see it tonight. You’re gonna love it." Bucky couldn't quite manage a smile, something in his expression giving him away. Steve's grin faltered. "...Hey." Bucky looked down, unable to meet his eyes. "I'm okay." He said it so simply, as if he'd somehow understood the question Bucky hadn't asked. "Sorry I worried you." Bucky swallowed, feeling the knot in his chest finally, completely, untangle. He shook his head. "It's okay." Steve smiled, the easy, familiar smile Bucky had been missing all morning, before turning back toward the front of the classroom. Steve was okay. He was here. He hadn’t left. 

The rest of the day felt like a countdown. The usual drone of lessons and ticking clock was now underscored by a low, constant hum of anticipation. Bucky could barely make himself eat at lunch, scared it would only come back up again. He could feel Steve’s energy buzzing beside him. "You got your costume figured out, then?" Steve asked, trying to sound casual. He’d been trying not to ask all day. Bucky's grip tightened around his fork.  "...Yeah." Steve waited. "You gonna tell me what it is?" Bucky stared at the table, willing his hand not to start trembling. "It's... a surprise." The words felt bitter in his mouth. Steve's eyebrows shot up. "So we’re both keeping secrets." He grinned, trying to keep the mood light, but he could feel Bucky's discomfort from across the table. He hesitated for a second, before deciding to say. "You don't sound very excited." Bucky dropped his fork, folding his hands in his lap so Steve wouldn't see them shaking. "I-I don't know if I should wear it." He couldn't look at Steve as he said it, eyes firmly planted on a scratch on the table. There was a beat of silence, then Steve’s voice, softer than before. "Why not?" The question was gentle. Not prying. Just... open. 

Bucky’s mind raced. He couldn't explain. He couldn't say, because the costume I was given was designed to humiliate me, and the idea of wearing it makes me want to crawl out of my own skin. He couldn't say, because the thought of you seeing me and thinking I look ridiculous would kill me. "...It's stupid," he muttered at last. Steve frowned. “Bucky it’s Halloween. Everyone’s gonna look stupid. That’s kind of the point.” Bucky frowned. “You don’t understand.” Steve’s gaze softened. “Then help me understand.” Bucky felt a familiar wave of frustration and guilt crash over him. He shook his head. “I-I just…” he let out a frustrated huff, unable to find the words. Then, quietly, “Promise you won’t laugh.” Promise me you won’t look at me differently. A flicker of understanding crossed Steve’s eyes. "Bucky." Reluctantly, Bucky looked up. "I would never laugh at you." The words were so certain, so absolute, they hit Bucky with the force of a physical blow. His throat felt tight. He could only nod. Steve gave him a small, reassuring smile and let the conversation drift somewhere else. 

The final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day and the start of the weekend. It was a sound that usually brought Bucky a sense of dread, but today, it only amplified the thrumming excitement in his body. Tonight he’d get to experience something new. Something private, selfish, just for himself. Steve slung his backpack over his shoulder as they walked out of the classroom and into the bustling hallway. "So," he said, falling into step beside Bucky. "The plan. I was thinking I could swing by your house around seven thirty and we can walk together? Does that work? Or do you want to meet?" Bucky froze, shaking his head immediately. The thought of Steve anywhere near his house made his stomach clench. "N-No. I'll... I'll meet you."

 "Okay," Steve said easily. “I’ll meet you there then. Party starts at eight.” Bucky started walking again, relieved Steve didn’t question his choice. “I’ll text you the address.” Bucky just nodded. “I’ll see you later then” Steve smiled. Bucky looked at him. Later. The word hung in the air, warm with possibility. He would see Steve later. Not on Monday, but tonight. Outside of school. Bucky’s heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic, exhilarating rhythm. "Yeah," Bucky said, unable to stop the small smile that spread across his face. "See you later, Steve."

Bucky walked through the front door, the strange quiet of the house washing over him. He could hear muffled sounds from Pierce’s office upstairs but nothing else. He dropped his backpack by the door and started to head towards the stairs, needing a few minutes alone in his room to prepare himself for tonight. His footsteps faltered as he passed the living room. Rumlow was sitting on the couch, scrolling through something on his phone. He looked up as Bucky entered the room, a slow, predatory smile spreading across his face. Bucky stopped. For a brief, disorienting moment, he'd forgotten. The past week had been so quiet. Every afternoon he'd come home to an empty living room, Pierce shut away in his office, Rumlow nowhere to be seen. He'd almost grown used to it. Seeing him there now sent a jolt through his chest. Rumlow slipped his phone into his pocket and leaned back against the couch. "There's my puppy." He gave him a slow look, the kind that made Bucky feel exposed. "You excited for your big night?" He didn't give Bucky a chance to answer. "Get over here."

Bucky’s legs felt heavy as he crossed the room, a familiar dread coiling in his stomach. He stopped a few feet from the couch, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. Rumlow looked him over, a smirk playing on his lips, then he stood, erasing the distance between them in one easy stride. “Can’t believe my baby’s going to his first party.” He reached out before Bucky could think to flinch, hooking two fingers beneath his chin. "Look at me." Bucky's breath caught. He let Rumlow tilt his head up until their eyes met. Rumlow studied his face for a long moment. Bucky could feel the nervousness written all over him. His pulse hammered in his throat beneath Rumlow's fingers, his shoulders held stiff, his breathing shallow. Rumlow's thumb brushed against his lower lip. “Remember why we’re letting you go.” He said, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “We’re giving you this opportunity. This trust. Don’t make me regret it.” He tightened his grip, his thumb pressing into Bucky’s chin. "You will be on your best behaviour. Do you understand?" Bucky swallowed hard, the motion difficult with Rumlow holding him so tightly. "Yes, sir." The words were barely a whisper. “Good boy.” He released Bucky's chin with a little shove, making him stumble back a step. “Come on.” He said, walking towards the stairs, motioning for Bucky to follow him. "Let's get you ready." 

Bucky’s stomach dropped. He hesitated for a second before following Rumlow up the stairs and down the hall to his bedroom, every step feeling like a march to the gallows. Rumlow opened the door and stepped inside, leaving Bucky no choice but to enter after. The familiar scent of Rumlow’s cologne and clean laundry hit him, making his stomach twist. A few steps to the right, lying on Rumlow's neatly made bed, was the costume. Bucky stared at it, a cold dread seeping into his veins. The ears, the tail. And the collar. The sight of it sent a shock through him, a phantom pressure tightening around his throat. He could almost feel the cool leather against his skin. 

“You’ve been looking forward to this all week, haven’t you?” Rumlow said, a smug satisfaction in his voice. He walked over to the bed and picked up the collar. Bucky's breath hitched. He couldn't do it. He couldn't put it on. He couldn’t let Steve see him like this. "Please," The word slipped out before he could stop it. “D-Don’t make me wear it.” Rumlow paused, turning to him slowly. "Don't make you?" He took a step closer, the collar hanging from his fingers. "You seem to be forgetting something, puppy. This isn't a negotiation. You will wear what I tell you to wear." He moved to stand behind Bucky, so close he could feel the warmth of his body. "Hold still." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He felt Rumlow's breath on the back of his neck, then the cool, unyielding press of the leather. The buckle clicked shut. The collar was snug but not painfully tight. Just tight enough to be a constant, suffocating reminder. “Besides… It would be a shame not to show Steve your adorable costume.” The mention of Steve was like a shard of glass right through his chest. Rumlow leaned in, his lips brushing gently against the nape of his neck. The sensation sent a shiver through his body. "Here." Rumlow stepped back, holding the ears out to him. Bucky stared at the dog ear headband for a long moment before taking it with trembling hands and putting it on. The fuzzy, brown ears flopped comically on either side of his head. The cheap plastic felt flimsy. Humiliating. “And the tail.” Rumlow held the elastic open, crouching down, signaling for Bucky to step through the elastic. He obeyed quickly, feeling Rumlow slowly pulling the elastic up around his legs until it sat snugly around his waist beneath his shirt, leaving only the faux tail visible where it emerged from the back, giving the illusion that it was attached to him. Bucky flinched when Rumlow gave it a small tug. “Perfect.”

Then Rumlow’s hands gripped his shoulders, forcing him around to face the full-length mirror on the closet door. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. “Look.” Rumlow’s command was sharp. Bucky’s eyes fluttered open. He could barely recognize himself. A boy with wide, terrified eyes, with ridiculous dog ears and a black leather collar around his throat. The sight made him want to crawl out of his own skin. He could feel the heat of shame burning his cheeks. Rumlow's reflection loomed behind him, a dark shadow of a smile on his face. “Such a cute puppy...” he murmured, his chin resting on Bucky's shoulder. "Look at you." One of Rumlow's hands slid down Bucky's chest, resting flat against his stomach, while the other wrapped possessively around his waist. "Look how happy you are to see your Master." Bucky stared at the mirror, at the collar, at Rumlow's possessive grip. He felt hollowed out, a shell of a person. He thought of Steve, of his earnest smile and the way he’d promised he wouldn't laugh. The hope he'd been nursing all day felt like a fool's dream now. Bucky swallowed. He could feel the heat from Rumlow's body through the thin fabric of his shirt. Rumlow's thumb stroked lazy circles against his skin. "Remember, this party is a reward." He said, his lips close to Bucky's ear. "A reward for being so, so good for me this past weekend.” His hand slid a little lower. Bucky’s body went rigid. “Remember how desperately you wanted this?” He pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “Remember how pathetically you begged?” Bucky squeezed his eyes shut. He remembered. He remembered everything. Every degrading and humiliating thing he’d done. The humiliation burned. "Don't forget who owns you. No matter who you're talking to. No matter who smiles at you. When you look in the mirror tonight, I want you to remember who put you in that costume." He tightened his grip. "Now smile." Bucky's lips trembled, a tear falling down his cheek. He couldn't. "I said smile." Rumlow's voice was dangerously soft. He squeezed Bucky’s chin, forcing his head to the side. “Smile for Master.” Bucky forced the corners of his mouth up into a grotesque parody of a smile. “Good boy.” Rumlow said, releasing him. 

"Now turn around." Bucky obeyed, his body moving on autopilot. Rumlow reached out, gently wiping away the tears. “Don’t cry, puppy. You’re going to a party. You wanted this, remember?” His thumbs stroked over Bucky's cheekbones. “I-I’m sorry, sir.” he choked out, barely above a whisper. “We expect you back no later than one. Do you understand?" Bucky just nodded. That would give him five hours. “Do you understand?” Rumlow repeated. “I understand, sir.”

"Good." Rumlow stepped away from him, finally giving him space. “You may go.” The words were a dismissal. Bucky didn't hesitate. He turned and fled the room as fast as he could without looking like he was running. He didn’t stop until he was safely in his own room, closing the door behind him. The click of the latch echoed in the silence. He stood frozen for a long moment, the back of his head pressed against the cool wood. He felt sick. He wanted to rip the collar from his neck. He wanted to tear the ears from his head. He wanted to rip the tail from its elastic band and throw it into the trash where it belonged. He forced himself to take a deep, shuddering breath, the leather of the collar digging into his skin. He took another, then another, slowly fighting down the panic until it was nothing but a small buzz. He reminded himself this was what he wanted. He would get to see Steve. Hang out with him outside of school at an actual party. Rumlow wouldn’t ruin this. He refused.

He moved to his bed, pulling his phone out from where it had been charging on his nightstand all day. The time read 7.20. He would have to leave soon. He checked his messages, seeing the address Steve had texted him. The address was for a house in a neighborhood Bucky didn't know. It would take him at least forty-five minutes to walk there. Good. He needed the time to brace himself. To walk off the anxiety Rumlow had so carefully cultivated inside him. He stood in front of the mirror, the image from Rumlow’s room flashing in his mind. He looked exactly the same. Pathetic. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. He pulled a deep red hoodie from his closet. He zipped it up to his chin, the fabric at least hiding some of the collar. The dog ears and tail would still be visible, but there was nothing he could do about that. He would just tell everyone it was part of a cheap costume he'd thrown together. He could do this.

About forty-five minutes later, Bucky stood on the opposite side of the street, staring at the house. It looked like every other house on the street, but the thumping bass of a stereo and the cheap Halloween decor around a door that was open, spilling a group of teens in costumes outside, laughing and shouting over the music, set it apart from the rest. He took a deep breath, the chill of the night air sharp in his lungs. For a second, the voice in his head whispered to him.

You don’t belong here.

He shook the thought away, pushing his shoulders back and forcing himself to walk across the street, trying to look casual. He was just another kid at a party. As he got closer to the open front door, the heat from inside washed over him, and the smell of cheap beer and punch hit him. He slipped through the doorway and into the chaos, before he could lose his courage.

The house was packed. People were crammed into every available space, their faces illuminated by the strobing lights of cheap decorations. The music was so loud it vibrated through the floor, up his legs, and into his chest. He stood just inside the doorway, feeling utterly overwhelmed. He felt the collar around his throat, a suffocating reminder. He could feel the dog ears flopping against his hair with every head turn. He could feel the tail brushing against the back of his thighs. He had never felt more exposed. He could feel eyes on him. He knew he looked ridiculous. A boy in a red hoodie with dog ears. 

Every few steps, he’d catch someone looking at him, a flicker of what Bucky interpreted as confusion or amusement in their eyes. Bucky looked away immediately, heat creeping into his cheeks. He had to find Steve. He pushed past a couple making out in the hallway, narrowly avoiding a guy who stumbled into him, spilling some of his drink on the floor. "Sorry, man!" the guy laughed before disappearing back into the crowd. Bucky barely heard him. His eyes swept over every face he passed. Blond hair? No. Wrong person. He kept moving. His pulse quickened, breath coming out faster. He had to be here somewhere. He checked the kitchen, which was just as crowded as the living room. He checked the back porch, where a group of people were smoking and talking loudly. The house suddenly felt impossibly large. Every room was full of strangers. Every laugh sounded louder than the last. His vision blurred around the edges, the strobing lights smearing together as he turned another slow circle, searching. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe Steve wasn’t here. His chest tightened. His vision swam. He needed to get out. 

"Buck!" 

The voice cut clean through the noise. Bucky spun around. Steve was weaving through the crowd toward him, grinning so broadly it looked like his face might split in two. The pirate hat sat crooked on his head. A red sash was tied lopsided around his waist, and a homemade cardboard cutlass bounced awkwardly against his hip with every step. One of the sleeves of his loose white shirt was pushed up higher than the other, making the whole outfit look delightfully lopsided and homemade. He looked ridiculous. Amazing. 

“You’re here!” The sheer, unadulterated joy on Steve's face as he looked at Bucky made something inside him, something that had been coiled tight with dread and shame, finally go slack. "I've been looking everywhere for you!" Steve yelled over the music as he reached him. His eyes were bright, taking in Bucky’s costume, but the expression on his face wasn't amusement. It was... something else. Something softer. “You made it!”

Bucky could only nod, the relief so potent it left him feeling dizzy. Steve was here. And he was smiling at him. Not looking at him with disgust. Not laughing. "Your costume..." Steve started, reaching out and gently flicking one of the dog ears. A jolt went through Bucky at the casual touch. "I love it." Bucky stared at him, certain he’d misheard. "You... you do?" The words came out quiet against the loud music, but Steve was standing close enough that he heard. "Bucky, yeah!" Steve's grin widened. "It's awesome. You're like... a werewolf, but before the transformation? Like, he's just a regular guy, but he has the ears and tail. It's clever." He looked so genuinely impressed, so unbothered. The lie Steve had invented for him felt like a gift. Bucky latched onto it. It was an explanation. It was plausible. It wasn't the humiliating truth. "Y-Yeah," Bucky managed, finding a scrap of his voice. "That's... that's it."

“I love your costume too!” Bucky found himself saying. Steve laughed “You do? I just threw something together.” Bucky nodded. "Yeah." His eyes drifted over the crooked pirate hat, the lopsided sash, the unevenly painted cardboard cutlass hanging from Steve's belt. "It... suits you." A faint flush crept across Steve's cheeks. "It does?" 

"Yeah." Bucky smiled, just a little. "You make a good pirate." Steve ducked his head with a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well..." He cleared his throat. "Good." Before an awkward silence could settle between them, he suddenly grabbed the cardboard cutlass and yanked it dramatically from its makeshift sheath. "Yarr!" he declared, pointing it at Bucky with exaggerated seriousness. "Hand over your candy, matey, or prepare to walk the plank!" The ridiculousness of it caught Bucky completely off guard. A full body laugh bubbled up from his chest, startled and real. Steve's eyes widened in pleased surprise, his own grin growing impossibly wider. The noise of the party, the press of the crowd, it all faded away. There was only Steve, standing in front of him with a cardboard sword, looking at him like he'd just performed a magic trick. “You like it?” Steve asked, showing off his sword, turning it in every direction so Bucky could see. “Yeah. The paint job is impressive.” Bucky replied, laugh still present in his tone. "I painted it myself." Steve put it back in his sash. "My mom actually came up with the pirate idea. She said it'd be cheaper than buying one, so we made everything out of cardboard and stuff we already had." He tapped the blade with a finger.

"It was supposed to look more... sword-like." He laughed. “But I tried my best.”

"I think it looks perfect." Bucky smiled. Steve beamed back. "So, what's the plan?" Steve asked, leaning in even closer so he could be heard better. Bucky's breath caught. With Steve this close he could smell the faint scent of Steve’s cologne. It was clean and warm, not overpowering like Rumlow. Subconsciously, Bucky leaned in a fraction too. "The plan?" Bucky repeated, his mind going blank. Steve's gaze was warm, earnest. "Yeah. Are you thirsty? Hungry? There's, like, a million different drink options in the kitchen, or Sam's got a cooler with stuff out in the backyard." Bucky's gaze darted toward the kitchen, a wall of laughing, jostling bodies. Then toward the back door, where a haze of smoke hung in the air. Both options sent a fresh wave of anxiety through him. But he had to choose. Steve was waiting. "I... kitchen?" The word came out as a question. "Kitchen it is," Steve said with a decisive nod. He glanced back to make sure Bucky was with him before slipping into the crowd. Bucky followed, sticking so close he was almost stepping on Steve's heels. The press of bodies was immediate. A girl in a fairy costume with glowing wings bumped into him, giggling an apology. A guy in a gorilla suit clapped him on the back as he passed. Bucky flinched at the unexpected touch, his entire body tensing. The collar suddenly felt too tight. He fought the urge to tug at it, forcing his hand to stay at his side.  You're okay. It's just a party. He focused on the back of Steve's pirate hat bobbing through the crowd and kept walking. 

They finally broke through the thickest part of the crowd into the slightly less chaotic space of the kitchen. The music wasn’t as loud in here. Every available surface was covered in half-empty cups, bags of chips, and bottles of different liquor and beer. Steve reached into an ice-filled cooler tucked beneath the counter and pulled out a beer for himself. "Okay," he said, popping the cap off against the edge of the counter with surprising confidence. "What do you want? They've got Coke, Sprite..." He leaned over to peer into the refrigerator. "...Orange soda. Uh... something bright red?" Bucky couldn't help smiling. "Whatever's easiest." Before Steve could grab anything, a loud voice cut across the kitchen. 

"Holy shit!" Bucky turned. Walker stood in the doorway, already holding a red plastic cup, his football jersey stretched over a pair of shoulder pads. He was looking directly at Bucky, a wide, leering grin spreading across his face. "Never thought I’d see the day Barnes is at a party." Several heads turned. Bucky instinctively shrank back half a step. Walker's eyes swept over the dog ears before a grin spread across his face. "Didn't know we were letting strays in." A couple of people nearby chuckled. The back of Bucky's neck burned. "Back off, Walker." Steve said, stepping partially in front of Bucky, his body language subtly shifting with warning. Walker ignored him, already reaching for a bottle on the counter. "Nah, the guy actually had the nerve to show up. That deserves a proper drink." He grabbed a red cup, poured in a more than generous splash of liquor, topped it off with soda, then gave it a quick stir with one finger. "Here you go, Barnes. Loosen up a little." He shoved the cup toward Bucky. “I-I…” Bucky hesitated. "Oh, sorry," Walker added with mock concern. "Does your master let you drink?"

The jab hit Bucky like a physical blow. He froze, the room suddenly tilting on its axis. He could feel Walker's eyes on him, could feel the curious gazes of the others in the kitchen. His heart hammered against his ribs, each beat a painful thud. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. A dark anger Bucky hadn't seen since that one gym lesson months ago flashed across Steve's face, sharp and sudden. Bucky recognized it immediately, fear rushing through him. No. He wouldn’t let Steve do something stupid again because of him. Before Steve could say another word, Bucky stepped around him and took the cup from Walker's hand. He didn’t want it. The thought of drinking alcohol, mixed with Walker’s gloating face, made his stomach turn. But taking the cup was the fastest way to make this stop. The quickest way to get everyone's eyes off him. Steve's mouth opened. "Buck, you don't-" The words died on his lips. The anger was gone now, replaced by concern. Bucky raised the cup with a trembling hand, taking a long swallow. The liquor burned all the way down, bitter enough to make his eyes water. Walker barked out a laugh. "There you go." He reached over and ruffled Bucky's hair between the dog ears as if rewarding a pet. "Good puppy." Bucky went rigid. The shame was so hot and immediate, Bucky thought he might actually pass out. Walker snorted to himself, clearly pleased with his own joke. "Have fun, Barnes." With one last grin, he turned and disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the kitchen buzzing with conversation again as people quickly lost interest. 

“Bucky-" Steve's voice was low and tight. "You don't have to drink that." Bucky looked down at the cup in his hand, then at Steve's concerned face. A wave of shame and gratitude washed over him, so powerful it almost brought him to his knees. He couldn't explain why he took it. He couldn't explain the panic that had seized him, the desperate need to just make it stop. All he could do was shake his head, the motion small and stiff. "It’s fine." The words were flat, devoid of any emotion. He took another, smaller sip of the burning liquid to prove it, the taste of it sour in his mouth. He could see the conflict in Steve's eyes, the questions he wanted to ask but kept to himself. "Okay…" Steve said, though it was clear he didn't believe him for a second. "Just... try not to chug it, alright?" He tried for a light tone, but it didn't quite land. Bucky nodded.

The silence that followed felt awkward, weighed down by everything neither of them knew how to say. He didn't want this to be how the night went. He'd spent all week looking forward to being here. He’d done... unspeakable things for this. He wasn't going to let Walker take that away from him too. "Um..." Bucky started, looking around the kitchen for an escape. "Did you want to find somewhere to sit?" he asked, trying to sound casual. Steve's expression softened. "Actually, yeah." Relief slipped into his voice, as though he'd been hoping Bucky would ask. "Come on." He led Bucky out of the kitchen and down a narrow flight of carpeted stairs. With every step, the pounding music softened until it was little more than a steady pulse overhead. The basement felt like a different world. 

Someone had turned it into a makeshift game room. A worn sectional couch hugged one wall beneath a television where a racing game had been paused. Beanbags were scattered across the carpet, a battered foosball table sat in one corner, and a shelf lined with old board games leaned slightly to one side. Only a handful of people were down there, talking, the atmosphere relaxed. "Better?" Steve asked. Bucky let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "Yeah." They wandered over to an empty corner where a couple of oversized beanbags had been shoved against the wall. Bucky slid down until he was sitting on the carpet with his back resting against one of them. Steve settled beside him, stretching his legs out in front of him. 

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Bucky lifted the cup and took another careful sip. The alcohol still burned, though less sharply this time. A faint warmth began to spread through his chest, softening the tight knot that had settled there after Walker's comments. He wasn't sure if he liked the taste, but he liked that his hands weren't shaking quite as much. He glanced sideways at Steve. He was absentmindedly picking at a loose thread on the cuff of his pirate shirt. Bucky turned the cup slowly in his hands. "You made the pirate costume this year." Steve nodded. "Do you always make your own costumes?" Steve laughed. "Pretty much.” He took a sip of his beer before settling back against the beanbag. “We never really had a lot of money for store-bought ones. So my mom and I would get creative." He smiled a little, a private, fond expression on his face. "One year, I wanted to be a robot. So we got a bunch of cardboard boxes and some silver spray paint. I spent a week making all these dials and buttons out of bottle caps." He shook his head at the memory. "I was so proud of it, but then I couldn't fit through any of the doorways at school."

A small, genuine laugh escaped Bucky. The image of a small, determined Steve getting stuck in a doorway was surprisingly easy to picture. "Last year I was a knight." Steve continued, warming to the subject. "The armor was made out of tinfoil and duct tape. It looked terrible, but it made a really cool sound when I walked." He mimed walking, making a crinkling noise with his mouth, and Bucky found himself laughing again. “And when I tried to take it off, the duct tape was stuck to my skin in some places. My mom had to rip it off me. It was horrible.” Steve laughed as he told the story. “That sounds painful.” Bucky watched him, captivated. He loved hearing about these small, perfect moments from a life Bucky could barely imagine. “Yeah! It ripped out like half my arm hair.” Steve said, still laughing. Bucky found himself joining. He felt lighter, the weight of the collar and the humiliation of Walker's words receding, pushed back by the warmth of the alcohol and the easy rhythm of Steve's stories.

"What about you?" Steve asked suddenly, turning to look at him fully. His eyes were bright and curious in the dim light. "What was your best costume?"

The question hit him like a splash of cold water. The laughter died in Bucky's throat. Halloween. In the Pierce household it was just another day. Another day to be quiet, to stay out of the way. To be good. He took another sip of his drink, stalling. "I... don't really do Halloween." The words were quiet. He stared down into the liquid swirling in his cup. He could feel Steve's gaze on him, feel the shift in the atmosphere. "Oh." Steve said, his voice suddenly softer. "Yeah. It's... it's not really a big deal at my house." Bucky added, the half-truth feeling clumsy on his tongue. He didn't want Steve's pity. He didn't want to see that look in his eyes, the one that said he felt sorry for him. “This is my first time celebrating it.” He added quietly.

Steve just looked at him for a long moment, and Bucky braced himself for the look, but it never came. Instead, a slow smile spread across Steve’s face. "Well," he said, his voice full of a quiet warmth that made Bucky’s chest ache. "If this is your first one, I’m glad I could be a part of it.” A strange warmth blossomed in his chest, softer than the burn of the alcohol, spreading through him until he almost didn't know what to do with it. He just nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“How is it so far?" Steve asked “The party, I mean.” Bucky spun the cup in his hands, watching the liquid slosh back and forth. For a second he was unsure what to say. "...Upstairs was a lot," he found himself starting, his voice low. "But now... this is good." He gestured vaguely at their quiet corner, at the empty space between them. Steve's smile widened, a look of pure, unadulterated relief washing over his face. "Good, I'm glad." He settled back against the beanbag, looking content. "I'm not a huge fan of the whole crammed into a house with a hundred people thing either. I was only really coming because I wanted to hang out with this really cool werewolf." The admission hung in the air between them, simple and honest. Bucky’s heart gave a strange, uneven lurch. He felt a blush creep up his neck, warming the skin beneath the collar. He took another swallow of his drink. "H-He's not that cool." Steve’s grin only widened. "I don't know. I think he's pretty cool. He's got the ears and everything."

Bucky laughed then, the sound coming out more freely this time. It was easy, being here with Steve. “You’re an idiot.” He said, still laughing. Steve looked ridiculously pleased with himself, like making Bucky laugh was a personal victory. The warmth in Bucky’s chest had spread into his shoulders now, loosening muscles he hadn't even realized he'd been holding tense. The room felt softer somehow. The laughter and music drifting from upstairs no longer sounded as imposing.

 "There you are!" It was Sam, grinning from ear to ear, a pair of fluffy white angel wings strapped to his back. He spotted them and made a beeline over. “Hey Sam.” Steve grinned up at him. "I was wondering where you ran off to Steve. I come down here to check on everyone and I find you hiding out." He nudged Steve's leg with his foot. "And Bucky, glad you could make it, man!" He turned to Bucky, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Love the costume. Very subtle." He winked. "T-Thanks." Bucky mumbled, pulling his hoodie self-consciously tighter around himself. He wasn't used to this, to people other than Steve talking to him. It made an unfamiliar feeling spread through his chest. “So why are ya’ll hiding down here?” 

"We're not hiding," Steve protested, though without much heat. "It's just... loud upstairs. Hard to talk." Sam held up his hands in mock surrender. "Hey, no judgment. The host gets it. Just came down to see if my guests have everything they need. More importantly," he leaned in conspiratorially, "to challenge you to a round of foosball. You still owe me a rematch." A competitive spark ignited in Steve’s eyes. "You're on. But I'm warning you, I’m not gonna go easy.” 

Bucky watched them, a familiar feeling of being on the outside creeping in. He knew this was what normal friendships looked like. Easy banter, inside jokes. He felt himself shrinking back slightly, hoping the beanbag would swallow him whole. "What about you, Bucky?" Sam asked, turning to him. His gaze was friendly, but the question still made Bucky’s shoulders tense. "You want to play? Winner take on the next challenger?" He didn't. He wanted to say no. He could already picture himself fumbling with the little rods, looking clumsy and stupid. He'd never played before. "He can be my partner," Steve said immediately, saving him from having to form the word. He looked at Bucky, a silent question in his eyes. He saw the shield being offered, relief washing over him. “Okay, but I’ve never played before.” Steve just smiled. “That’s okay, I’ll show you.”

They moved over to the battered foosball table. Steve took up position on one side, and Bucky slid in next to him, acutely aware of the slight press of their shoulders together. "Alright, Rogers, Barnes," Sam declared, spinning one of the handles with a flourish. "Prepare to be destroyed." The game started. Bucky just stood there, awkwardly, not sure what to do. He watched the ball ping-pong back and forth, Steve and Sam a blur of frantic twisting and shouting. Steve was surprisingly good, completely focused, a competitive fire in his eyes Bucky hadn't seen before.

"Hey, Bucky, a little help here!" Steve yelled, laughing, as Sam scored the first point. Bucky flinched, grabbing one of the empty handles and giving it a tentative twist. His wooden men spun aimlessly, nowhere near the ball. He felt a fresh wave of heat in his cheeks. "It's okay," Steve said, his voice close to Bucky's ear, leaning over to point. "You control the defense. Just try to block the shots. See?" He gently placed his hand over Bucky's on the handle, guiding it. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through Bucky's entire body. He froze, suddenly hyper-aware of the warmth of Steve's palm, the way his thumb rested just above Bucky's knuckles. "Like this," Steve murmured, moving their hands together to block Sam's next shot. The plastic ball clattered against the little goalie figure with a satisfying thud. "See? That was perfect!" Steve pulled his hand back, and Bucky immediately missed its warmth.

The game continued. Bucky didn't score any goals, but with Steve's coaching, he managed to block a few. He found himself laughing, a real, unrestrained laugh, when he and Steve pulled off a clumsy but successful defense against one of Sam's more dramatic plays. He was so caught up in the moment, so focused on Steve's grin and the thwack of the ball, that he almost forgot about everything else. For the first time all night, he felt like a real part of the party. Like just another teenager without a worry in the world.

When they won, Steve raised his hand towards Bucky for a high-five with a loud shout. “YEAH! TAKE THAT!” Bucky hesitated for a fraction of a second, then slapped his palm against Steve's. The contact was brief, electric. A wide grin spread across Bucky's face, so genuine it almost felt alien. Steve's answering smile was even brighter, his blue eyes sparkling with victory. "Alright, alright, you win this one," Sam grumbled good-naturedly, moving over to clap Steve on the shoulder. "But we're having a rematch later." His eyes shifted to Bucky. "You're a natural, man. Almost." He winked, and Bucky managed a weak laugh. 

As they moved away from the table, the warm glow from the game stayed with them. The drink in Bucky’s hand was empty, and he felt different. Lighter. His cheeks were pleasantly warm. So were his ears. It was strange, but Bucky found himself liking it. "That was fun," Bucky said, mouth moving before his brain could catch up. "Yeah," Steve agreed, his smile lingering. "I told you you’d get the hang of it." Bucky shook his head, looking down. "I think you did most of the work." 

"No, I didn’t! You blocked Sam’s last shot. That was the reason we won!" Steve insisted, nudging him with his elbow. The casual contact sent another warm wave through Bucky. "You literally had to move my hand to the right handle." Steve laughed again. “It’s called teamwork.” Bucky found himself smiling again before he even realized it. It felt easy. Easier than smiling usually did. 

Steve glanced down at his empty bottle, then at Bucky's empty cup. "Looks like we're both out." He gestured toward the stairs. "Another round?" The thought of going back upstairs, back into the press of bodies and the noise, sent a flicker of unease through him. But the memory of the warm, easy laughter with Steve and Sam was stronger. The alcohol humming in his veins made him feel bold. So he nodded. "Yeah. Okay." Navigating the upstairs crowd felt different this time. The faces that had seemed so hostile before now just looked like other kids, having fun. The music was still too loud, the heat still oppressive, but it didn't feel like it was closing in on him. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the solid presence of Steve beside him.

Steve stopped on one side of the kitchen island and spread his arms dramatically. "Welcome," he announced in an overly serious voice, "to Captain Rogers' Totally Legitimate Tavern." Bucky let out an honest to god giggle. "What are you serving today, Captain Rogers?" he asked, playing along. Steve tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Tonight's specials include… shitty redbull vodka, cheap whiskey and coke or… lukeworm beer!” Bucky couldn’t stop his smile. "Wow. Such a refined selection." Steve nodded, his face serious. "We pride ourselves on excellence." Bucky pretended to study the invisible menu. “I’ll have… the shitty redbull vodka.” Steve grinned then, reaching for a bottle of vodka that was half empty. "Coming right up." He poured the clear liquid into a clean cup, then opened a new can of redbull and poured that in too, then stirred it with a discarded teaspoon that had been laying on the kitchen island. He handed it over. "On the house." Bucky took it, their fingers brushing for a second. A jolt, warm and sharp, shot up Bucky’s arm. He pulled his hand back quickly, taking a long swallow of the drink to hide the sudden flush on his cheeks. "You're ridiculous." Steve only grinned wider, grabbing another beer for himself. “You like it.”

They didn't try to go back to the basement. Instead, they found a relatively quiet spot leaning against a wall near the bottom of the stairs, just out of the main flow of traffic. It was a small pocket of calm in the storm of the party. They stood close together, shoulders nearly touching. Bucky took another sip of his new drink. "Can I ask you something?" Steve looked at him expectantly. “Anything, Bucky.” Bucky rolled the cup between his hands. "What was your old town like? Where you lived before you moved here." Steve smiled, leaning his head back against the wall. "Actually..." He laughed softly. "I had a lot of old towns." Bucky looked at him curiously. "My dad was in the military." Steve shrugged. "When I was little, we'd move every couple of years. New house, new school, new friends. I got pretty used to it." 

"Wasn't that... hard?" Steve considered it. "Sometimes." He admitted. "Mostly when I was younger. I'd finally make friends and then we'd pack everything into boxes again." He smiled faintly. "I got pretty good at being the new kid." His expression softened. "Then my dad..." He paused. "...he was killed in action while we were living in this little town in Virginia." Bucky's smile faded. Steve looked down at his beer. "My mom decided we weren't moving anymore. Said we’d already lost enough." 

"So you stayed?" Steve nodded. "Yeah. It was the first place I ever lived long enough to actually feel like home." He laughed quietly at the memory. "Everybody knew everybody. My mom worked at the hospital, so she'd stop every five minutes walking through town because she'd run into someone she knew." 

"What about school?" 

"Tiny." Steve grinned. "My whole grade would've fit into one classroom here." He took a drink of his beer. "It was nice." Steve smiled to himself. "Quiet. Boring sometimes, sure, but... it was safe." 

Bucky listened, a strange ache forming in his chest. He envied Steve the life he was describing. The constant moving. The grief. The way Steve spoke about it all so openly, with both happiness and sorrow. It felt so normal. Human. It was a world away from the silent, suffocating house he lived in. Bucky could only wish for a life like that. “Why did you move?” 

Steve was quiet for a moment. "My mom couldn’t handle it anymore." He turned the bottle slowly between his hands. “Seeing all the places dad had been.” His eyes drifted toward the ceiling. "Every street reminded her of him. Every holiday. Every anniversary." He let out a small breath. "She told me she'd been thinking about leaving for years, but that she’d stayed because of me." Bucky listened without interrupting. "So we moved here." He looked back at Bucky, a faint, wry smile on his face. "Fresh start." Bucky had a sudden, fierce urge to reach out and touch his arm, but he kept his hands firmly wrapped around his cup. "I'm sorry." He said, quietly, then, "Was it hard?" Steve laughed. "Yeah." He admitted. "I had a good group of friends. I knew I was leaving them all behind. But... she needed this. We both needed it." He looked at Bucky. "I'm glad we did. I got to meet you." Bucky’s breath hitched. A warmth spread across his cheeks that had nothing to do with the alcohol. He looked down at his cup, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth he couldn't seem to suppress. "I'm glad too." The words were barely a whisper, but he knew Steve heard them.

“Steve, Bucky!” Sam’s voice interrupted them once again. “I’m gathering people for never have I ever in the basement. You’re both joining. That’s an order.” Bucky stiffened. Never have I ever. He’d heard people talk about it at school. A drinking game all about exposing secrets. “Sam-” Steve started. Sam wasn’t listening. "I'm not taking no for an answer," he said, pointing at them with a fake sternness. "The host commands it." He grinned, then turned and trotted back down the stairs, leaving them in the wake of the announcement. A knot of dread formed in Bucky’s stomach. “We don’t have to,” Steve said quickly, reading the expression on Bucky’s face. “We can just tell him-”

“It’s fine,” Bucky interrupted, his voice tight. He wasn't sure why he agreed. Maybe it was the alcohol. Or maybe it was the desperate, foolish hope that he could just keep pretending to be normal. That he could have this one night. "Let's go."

The circle was already forming when they got back to the basement. A larger group this time. Sam, with a fresh drink in his hand, was orchestrating from a beanbag. He spotted them and waved them over. "Perfect! Grab a seat." They found a spot on the floor next to each other, their knees almost touching in the tight circle. Bucky looked around. He recognized more faces than he expected. A girl from his English class sat cross-legged on one of the couches, laughing at something her friend had said. Across from her was a boy from chemistry, someone Bucky had partnered with for a lab once but never spoken to outside of it. There were a few seniors he recognized from the hallways, and a couple of people he'd seen talking to Sam and Steve before. They were all talking over each other, passing around bottles and plastic cups, arguing about the rules before the game had even started. Bucky took another small sip of his drink, then his eyes landed on Walker. He was sprawled across the end of the couch as though he owned it, one arm draped lazily over the back cushion, a beer dangling from his fingers. A few of his friends sat nearby, already laughing too loudly at something he'd said. Walker noticed Bucky looking. A slow, knowing grin spread across his face. He lifted his beer in a mock toast. Bucky looked away immediately. 

"Okay, listen up!" Sam shouted, clapping his hands together. The chatter died down. "The rules are simple. If you've done it, you drink. If you lie, you're a loser and we will all know." He pointed a finger around the circle. "And we keep it clean. I don't want to hear about anybody's weird sex stuff." A few people groaned good-naturedly. Sam grinned. "I'll start. Never have I ever... failed a test." A bunch of people, including Steve, took a drink. Steve grimaced as he swallowed. "Chemistry. Freshman year. Still haunts me." he mumbled to Bucky, who managed a weak smile. So far, so good.

The game continued. "Never have I ever... gotten a ticket." Bucky had never driven before. "Never have I ever... been out of the state." A few people drank each time. Bucky remained still. He had never done any of these things. His life was a series of blank spaces. He started to relax. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. He could just listen. Just be. The game continued like that for a while, Steve drank more often than not, laughing and giving Bucky small explanations. Bucky found himself having fun, laughing along with the group, smiling whenever his eyes met Steve's. 

Then it was Walker's turn. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, a cruel glint in his eyes as they scanned the circle before landing squarely on Bucky. 

"Never have I ever..." he said, dragging out the words, "gone home with the same guy twice in one weekend." A few people snickered, a couple of girls took a sip. Steve’s jaw tightened. Bucky’s blood ran cold. He stared down into the dregs of his drink, the plastic cup suddenly feeling slick in his sweaty palm. Walker wasn't talking about him. He couldn't be. It was a generic, sleazy party question. But the way he was looking... The message was clear. Steve shifted beside him, turning slightly, putting himself more squarely in Bucky's line of sight, a silent, solid barrier. "Real original, Walker," he muttered, just loud enough for the people around them to hear. Walker just smirked, leaning back against the couch. “What? It’s a fair question.” 

The next round was a blur for Bucky. Someone said something about a fake ID. Another person mentioned skipping class. He didn't hear it. The words were muffled by the rushing in his ears. He just kept seeing Walker's face, hearing that smug, deliberate sentence. He felt exposed. He felt like the entire circle could see the secrets written all over him. Then it was Steve's turn. He took a deep breath, looking around the circle. When he spoke, his voice was clear and steady. "Never have I ever... been suspended from school." Several people laughed, including Sam. A few guys on the football team grumbled and took a drink. Walker’s smile faltered. A flicker of anger crossed his face, before he took a drink. Bucky watched, a spark of something warm and fierce igniting in his chest. Steve had done that. For him.

But Walker wasn't done. When the turn came back to him, he fixed Bucky with another look. "Never have I ever..." He paused, a thoughtful, venomous expression on his face. "hooked up with someone older." He let the words hang in the air. Bucky's stomach dropped. No. Walker couldn't know. He was guessing, he had to be. Walker was just looking at Bucky because he wanted a reaction. That was it wasn’t it? His pulse thundered in his ears. Walker was just trying to get under his skin. Or maybe… Bucky’s mouth went dry. Maybe he knew. He could feel Steve looking at him now, waiting for him to answer. His fingers tightened around the plastic cup until it bent beneath his grip. If he didn't drink, he'd be lying. If he did… Everyone in the room would know. He could feel the heat in his cheeks, the sweat beading on his forehead. He lifted the cup with a trembling hand, the rim touching his lips, when another voice cut through the tense silence.

"Oh, for god's sake."

It was one of the girls on the couch, the one from Bucky's English class. She rolled her eyes so hard Bucky was surprised they didn't get stuck. "Can you not make every single statement about your weird, sex obsession, Walker? Some of us are trying to play a game." A few people snorted with laughter. The tension broke. Walker flushed, a deep, ugly red. "Whatever," he mumbled, sinking back into the couch, thoroughly deflated. Bucky slowly lowered his cup, his hand still shaking. Next to him, Steve had been watching. He'd seen Bucky lift the cup. Seen the way his hand had trembled so badly he could barely hold it. Steve frowned. Bucky hadn't taken a sip, but he’d been about to. The realization settled uneasily in his chest. Steve glanced at Bucky's face. His eyes were fixed on the floor, jaw tight, fingers still curled so hard around the cup that the plastic had caved in. Steve wanted to ask if he was okay. He wanted to ask what Walker's question had been about. But not here. Not with half the school sitting three feet away. Instead, he nudged Bucky's knee lightly with his own. Just enough for Bucky to know he wasn't alone. Bucky looked over. Steve offered him a small, reassuring smile. He saw a flicker of something there. A hint of the fear from earlier. Then Bucky managed a weak smile of his own. 

The game kept going. Someone laughed. Another question. Another round of drinks. Bucky barely heard any of it. The voices blurred together until they became little more than background noise. He was only pretending to pay attention. Every now and then someone would laugh loudly enough to pull him halfway back into the room before he drifted away again. Walker's question echoed in his head. Hooked up with someone older. Over and over. His cup was empty. At some point, someone handed him another drink. He didn't remember who. He took a sip. The warmth spread through his chest, dulling the sharp edges of the panic just enough that he could breathe again. So he drank again, and then again. He wasn't even sure what he was drinking anymore. Beside him, Steve answered another question. Laughter rippled around the circle. It all sounded strangely far away. "Bucky?" Steve's voice, closer this time. "Hey, you with me?" Bucky blinked, turning his head. Steve was leaning toward him, concern etched on his face. "You okay?"

"Wha?" The word came out slow and slightly slurred. "You just spaced out for a sec," Steve said softly. Bucky forced a nod. "Yeah. M'fine." His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Steve didn't look convinced. “Let me know if you need anything.” Bucky became suddenly aware of how the room around Steve was spinning. Just a little. The lights from the cheap Halloween decorations seemed to smear across Bucky's vision whenever he turned his head too fast. He didn't mind it. He was floating. The party, the questions, Walker... it all seemed distant now. Less important. He was warm. He was sitting next to Steve. 

A burst of applause snapped him back. Bucky blinked.  Sam was already on his feet, rubbing his hands together with a grin that could only mean trouble. "Alright!" he announced. "I think we've learned way too much about each other." A chorus of agreement and laughter answered him. Sam looked around the room, eyes gleaming. "Time to switch games." He reached beneath the coffee table and triumphantly held up an empty glass bottle. "Seven Minutes in Heaven." The room erupted. A mix of groans, cheers, and excited laughter.

Bucky just stared at the bottle in Sam’s hand. He took another sip of his drink, the world tilting pleasantly. He felt a nudge from Steve. "What's that?" Bucky mumbled, the words heavy on his tongue. Steve turned to him, a strange look on his face, a mix of amusement and something else. "It's... a game," he started, then seemed to think better of it. He just shook his head. "It's stupid. We can go if you want. Go upstairs or get some air? Whatever you want." Bucky frowned, trying to follow. Go? Why would they leave? He looked around the room again. Everyone else seemed excited. Sam was already explaining the rules to someone who claimed they'd never played before. It was just another game. "We can stay," Bucky mumbled. Steve searched his face. "You sure?" Bucky nodded, a little too enthusiastically. "Yeah." A crooked smile found its way onto his face. "M'having fun." Steve smiled back, though there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. "Okay." he said. "We'll stay."

The circle rearranged itself, becoming tighter, more focused. Sam cleared a space in the middle of the floor and placed the bottle down. "Alright, who's going first?" he asked, looking around. "I will!" Walker shouted, pushing himself off the couch with a loud laugh. He swaggered into the center of the circle. The few people who had been sitting near him had to scramble to get out of his way. He didn't seem to care. He gave the bottle a hard, confident spin. It skittered across the wooden floor, clattering as it went. The circle went silent, every eye tracking its wobbly path. Bucky watched it too. He watched it slow, its momentum fading, the neck of the bottle tracing a smaller and smaller circle until it finally came to a stop. It pointed directly at one of the girls on the couch. Walker's face broke into a smug, predatory grin. The girl, a pretty blonde Bucky didn't recognize, rolled her eyes but was already getting up, a reluctant smile on her face. A few people wolf-whistled as Sam directed them toward a small, cramped closet under the stairs. "Seven minutes!" Sam shouted, slamming the door shut behind them. He pulled out his phone and started a timer. The circle dissolved back into a buzz of conversation. People started speculating, laughing, taking bets.

Steve shifted closer to Bucky, their shoulders pressing together. Bucky found himself leaning into it. "You really okay?" he asked, his voice low. Bucky nodded, taking a long swallow of his drink. "Yeah." he said, leaning his head back against the wall. "It's... warm in here." Steve watched him for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Maybe you should switch to water," he suggested gently. Bucky shook his head. "M'good." He was far from good. A thick fog had settled over his mind. His thoughts were slow and syrupy. But the fog was a blanket. Underneath it, the shame and fear were muffled, distant. It was better this way. The minutes dragged by, Sam stealing Steve for a conversation Bucky didn’t hear. Instead he found himself watching the closet door, a strange, detached curiosity filling him. He wondered what was happening in there. The image that flashed into his mind was blurry, unpleasant, and he pushed it away, focusing instead on the rhythmic thumping of the music from upstairs. A timer went off. Sam jumped up and banged on the closet door. "Time's up!" The door opened and Walker stumbled out, followed a moment later by the girl, her face flushed as she smoothed down her skirt. The circle erupted in a mix of cheers and jeers. Walker just soaked it all in, grinning as he took a bow. 

A round of spins followed. The girl from his English class had to go in with a boy from the track team who looked like he might pass out from sheer panic. Sam was spun by one of the other football players. A pretty brunette was paired with one of Walker’s friends. Bucky didn’t know how much time passed. Then it was Steve's turn. He gave the bottle a dramatic spin. It spun and spun, a blur of brown glass, before finally slowing to a halt. Bucky followed its direction. It was pointing directly at him. The realization took a second to compute, then his breath caught. A jolt, sharp and electric, shot through him, cutting through the alcoholic haze. Steve's head snapped up, his eyes wide as they met Bucky's. A wave of murmurs and snickers went through the circle. Bucky's heart started hammering against his ribs, a loud, frantic beat that drowned out everything else. He could feel everyone's eyes on him. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was frozen, trapped in Steve's wide-eyed gaze. 

"Alright, you two lovebirds," Sam announced, clapping his hands together. "Get in there." Steve scrambled to his feet, looking awkward and uncertain. Bucky’s body moved without him. He pushed a hand against the floor and stood. The room lurched sideways. He swayed, catching himself with an awkward half-step before he could lose his balance completely. A few people laughed, assuming it was just the alcohol. Bucky blinked, waiting for the room to settle. He started walking toward the closet. The world was a blur of faces and noises he couldn't process. Someone wolf-whistled. Someone else  patted him on the back as he passed. He flinched at the contact. Then suddenly the door closed behind them, plunging them into darkness. It took a second for Bucky's mind to catch up.

The closet was barely big enough for the both of them. The air was warm and stale, carrying the faint smell of old fabric and dust. There wasn't enough room. Steve was standing barely an arm's length away. Bucky's pulse lurched. He could feel the small, cramped space pressing in on him. The air was disappearing. He couldn’t breathe. He reached blindly behind him, fingers fumbling against the door as if he'd somehow forgotten where it was. It didn't open. His breathing hitched. "Bucky?" Steve's voice came softly out of the darkness. Bucky didn't answer. Another breath. Too fast. His lungs refused to fill. His chest ached with the pressure. The walls were definitely moving in. He had to get out. "Hey... are you okay?" Steve's voice was closer now, concerned. "I-" Bucky tried, but the word got stuck. "I can't..." His throat was too tight. The darkness felt heavy, like a blanket being thrown over his head. He started to tremble. He could feel a sob building in his chest. Steve went very still. "You're panicking." It wasn't a question. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, nodding once. Steve’s voice stayed, quiet, calm, despite the situation. “O-Okay.” he paused. “We’re okay.” Bucky shook his head, heaving for breath. “N-No-”

“Buck, can you sit down with me?” Bucky hesitated. Steve didn't move closer. He didn't touch him. He just waited. Bucky’s knees gave away beneath him, and he slid down until he was sitting on the floor. His back pressed against the wall, knees pulled up to his chest. He could hear Steve sitting down too, the rustle of his clothes loud in the suffocating silence. "Good," Steve said softly. "Now... try and breathe with me." Bucky could feel the panic thrumming under his skin, but the sound of Steve's voice, steady and calm in the dark, gave him something to hold onto. "Just listen," Steve said. "In... and out." Bucky squeezed his eyes shut tighter. He tried to match it. In. Out. He could hear Steve’s breathing. Slow. Steady. Calm. Bucky tried to focus on the sound. In. And out. The pounding in his chest didn't go away, but it didn't feel so frantic anymore. After a few long moments, Bucky's breathing started to slow. A slight improvement, but still not enough.  

"Can I hold your hand?" Steve asked. Bucky’s mind went blank. He just stared at him. Hold his hand? Steve was asking? No one ever asked. They just touched him. Grabbed him. Pulled him where they wanted. He’d never been given a choice. His throat tightened. “Y-Ye-” He tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sound that was half sob, half whimper. He managed a tiny, jerky nod. In the darkness Steve understood him. He felt Steve’s hand move slowly, deliberately, until it found his. Steve didn’t grab it, didn’t squeeze. He just rested his palm against the back of Bucky’s trembling hand. Then he wrapped his fingers around Bucky’s, loose but firm. It wasn't like when Rumlow grabbed him. This was different. The touch was warm. Solid. A single point of light in the overwhelming dark. Bucky’s fingers curled around Steve’s, clutching him like a lifeline. He could feel Steve’s thumb tracing slow, gentle circles on the back of his knuckles. “It’s okay.” Steve whispered. "Just... focus on my hand." And Bucky did. He focused on the warmth of Steve’s skin. The strength in his grip. The slow, steady rhythm of the circles he was tracing on Bucky’s skin. He focused on the sound of Steve breathing. In. Out. He could feel the tightness in his chest loosen, just a fraction. He took a breath that didn't catch. Then another. 

"Better?" Steve asked softly. Bucky managed a small nod. "Yeah." he rasped, the word scraping his throat. "Good." Steve's thumb didn't stop its movement. They sat in silence for a long minute. The darkness was still there. The closet was still too small. But the walls weren't closing in anymore. He could breathe.  "Hey," Steve said, his voice barely a whisper. "Bucky?"

"Yeah?" Bucky’s voice was raw. "I just... I'm glad I'm in here with you." The words, so simple and honest, hit Bucky with the force of a physical blow. He felt a fresh wave of something warm and overwhelming wash over him, and he had to squeeze his eyes shut to keep more tears from falling. He was suddenly hyper-aware of their joined hands, of the warmth spreading up his arm, of the space between them that seemed to shrink with every passing second. Bucky was leaning. He didn't know when he'd started, but he realized with a jolt that he was leaning into Steve’s space. His shoulder was now only a breath away from Steve's. He could feel the warmth radiating from Steve's body. He didn't pull away. He didn't want to. "Steve..." he started, then trailed off. He didn't know what he wanted to say. 'Thank you' didn't seem big enough. 'Don't let me go' felt too desperate. He could hear Steve swallow. "Yeah, Buck?" The nickname. Bucky’s heart stuttered. He liked the way it sounded coming from Steve. He liked it so much it scared him. He could hear Sam's muffled voice from the other side of the door, counting down the last few seconds. The spell was about to break. The real world was waiting for them just on the other side of this thin wooden door. He was so close. He was floating, drunk on alcohol and Steve's presence and the terrifying, exhilarating feeling of being seen. 

Before he could think it through, Bucky let himself lean the last inch. His head came to rest lightly against Steve’s shoulder. He felt Steve go still beside him, his breath catching. Bucky squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for rejection, for Steve to pull away. But he didn't. After a second, he felt Steve lean back, a gentle, steady pressure that told him everything he needed to know. He wasn't alone. Steve didn't let go of his hand. Then the door creaked open.

Light flooded the small space, harsh and blinding. Bucky flinched, pulling back from Steve like he'd been burned. Their hands separated as if by an electric shock. The sudden absence of Steve's touch left him feeling cold and exposed. He blinked against the light, his eyes struggling to adjust. The room came into focus. All the faces from the circle were turned toward them, a jumble of expressions. Some were smirking, some were curious, some were just bored. Sam was standing in the doorway, a huge, knowing grin on his face. He took one look at them, at the way Bucky was breathing hard, face flushed, at Steve’s expression of lingering awe. The grin widened. "Well, well," Sam said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "Looks like it got hot in there."

“Sam, knock it off!” Steve exclaimed, scrambling to his feet and reaching a hand down to help Bucky up. Bucky’s legs felt like jelly as he stood, and he used Steve’s arm for support, the brief touch another jolt. The room around Bucky disappeared. He didn't see all the faces looking at them. He didn’t hear what Sam or Steve said. All he could feel was the warmth from Steve. Of a touch that was gentle and kind and wanted. A touch that he’d consented to. Chosen. He felt dizzy. He was unsure if it was from the alcohol. "You okay?" Steve asked, leaning in close, his voice a low murmur meant only for him. Bucky just stared at him, caught in the blue of his eyes. He couldn't speak. He was still reeling. Steve seemed to understand. Without saying anything else, he guided Bucky back over to where they'd been sitting, and stayed beside him. 

The next few minutes were a blur. The circle reformed, the bottle was spun again, but Bucky wasn't there. He was back in the closet. In the dark. He could still feel the warmth of Steve's hand, the steady pressure of his shoulder. The memory was so vivid it was almost as real as the floor beneath him. He was vaguely aware of someone going into the closet, vaguely aware of them coming out again, but he couldn't have said who it was. His entire world had narrowed to the boy sitting beside him. He didn't look at Steve. He couldn't. He was afraid of what he might do if he did. He just kept staring at the floor, replaying those seven minutes over and over in his mind.

"Alright, I'm bored." Walker's voice cut through the room. Bucky blinked. Conversations faltered as several people looked over. Walker was sprawled across the couch, spinning the empty bottle lazily between his hands. "This game's getting old." He let the bottle roll onto the carpet. "Let's play Truth or Dare instead." A chorus of excited agreement rippled through the room. Bucky felt a small knot form in his stomach, but the alcohol was still humming pleasantly through his veins, softening the edges of everything. Steve was next to him, his warmth radiating towards Bucky. He wanted to sit on the basement floor with him, play ridiculous party games, laugh when everyone else laughed, and pretend with Steve, just for a little while longer. “You wanna go?” He heard Steve ask. “No.” He looked over at Steve, suddenly feeling brave. “I wanna stay.” Steve just smiled at him, a look of tenderness in his eyes Bucky couldn’t quite place. “Okay, Buck.”

"Alright!" Sam yelled, taking charge of the new game. "Who's the unlucky first victim?" Walker pointed at a girl with bright pink hair. "You. Truth or dare?" She grinned. "Dare."

The game started, and the dares were relatively harmless at first. The girl with pink hair had to chug a can of warm beer. A boy from the track team had to do ten pushups in the center of the circle. Steve was dared to balance a spoon on his nose for thirty seconds. He managed nearly a minute before it slipped off, prompting cheers and exaggerated boos from everyone around him. Later, he chose truth and admitted he cried every time he watched Disney movies. Sam laughed so hard he nearly fell off the couch. Bucky just watched, a small, detached smile on his face. He was aware of Steve sitting beside him, a solid, comforting presence. Every now and then their shoulders would brush, and a small jolt would shoot through Bucky, a reminder of the closet. It was Walker’s turn again. He had just successfully completed a dare to serenade one of the girls from the couch, a tuneless but enthusiastic performance that had everyone laughing. No one seemed to pick Bucky, and he was content just watching everyone else either do something silly or answer whatever ridiculous question they were asked. Steve was chosen again, and Bucky watched him along with the rest of the group. "Truth or dare?" It was one of the girls asking. Steve was grinning, clearly having a blast. "Dare."

The girl who asked the question, a brunette with a sharp, mischievous glint in her eye, leaned forward. "I dare you... to take your shirt off for the rest of the game!" The circle erupted in whoops and whistles. Steve’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson, but he was laughing. He looked over at Bucky, surprised to see him giggling behind his cup. Steve's grin widened at the sight, his face turning even redder. “O-Oh so that’s funny, is it?” Bucky clapped a hand over his mouth, but it was too late. He was full-on laughing now, a real laugh that bubbled up from his chest and made his whole body shake. Steve had never seen him laugh like that, and it was infectious. Steve shook his head, trying to look annoyed and failing completely. He could feel Bucky's eyes on him. With a dramatic sigh, Steve hooked his thumbs under the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head in one smooth motion. The cheers got louder. Steve was lean and well-defined, the muscles in his arms and chest shifting as he tossed the shirt onto a nearby beanbag. He sat back down, still grinning, but now he was suddenly aware of every inch of his exposed skin. "Happy?" 

"Very," the brunette that had dared him replied with a grin. Then the game continued. He could feel Bucky's gaze on him, a hot, heavy weight that sent a shiver down his spine. He risked a glance. Bucky was staring. There was something almost awestruck in his expression, as though he'd forgotten there was anyone else in the room. His cup hovered halfway to his lips, forgotten. His eyes drifted over Steve’s bare chest, eyes filled with something Steve had never seen in Bucky before. He’s just drunk. Steve swallowed. Then their eyes met, and Bucky quickly looked away, a deep blush spreading across his cheeks as he took a long, hurried swallow of his drink. Steve's heart hammered against his ribs. He had the sudden, overwhelming urge to put his shirt back on. Instead he forced himself to focus on the girl, currently being dared to do a handstand in the middle of the ring.

The circle shifted. Dares were completed. Truths were told. The game carried on. Then one of the boys from the football team pointed across the circle. “Barnes.” Bucky looked up, startled. "Truth or dare?" His stomach fluttered. Every eye was on him again. He glanced at Steve, who was watching him with a steady, reassuring expression. Bucky took a breath. "Dare." His mouth moved before his brain could keep up. He’d planned to say truth, to say something safe, but his body wasn’t cooperating. The boy from the football team’s face lit up with glee. "Spin around ten times and try to walk in a straight line." A chorus of laughter and agreement went through the circle. It was simple. Harmless. Bucky could do this. He stood up on legs that were already unsteady, and started to spin. One. Two. Three. The room started to blur into swirls of color and light. Four. Five. He was starting to get dizzy. Six. Seven. The floor seemed to tilt beneath him. Eight. Nine. Ten. He stopped, the room lurching violently. He tried to take a step forward, but he wasn’t sure where his feet were landing anymore. He tried again, managing a clumsy, sideways shuffle before listing to one side. Someone in the room gasped, and suddenly Steve was there. Bucky collided with his chest with a soft oof. Steve's arms wrapped around him instinctively, steadying him, one hand firm on his back, the other gripping his bicep.The world snapped into focus for a second as he stared at Steve's concerned face. The warmth of his bare skin against Bucky's hoodie was a shock. "Whoa there," Steve said, his voice low. "Easy." Bucky clung to him for a second, the world still spinning, before stepping away, a hot blush spreading across his cheeks. "M'good." He mumbled, sitting back down heavily. The room erupted into laughter and whistles. Steve didn’t hear. He just watched Bucky for a moment, his smile fading into something softer before the game moved on again.  

Then it was Steve's turn again. A boy with braces that Bucky recognized from the cafeteria pointed at him. "Truth or dare, Steve?" Steve was still smiling, but there was a flicker of something wary in his eyes. He looked at Bucky again. "Truth." The boy with braces looked disappointed for a second, then a sly grin spread across his face. "Okay. What's your favorite sex position?" A hush fell over the circle. Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. Steve's face, already flushed from the alcohol, turned a shade deeper. He hesitated, running his hand through his hair, a nervous habit Bucky was starting to recognize. "You have to answer," the boy with braces prodded. "That's the rule." Steve was quiet for a long moment. The only sound was the faint thump of music from upstairs. “U-Um…” He looked down at the floor, then back up. "I guess anything where I can see their face." Steve said, his voice quiet but clear in the sudden silence. "So I can make sure they're okay a-and enjoying it, y'know." Bucky’s world tilted again. But it wasn't from the alcohol this time. He looked at Steve. He was rubbing the back of his neck, still pink with embarrassment. He hadn't tried to sound impressive or macho. He’d just answered honestly. A warmth spread through Bucky’s chest, a feeling so overwhelming it made it hard to breathe. Steve glanced over then, a shy smile across his face. Bucky looked away so fast the room tilted. 

Walker had been watching it all. He saw the look Bucky was giving Steve. He saw Steve’s soft, earnest answer. He saw the way Steve was looking back at Bucky. He’d been pushed out of the spotlight by Sam's stupid game, and he didn't like it one bit. The next time it was his turn, he didn’t hesitate. He just leaned forward, a venomous smile playing on his lips as his eyes found Bucky. "Barnes. Truth or dare?" Bucky froze, feeling the shift in the atmosphere. He could feel every set of eyes in the room turn to him. He swallowed. “Truth.” The word was a whisper, a desperate plea for a question he could lie to. Walker’s smile widened. "Truth." he repeated, savoring the word. "Okay, Barnes. Tell us all..." He paused, letting the silence stretch, making every person in that circle lean in. "...who was it that gave you all those hickeys back in September? You remember what I’m talking about right? When you wore that ridiculously big football jacket trying to hide them." The room went completely, utterly silent. Bucky’s blood ran cold. He couldn't breathe. He’d forgotten. After so many weeks, he couldn’t believe he’d forgotten. Walker in the locker room, catching him on his way back from the lost and found. Walker had questioned him, wondering why he was wearing such a big jacket, why he was acting so weird. Bucky had tried to move around him, to get away, but Walker had cornered him, pulling the hem of the jacket down, revealing the marks on his neck. The evidence of a weekend with Rumlow. The memory crashed into him all at once, making his stomach lurch.

He could hear a collective gasp from the circle. He could feel the heat of everyone's stares on him. He felt sick. "I..." he started, but the word wouldn't come out. He looked at Steve. That was a mistake. Steve's face was pale. He looked absolutely stricken. The easy-going, playful expression was gone, replaced by a look of raw, naked concern. "Come on, Barnes," Walker taunted, enjoying this. "Answer the question. We're all dying to know. I mean it was impressive, really. A bunch of them too. Who was the lucky person?" Bucky couldn't speak. He couldn't move. He was trapped by panic. The walls were closing in again, the darkness from the closet threatening to swallow him whole. His breath hitched. He could feel Steve watching. No. He had to say something. If only to get the attention to stop. He swallowed hard, digging his nails into the palm of his hand until crescents burned into his skin, the sting anchoring him. "I..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat. "I was just fooling around with someone." he managed to say. The words were flat and lifeless. "I-It doesn't matter." 

"Doesn't matter?" Walker pressed, leaning forward, his eyes glinting with cruel triumph. "It matters enough that you tried to hide it." Bucky was visibly shaking. “C’mon, puppy, speak. Tell us the name.” Bucky closed his eyes. “T-They don't go to this school. You don’t know them anyway.” he mumbled. Walker's grin was predatory. “So they’re older then?” The question hit him like a bucket of ice water. He couldn’t do this anymore. He had to get out. “I-I’m done.” He pushed himself to his feet, stumbling back from the circle. The room swayed violently. "I need some air," he choked out. He didn't wait for a response. He turned and ran, taking the basement stairs two at a time, ignoring the shout of his name behind him. He burst out of the back door into the cool night air, his lungs burning. He stumbled to the edge of the small, overgrown yard and leaned against the fence, gasping for breath. The cool air felt good on his flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the frantic pounding of his heart. He could still hear the music from inside, feel the phantom weight of everyone's stares. 

His knees gave out before he even realized they were buckling. One second he was clutching the fence, desperately trying to force air into his lungs. The next he was sliding down the rough wood until he hit the cold ground. He drew his knees tightly against his chest, wrapping his arms around them as though he could somehow make himself smaller. His forehead rested against the fabric of his knees, hiding his face. He tried to breathe. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. It didn’t help. The yard shifted beneath him, grass and fence and dark trees moving in slow, uneven waves. He squeezed his eyes shut. He could still see Steve’s face. Pale. Horrified. Bucky’s stomach twisted. He should have said no. He shouldn't have stayed to play another game. He shouldn’t have had that last drink. Or the one before that. He shouldn't have come to the party at all. Rumlow and Pierce had been right. He shouldn't have ever left the house.

Steve knew now. Not everything. Not who. Not what had really happened. But he knew there had been someone. He knew Bucky had hidden the marks. He knew Bucky had lied every time Steve had looked at him and assumed he was normal. A tear slipped free before Bucky could stop it. He scrubbed angrily at his eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie, but another followed anyway. He felt disgusting. Steve had looked at him so gently all night. Like Bucky was someone worth spending time with. Someone worth protecting. 

What would Steve see now?

Someone who let people leave bruises all over his neck. Someone who hid beneath oversized clothes and pretended nothing had happened. Someone who couldn’t even answer a simple question without falling apart in front of everyone. The back door creaked open behind him. Bucky froze. For one terrifying second, he thought Walker had followed him. Then he heard Steve. "...Buck?" Bucky didn’t move. He just stared at a loose thread on the knee of his jeans. He heard the soft thud of footsteps on the grass, then the scrape of shoes on the dirt next to him. He didn't look up. He couldn't. "Leave me alone," he whispered, the words muffled by the fabric of his jeans. 

Steve didn't leave. He just sat down on the damp grass, not too close, but close enough that Bucky could feel the warmth radiating from him. "Are you okay?" Steve asked, his voice gentle. Bucky nodded slightly, keeping his face buried deep in his knees, trying to hide the tears that were now falling freely. He could feel Steve’s eyes on him. "You don't look okay…” he said softly. Bucky's shoulders started to shake. "I-I'm just drunk." he lied, voice trembling. "Buck... you're shaking." Steve’s voice was laced with concern. “I-I know.” he stammered, trying to get a hold of himself. But he couldn't. The dam had broken, and he couldn't stop the quiet sobs that were wracking his body. He felt so exposed. So stupid. Crying in someone's backyard over a stupid party game. Crying in front of Steve of all people. The one person he didn’t want seeing him like this.  “J-Just give me a second, please.”

“Okay…” Steve's heart clenched. He'd seen Bucky scared before. He'd seen him anxious. He’d helped him through a panic attack earlier in the closet. But he’d never seen him cry. Not like this. The quiet sobs seemed to tear themselves out of him, each one making his shoulders tremble harder than the last. It looked like Bucky was trying to make himself disappear, curling tighter into himself with every shaky breath. Steve didn't know what to do. Every instinct told him to reach out. To put a hand on Bucky's shoulder. To pull him into a hug and tell him everything was going to be okay. But he couldn’t. He remembered every time Bucky had flinched away from an unexpected touch. Every time he'd gone rigid when someone got too close. He’d held his hand in the closet, but that had been different. Bucky had given him permission. Right now, Bucky didn't look capable of making that choice. Steve wasn't about to take it away from him. So he just sat there, letting the silence settle between them. 

Slowly, almost imperceptibly, the sobs began to ease. They didn't stop, but they grew quieter, leaving behind shaky breaths that still caught painfully in his throat. Neither of them spoke. Steve stayed exactly where he was, chest aching with the force of his own helplessness. Bucky sniffled, the sound loud in the quiet night. The words came out broken, each syllable a struggle. "You... you must think I'm so pathetic."

Bucky finally lifted his head, turning to look at Steve. In the dim light filtering from the house, Steve could see the tear tracks glistening on his cheeks, his eyes red-rimmed and puffy. He looked so young, and so utterly broken. It made Steve’s chest ache with a fierce, protective tenderness. Bucky tried to smile, a weak, trembling attempt at a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Crying… over some.. some stupid party game." He shook his head, a fresh wave of shame washing over him. "It’s pathetic."

Steve finally spoke, and when he did, his voice was laced with a conviction that left no room for argument. "No, Bucky. That's not pathetic." He shook his head, his blue eyes burning with an intensity that made Bucky's breath catch. "What's pathetic is Walker. Getting a kick outta deliberately hurting others. That’s pathetic.” He leaned a little closer. “You crying because someone was cruel to you? That's not pathetic. That's just human." 

“N-No, that’s not-” Bucky shook his head quickly, wiping at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie. "That's not why." Steve frowned. “I-I don’t care about Walker. He’s always… he’s always been like that.” His eyes dropped to the grass between his knees. “I just-” he swallowed. “I got overwhelmed.” Bucky rushed on before Steve could ask another question. "Everyone was looking at me." His voice trembled. "A-And I'd been drinking and... the room was spinning and..." He shook his head. "I got embarrassed." He laughed weakly, the sound hollow. "Walker kept making fun of my costume and calling me p-puppy and..." His shoulders hunched again. "I don't know." He sniffled. "I-It all just... got too much." Silence settled between them. Bucky's pulse thundered in his ears. Please. Please let that be enough. He couldn't let Steve think the hickeys were the reason. Couldn't let him wonder why Walker revealing them had sent Bucky running out of the house. They had to be just hickeys. They had to be ordinary. A product of a normal awkward teenage interaction. Something stupid and embarrassing and something that didn’t matter. Nothing worth asking or worrying about. Anything but the cold and cruel truth. He risked a glance at Steve. Steve was watching him carefully, a thoughtful, unreadable expression on his face. Bucky held his breath.

Steve nodded slowly, processing it all. He had seen how overwhelmed Bucky got. He'd held his hand through a panic attack barely an hour ago. He knew crowds, attention, and being put on the spot could be too much for him. But... His mind drifted back to the game. 

Never have I ever been with someone older. 

Bucky had been about to take a sip, before someone had shut down the question. And afterward, when Walker kept pressing him about the hickeys, Bucky had insisted the person didn't go to their school. None of it meant anything on its own. Plenty of people dated someone a year or two older. Plenty of people wanted to keep a relationship private. But… Steve couldn't shake the feeling that he was missing something. That there was a piece of the puzzle Bucky wasn't ready to show him. "Okay," he said quietly. He wasn't sure he believed that was all of it. But whatever Bucky wasn't ready to tell him, Steve could wait. Right now, Bucky just needed someone who would stay. 

Bucky let out a shaky breath, relief washing over him so strongly it almost made him dizzy again. Steve believed him. Or, at least, he was willing to let it go. He wasn't going to push. Bucky felt a fresh wave of tears sting his eyes, but this time it wasn't from fear or shame. It was from gratitude. He looked at Steve, really looked at him. The moonlight softened the sharp lines of his face, catching the earnest blue of his eyes. He wore that same gentle smile he'd given Bucky so many times already. Patient. Warm. Like there wasn't anywhere else he'd rather be. Bucky’s chest ached. “Thank you,” Bucky whispered, the words barely audible. “For not leaving…” Steve's expression softened with understanding. "I'm not going anywhere." 

Silence settled over them once more. Bucky stared down at the grass between his shoes, picking absentmindedly at a loose blade with trembling fingers. Steve just watched, not saying anything. Even now, Bucky's shoulders gave the occasional shiver. Whether from the cool night air, the alcohol, or everything that had happened, Steve couldn't tell. After another quiet moment, Steve spoke. "...Can I sit next to you?" Bucky's head lifted. He blinked at Steve, surprise flickering across his tear-stained face. He was asking. Again. Giving him a choice. Something warm fluttered unexpectedly in Bucky's chest. "...Y-Yeah," he murmured. Steve smiled softly. "Okay." He shifted, closing the small distance between them until their sides were pressed together. He didn't put an arm around him. He didn't try to hold him. He just sat there, a warm, solid presence. And for Bucky, it was enough. He could feel the warmth of Steve’s arm seeping through the thin fabric of his hoodie. It was grounding. After a minute, Bucky finally let out a long, slow breath. He felt... calm. Or, as calm as he was capable of feeling right now. His eyelids suddenly felt impossibly heavy. The adrenaline that had kept him upright was fading now, leaving behind only exhaustion and the hazy warmth of too much alcohol. Before he really thought about what he was doing, he found himself leaning. Just a little. Testing. He let his head rest gently against Steve's shoulder, just as he had in the closet. Only this time, there was no door about to open. No waiting crowd. There was just the quiet night and the steady beat of Steve's heart against his ear.

Steve went completely still, not even daring to breathe. He could feel the soft tickle of Bucky's hair against his shoulder. He could feel the faint tremor that still ran through Bucky’s body, a quiet echo of the storm that had passed. He could smell the faint, clean scent of Bucky's shampoo mixed with the lingering sweetness of the different drinks he'd been drinking. It was intoxicating. Steve didn't dare move, afraid that even the slightest shift would break this fragile, perfect moment. He was sure Bucky would pull away any second, coming back to his senses, realizing what he was doing. But Bucky didn't move. He just stayed there, leaning against him. Steve's chest felt impossibly full. After several long moments, when Bucky showed no sign of moving away, Steve let out the breath he'd been holding. Slowly, carefully, he tilted his own head just enough for it to rest lightly against the top of Bucky's. He didn't hold him. Didn't wrap an arm around him. He simply returned the quiet trust Bucky had placed in him. Bucky didn't flinch. If anything, Steve thought he felt him relax another fraction. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there in the cool night air, sharing in each other’s warmth. It felt more intimate than anything Steve had ever experienced. 

He didn't know how long they sat like that. Minutes. Maybe an hour. The moon was high in the sky now, casting pale, silver light over the backyard. The music from inside had quieted down considerably. Bucky’s breathing had evened out, slow and deep against Steve's shoulder. Steve had been so lost in the quiet comfort of the moment that he hadn't realized Bucky had fallen asleep. He turned his head just enough to look down at him. Bucky's face, softened by sleep, was turned up towards him. In the moonlight, he looked younger than ever, all the harsh lines of anxiety and fear smoothed away. He was beautiful. The thought hit Steve with such force it almost stole his breath. Bucky's lashes were long and dark against his pale skin. His lips, slightly parted, looked soft. And for one reckless, terrifying second... Steve wanted to kiss him. The realization hit him like ice water. He jerked his eyes away immediately. Bucky was asleep. He was drunk. He'd spent the last hour crying. Kissing him now would be taking advantage of him. Steve would never-

The back door slammed open. "Steve!" Steve nearly jumped out of his skin. His eyes snapped toward the house just as Sam stepped onto the patio. "What the hell, man? Everyone's been looki-" Sam stopped. His eyes landed on Bucky. Then on Bucky's head resting on Steve's shoulder. "...Oh." Steve gave him a look that could have melted steel. Sam's eyes widened, and he raised his hands in surrender. “Shit, my bad, man.” His voice dropped to an exaggerated whisper. "I didn't know y'all were having a..." He gestured vaguely between them. "...whatever this is." Steve gave him another pointed look. "Sam." 

"Right. Yep. I'm leaving." Sam turned toward the house. "I was never here." He backed through the doorway. "Sorry, Bucky." Then he quietly pulled the door shut behind him. The sudden silence returned. Steve let out the breath he'd been holding. "...Sorry." The apology had barely left his mouth before he felt movement beside him. Bucky stirred. A sleepy, confused sound escaped him as he blinked slowly against the light from the house. "...Mm...?" For a few seconds, he simply looked around, his thoughts moving sluggishly through the haze of sleep and alcohol. Then he realized where he was. His eyes widened. He sat upright so quickly Steve almost laughed. "I-" Color flooded Bucky's cheeks. "I fell asleep." Steve smiled. “Yeah.”

“I-I’m sorry.” 

"What for?"

"I..." Bucky rubbed at one eye, still looking adorably dazed. "I was leaning on you." Steve's smile only grew softer. "I didn't mind." Bucky looked at him, a flicker of surprise in his tired eyes. Then he quickly looked away, down at his hands. "Oh." Steve watched him, a warmth spreading through his chest. He didn't know what to say. So he went with the truth. "You looked like you needed the rest." Bucky shrugged, a small, awkward gesture. He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly feeling the chill in the night air now that Steve's warmth was gone. "We should... probably go back in," Bucky said, though the words lacked any real conviction. He was looking back toward the house like it held some kind of monster.

"We don't have to," Steve said, his tone quiet. "If you don't want to." Bucky looked over at him, eyes wide with a quiet wonder. He didn't understand how Steve always seemed to notice everything. “I-” Bucky looked down. “Let’s stay then…” A tiny, embarrassed smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I-I guess parties really aren’t my thing after all” Steve laughed quietly. "Yeah," he admitted. "I think I'd rather be out here." For a second neither of them spoke. Then Steve cleared his throat. “Can I ask you something?” Bucky looked over at him, still groggy. "Yeah." Steve rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly finding the question much harder to ask than he'd expected. "The person..." He hesitated. "The one who gave you those hickeys." Bucky's shoulders tensed almost instantly. "A-Are you seeing them?" Bucky stared down at the grass, twisting a blade between his fingers until it snapped. "...No." Steve blinked. “I-I mean, not really.” Bucky continued, swallowing hard. "It's not..." He struggled for the words. "We're not... together." He finally settled on, his voice barely a whisper. "Just a.. casual hookup." The lie sent a shiver through him. Steve stared at him for a second. Bucky wasn’t seeing anyone. Relief bloomed inside him before he could stop it. He quickly pushed it aside. "Oh," he said quietly. "Okay." The silence lingered.

Bucky kept his eyes on the grass. "...What about you?" Steve looked over. "Are you seeing anyone?" Steve smiled then, shaking his head. "No." 

"Oh." Bucky didn’t know why that made his chest tighten. "Have you ever..." Steve waited. Bucky's face immediately began to turn pink. "u-um-" He suddenly wasn't sure what he'd been trying to ask. Had Steve ever… Slept with someone? Kissed someone? Dated someone? His brain felt like mud. Stupid alcohol. "Have I...?" Steve prompted gently. "Noth-It's... forget it." Bucky stammered, shaking his head. Steve nudged him with his shoulder. "No, what? You can ask me anything." Bucky’s cheeks burned. He risked a glance at Steve, who was looking at him with an open, patient expression. “D-Dated anyone?” Bucky finally managed. He held his breath, waiting for the answer. “Yeah,” Steve said. “I dated a girl a couple years ago.” He smiled faintly at the memory. “We were together for about a year.” 

“Oh.”

“She was really nice,” Steve continued. “Smart. Way smarter than me.” He laughed quietly. “And she had this insane confidence. Like she knew exactly what she wanted at all times.” Bucky listened without saying anything. Steve shrugged. “Her parents were offered jobs in England so she moved.” His smile turned a little sad. “We tried talking about long distance, but..” He looked down at his hands. “We had just turned fifteen. It wasn’t gonna work.” His smile turned a little sad. “So... she broke up with me a couple weeks before we moved.” 

“I'm sorry,” Bucky murmured. “It's okay. It hurt for a while.” He looked up at the stars. “But she's happy, and so am I.” Bucky nodded slowly. Steve was quiet for another moment before letting out a small laugh. “Besides...” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I kinda figured out after we broke up that I liked guys too.” He glanced over at Bucky. “Or...” He smiled sheepishly. “I guess bi would be the right word.” 

”Oh.” Bucky felt like a broken record player, brain struggling to process and form words. Steve liked guys. The thought made something in Bucky’s chest flutter with a nervous, hopeful energy he didn't dare name. “I mean um… That’s okay.” Steve laughed. "Thanks for your permission, Buck." Bucky flushed even darker, stammering out a weak apology. “It’s okay. I'm teasing.” Steve continued. “It took me a while to get comfortable with it. But my mom was great about it. She was like, ‘Steven, I’ve seen your sketchbook. I was only waiting for you to figure it out yourself.’’” Bucky found himself smiling, a real, genuine smile that reached all the way to his eyes. "So... what about you?" Steve asked, turning the tables again. Bucky's smile faltered. "Me?" He shook his head. "I-” He swallowed. “I've never dated anyone." The words felt embarrassing to admit. "I don't really..." He searched for the right way to explain it. "...do that." 

Rumlow would never allow it. He didn’t like people touching what belonged to him. Besides, he wasn’t even supposed to have friends. Let alone a significant other. School was a privilege. Food was a privilege. The clothes on his back were a privilege. Everything Pierce and Rumlow gave him came with the expectation that he would be good in return. That was only fair. They'd taken him in when no one else would. Given him a home, a future. He owed them everything. Pierce always said rules weren't punishments. They were there because Bucky couldn't be trusted to make good decisions on his own. He was impulsive, easily distracted. Too emotional. Someone had to make the important choices for him. Give him structure. They'd been telling him that since he was a kid. And every time he'd tried to do things his own way, he'd only proved them right. Dating wasn't for someone like him. Besides, why would anyone want someone like him? Why would anyone want someone who needed constant looking after? Someone who couldn’t be trusted to make his own decisions. Someone broken and used.  

"It's just not really something I think about," he finished quietly, suddenly feeling sick. "That's okay," Steve said softly, but Bucky wasn't listening anymore. Rumlow. The thought slammed into him without warning. His curfew. His stomach dropped. He hadn't checked the time even once since he’d arrived. Panic crashed over him so suddenly his hands started shaking. "Shit..." he breathed, fumbling for his phone. It took him two tries to get it out of the pocket of his jeans. His fingers felt clumsy as he pressed the side button. The screen lit up. 12:10 a.m. Every ounce of color drained from his face. No, no, no. It took forty-five minutes to walk home from Sam's house. His curfew was 01:00 a.m. If he left right now, he'd barely make it. And if he somehow didn’t… Pierce was going to know. Rumlow was going to know. His breathing quickened. "I have to go." He scrambled to his feet so quickly the world lurched beneath him. His knees buckled, and he caught himself on the fence before he could fall. "Whoa, hey!" Steve was on his feet in an instant, reaching out instinctively before stopping himself halfway there. "What's wrong?"

"My curfew," Bucky gasped out, the words catching in his throat. "I-I’m supposed to be home in fifty minutes. I have to go." He started for the gate, his movements unsteady and panicked. Steve hurried after him. "Bucky, wait.” Bucky fumbled with the rusty latch, his trembling fingers slipping off it twice before it finally clicked open. "You can't walk home like this," Steve said, trying to keep his voice calm. "You're drunk. You can barely stand."

"I have to." Bucky shoved the gate open. "I have to go now." "Bucky." Steve caught up beside him as he stumbled onto the sidewalk. "I'm walking with you." Bucky stopped so abruptly he nearly lost his balance again. "No." Steve froze at the immediate sharpness in Bucky's tone. "You can't." Bucky said, his eyes wide and pleading. He couldn't let Steve anywhere near the house. Not anywhere Rumlow might see him. He already used Steve against him enough. If he saw him walking him home. Bucky stopped himself before his mind could go down that road.  "Bucky, you can barely walk in a straight line."

"I'll be fine." Steve looked at him incredulously. "You almost fell over standing up." 

"I said I'll be fine." Bucky's voice was trembling, but it was firm.Steve hesitated. Normally, this was the point where he'd back off. Whenever Bucky insisted he was fine. Even when he clearly wasn't. Steve usually let it go. He'd learned that pushing too hard only made Bucky retreat further into himself. But this wasn't the same. Bucky was drunk. Shaking. He could barely stay on his feet. Steve pictured him trying to navigate god knows how many minutes of dark sidewalks alone, stumbling across intersections and quiet streets while the alcohol clouded his judgment. He couldn't just stand there and watch him disappear into the night.

"Bucky." Steve's voice softened. "You've had... what? Five drinks? Six? You're stumbling. It's dark, you're far from home, and you're walking by yourself."

“You’re overreacting, Steve. I told you I’m fine.” Bucky scoffed, trying to keep up appearances. “It was just a few drinks, I’m not that drunk.” He took a step to prove his point, misjudged the curb, and ended up stumbling forward. Steve shot an arm out instantly, grabbing Bucky's elbow and steadying him before he could faceplant on the pavement. Bucky flinched at the sudden contact, but he didn't pull away. He stood there for a second, leaning into Steve's support as he fought to catch his balance. "Let me walk with you," Steve said quietly, not letting go of Bucky's arm. "Please." Bucky’s head snapped up. The raw plea in Steve's voice made something inside him ache. He looked at Steve, his eyes wide and uncertain. “Please, Buck,” Steve said again, his grip gentle but firm. “I’m not letting you walk home alone like this.”

Bucky searched his face. He saw the stubborn set of Steve's jaw. The unwavering concern in his blue eyes. He knew that look. Steve wasn't going to back down this time. "Y-Your curfew..." Bucky said weakly. "You told me... yours is one too." Steve blinked. "What?" 

"I-I can't make you late." Bucky swallowed. "Won't... won't your mom be mad?" Steve stared at him for a second before letting out a quiet, almost disbelieving huff of laughter. "My mom?" He shook his head. "She'd be way more mad if she found out I let my friend walk home drunk by himself." Bucky just stared at him, his chest tightened. The raw determination and concern from Steve was too much. He felt something inside him give in. The fight drained out of him all at once, leaving him exhausted. His shoulders sagged, and he swayed on his feet again. Steve tightened his grip on his arm without a word, keeping him steady. "Okay," Bucky whispered at last.. A terrifying, traitorous part of Bucky was relieved. He didn't want to walk home alone. He didn’t want to say goodbye to Steve yet.

They set off down the quiet street. Bucky walked as fast as his unsteady legs would allow. His shoes slapped unevenly against the pavement as he hurried forward, his gaze fixed straight ahead with concentration. Steve matched his pace easily, staying half a step behind and to Bucky's right. He didn't crowd him. But he never let more than an arm's length separate them. Twice in the first block alone, Bucky stumbled. The first time, his foot caught on a crack in the sidewalk. Steve's hand was on his elbow before he could pitch forward. "Careful."

"I'm fine," Bucky muttered automatically. Steve didn't argue. He just waited until Bucky had his balance before letting go. The rest of the walk passed in the same rhythm. Bucky hurried forward as quickly as his unsteady legs would allow. Every few minutes he stumbled, and every few minutes Steve was there to steady him before letting go again. Neither of them spoke. Bucky didn't have the energy. Every ounce of his concentration was devoted to putting one foot in front of the other. To staying upright. To getting home before one. 

The neighborhood around them slowly began to change. The modest suburban homes gave way to larger properties. Front yards stretched farther back from the road, neatly trimmed hedges replacing chain-link fences. Iron gates stood at the ends of long driveways, and warm light spilled from oversized windows onto perfectly manicured lawns. Steve found himself glancing around in surprise. He hadn't realized Bucky lived in this part of town. “Wow.” Bucky didn’t respond. Steve looked over at one of the passing houses. “These houses are massive.” Bucky remained silent. Steve frowned slightly. “You live around here?” Bucky nodded once. "Mhm." Steve whistled under his breath. "You never mentioned you live in a neighborhood like this." 

"Pierce is very particular about his public image." Bucky said quietly, "The neighborhood has to reflect that." The words were spoken without inflection. Like he was reciting a fact from a textbook. Steve's eyes drifted over another sprawling estate, trying to reconcile it with everything he thought he knew about Bucky. Steve remembered Bucky telling him about his parents dying when he was young. That he’d been taken in by his guardian, Pierce right after. But somehow... this wasn't what he'd pictured at all. He'd imagined a small house. Maybe a little worn down. The kind of place where you could hear your neighbors through the walls and everyone parked on the street because there wasn't room for driveways. Not this. Not towering gates and houses that looked more like estates than homes. He guessed it explained why Bucky had always referred to Pierce, and by extension, Rumlow, with a strange sort of respect. Why he’d called Rumlow sir. Why he'd spoken about him like someone important. It explained why Pierce was rarely around. Successful men like him probably traveled and worked constantly. It explained why Rumlow seemed to be the one Bucky talked about most. 

But it didn't explain Bucky. Steve had only ever seen Bucky wear the same handful of outfits. He walked to school almost every day. He borrowed nearly every book he read from the library. Half the time he insisted he wasn't hungry, only to eat like he hadn't seen food all day the moment someone put a sandwich in front of him. And despite living somewhere this beautiful, Steve couldn't remember Bucky saying a single good thing about being home. He looked over at Bucky, trying to piece it all together. Before he could stop himself, he asked. "So... Rumlow's the one who looks after you when Pierce's away, right?" Bucky nodded once. "Mhm." 

"How often is Pierce gone?" Bucky was quiet for a moment, thinking. “I-It depends…” Steve waited for him to continue. “Most days he’s gone till late evening.” he shrugged. “But he also works from home sometimes. Business trips are rarer, but they happen at least once a month.. Usually on weekends.” Steve nodded. “That's... pretty often.” Another shrug. “He’s busy.” The reply was automatic. Steve couldn’t imagine a life that was so empty. Growing up, no matter how long his mom's shift had been, she'd always tried to be there. If she worked late, she'd call to tell him when she'd be home. If she was off, she'd be waiting in the kitchen when he walked through the door, pulling him into a hug before asking how school had gone. Some nights dinner was homemade. Other nights it was frozen pizza or takeout because she'd been too exhausted to cook. It had never mattered. What mattered was that she was there. That someone was happy to see him. Steve glanced sideways at Bucky again. It suddenly struck him that, in all the conversations they'd had, Bucky had never once said anything about coming home to someone waiting for him. Never complained about Pierce embarrassing him. Never mentioned family dinners or movie nights or arguing over what to watch on TV.

"So it's mostly just you and Rumlow then?" Bucky hesitated. The question made something tighten in his chest. Talking about Rumlow always felt dangerous. Even when there was nothing dangerous about the conversation itself. "...Yeah." He kept his eyes on the sidewalk. "Rumlow's there most afternoons if Pierce isn't." Steve nodded slowly. "So... they never leave you home alone?" Bucky's steps faltered for half a second. Home alone? The idea felt foreign. "No," he answered quietly. Steve frowned. "Never?" Bucky shook his head. "Pierce doesn't..." He searched for the words, trying to explain something that had always simply been true. "He doesn't think it's a good idea." 

"Why not?" 

Bucky shrugged, though the motion looked more like he was making himself smaller. "I can't really be trusted by myself." Steve blinked. "...What?" Bucky looked down at the pavement. He shouldn't be talking about this. Normally, the thought would've been enough. The words would've died in his throat before they ever reached his lips, years of habit and careful self-control smothering them before they could become a problem. But his head still felt pleasantly fuzzy. The warning came slower than it should have, like it had to fight through a thick layer of cotton before reaching him. By the time he realized he'd already said too much, the words were already there, hanging between them. "I just..." He frowned slightly, struggling to explain. "Pierce says I get distracted. I forget things." Another small shrug. "Make bad decisions." The words came out smoothly. Rehearsed. Steve was reminded of their conversation in the classroom on Monday. Bucky had said something similar then, about needing structure. He’d said Rumlow thought friends were a distraction. Was that an opinion Rumlow and Pierce shared?

He couldn't imagine his own mom saying something like that to him. He'd forgotten homework. Left dishes in the sink. Snuck out to meet friends when he'd been told not to. He'd made plenty of bad decisions growing up. She'd grounded him. Lectured him. Made him earn back privileges like video games when he'd crossed a line. But she'd never made him feel like those mistakes meant he couldn't be trusted. Listening to Bucky, it didn't sound like he'd done something wrong. It sounded like he'd been taught that he was something wrong.

Steve swallowed down his instinct to say Bucky was wrong. Instead he started "So..." he said carefully. "Rumlow's just... always there?" Bucky nodded. His throat suddenly felt tight. "Pretty much." They walked another few steps in silence, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath their shoes. "Do you..." Steve hesitated, choosing his words. "Do you like spending time with him?" Bucky flinched. The reaction was almost too small to see, but Steve was watching him closely. “Y-Yeah.” The reply came too quickly. Bucky cleared his throat. "I mean... of course I do." He frowned, as though calculating every word carefully. "He..." Another small shrug. "He practically r-raised me." Steve stayed quiet. "Pierce is busy most of the time." Bucky continued. "Rumlow was the one who was... there." A beat. “He cares about me a lot…” The words were barely above a whisper. "He just..." Bucky searched for the right explanation. "He has a different way of showing it sometimes." Steve didn't answer right away. 

He thought back to the small glimpses of Rumlow he’d gotten over the past few weeks. Every time they'd met, Rumlow had been normal enough. At the mall, he'd been polite, introduced himself, shaking Steve's hand. Smiled. He had thanked him for taking care of Bucky when he’d been sick. At the nurse's office, he'd handled Bucky with care, helping him up and helping support him as they walked out. On paper, there wasn't anything Steve could point to and say, That's wrong. Yet, Bucky completely changed around him. He became quieter. More careful with his words. Like he was constantly trying to avoid making a mistake. Rumlow seemed to be watching him. Always correcting. Always stepping in before Bucky could answer for himself. Steve looked at Bucky again, at the tense set of his shoulders, the way he was staring intently at the sidewalk, like he was afraid to look up. "He seems..." Steve said finally. "...very protective." Bucky let out a shaky breath. "L-Like I said..." His voice was barely audible. "He cares."

Bucky slowed to a stop as they reached the end of the sidewalk. He lifted a hand, pointing toward an iron gate at the end of the next street. "That's... me." Steve followed his finger with his gaze. The gate stood nearly twice his height, black wrought iron stretching between thick stone pillars. Beyond it, he could just make out a long, tree-lined driveway that ended in a house that looked impressive even for the rich neighbourhood. Bucky shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I-I can make it from here." Steve looked from the gate back to Bucky. "You sure?" Bucky nodded quickly. “Yeah.” Steve had the distinct feeling he wasn't being allowed any closer. He didn't argue. Instead, a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Well..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I had a really good time tonight." But Bucky wasn’t listening anymore. He reached into his pocket, checking the time on his phone. 12:55 AM.

His stomach dropped. Five minutes. He still had to get through the gate, make it up the driveway, and inside the house. His pulse lurched into a sprint. "Shit..." Steve frowned. "Buck?" Bucky looked up, his eyes suddenly wide. "I’m sorry." He shoved the phone back into his pocket. "I-I really have to go." Before Steve could say anything else, Bucky had already turned, hurrying toward the gate with quick, uneven steps. "Bucky-" Steve called out, but Bucky didn’t stop. He wasn't even sure Bucky had heard him.