Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Brooklyn Boys" by ellebeesknees.

— —

“Turn it up!” America yells from her pottery wheel across the art room.

“No,” Steve says from his desk.

“C’mon,” Teddy says, “This song is my favorite.”

“What even is it?” Steve asks, not looking up from his laptop.

“Howling Commandos,” Kate says, sketching at her table.

The lead singer croons something sappy, which makes Steve roll his eyes a bit as he types out the last sentence of his email.

“Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos,” Billy corrects, emphasizing the ‘and’.

“Oh, so sorry to have forgotten your boyfriend,” Kate says, rolling her eyes.

“Hey!” Teddy and Billy practically say in unison. Steve can’t help but smile. He remembers when the two of them spent all of Art Club making eyes at each other from across the room; now, they share a table and were nominated for Homecoming Court.

“Mr. Rogers, I have an idea for a field trip,” America says.

Steve looks at her from over the edge of his laptop and raises an eyebrow. “If your idea is anywhere other than the supply closet for some more pastels, then you’re out of luck. Art Club pretty much owes the school money at this point.”

“How about Unity Club?” America asks.

Steve shakes his head. “If you think that Art Club’s financial situation is bad, you should see Unity Club’s.”

“Hmm… I see a common thread… one particular teacher…” Kate says.

“Hmm… I see a particular thread… One club for the arts, the other for LGBT equality… Things the administration doesn’t give a shit about,” Steve responds.

“I don’t see how you still have a job, speaking like that,” Teddy says.

“Thank God for tenure,” Steve mutters. “Anyhow, out of gross curiosity, what’s the field trip?” he asks America.

“Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos are playing in Brooklyn this weekend. You should bring us all!”

“Why can’t you all go yourselves?” he asks.

Billy levels him with an unimpressed look. “Broke,” he says.

“Too young,” Teddy laments.

“Which is why we need a responsible adult figure to pay and chaperone,” America says.

Steve shakes his head. “Not even if I weren’t otherwise occupied this weekend.”

America raises her eyebrows. “You’re occupied? What kind of weird shit are you getting into?”

“Language,” Steve says. “This is a classroom.” America rolls her eyes, and Steve adds, “my boyfriend’s coming to visit” with a toothy grin.

“Your boyfriend who lives in Canada?” Billy asks.

“No, my boyfriend who lives in California.”

“Oh, the boyfriend who you almost never talk about and who never comes into town except when you can’t take your class to the Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos concert. Does he even have a name?” Kate asks.

“Yes,” Steve says, “His name is Bucky Barnes.”

“Oh my God,” America says, rolling her eyes and turning back to her work as Billy, Teddy and Kate laugh. “You’re the worst.”

“What, you don’t believe me?” Steve asks, all innocence.

A chorus of “no”s come from around the room. Even Eli — who has been ignoring the lot of them as he works on a painting — chimes in.

Meanwhile, Steve types a text on his Mac. I just told my class, but none of them believed me!

A text comes back a few seconds later. You show them some of our private photos? ;) Think they’re pretty believable.

You’re disgusting. Steve writes.

But you love me.

God help me, Buck. I do.

— —

“Schnookums,” Bucky says when Skype finally connects.

“Don’t,” Steve says with a pout.

Bucky makes a few kissy noises at the camera. “Dearest.”

“Oh my God,” Steve says rolling his eyes. “I’ll log off, don’t think I won’t.”

“I always expect the unexpected when it comes to you, baby.”

Steve shudders. “If you say that again, I will dump you. I’m not kidding around.”

Bucky tries to hold it in, but after a few seconds he breaks, laughing. “Okay, okay! Jeez, you’re so dramatic.”

Steve pulls a blanket around his shoulders. He’s in his apartment, sitting on his bed with his laptop resting on his knees. “Says the guy who makes a living singing a song about his sixth grade crush.”

“Steve,” Bucky says with a serious expression, “you were my sixth grade crush.”

“I never said that you had bad taste in sixth grade.”

Bucky opens his mouth as if to respond, but doesn’t. Instead he closes it and just smiles, resting his face on his hand and leaning closer to the screen. His hair kind of flops down a bit, and he’s in pajamas. When Steve sees pictures of him online he’s always in leather and denim, and he forgets how little softness Bucky can show of himself to the world. Steve feels lucky that he can see that softness. “I miss you,” Bucky says after a long moment.

“You’re a sap.” Steve bites his lip. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “I miss you, too.”

“There we go,” Bucky says, grinning now. “Now you’re gettin’ it.”

“Nah, haven’t gotten it in about eight months.”

Bucky snorts. “And there’s the charmin’ man I have pledged my love to.”

“Just saying.”

“Well, your long dry spell can end this weekend, if you want it to,” Bucky says with a grin, wiggling his eyebrows a little.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yeah, about that—“

Bucky’s smile falls all at once. “Don’t say you’re cancellin’ on me again.” He swallows hard. “Steve, please, I—“

“Bucky,” Steve interrupts. “Can you let me finish?”

“No,” Bucky says, petulant.

“I was going to ask if you could get me a few extra tickets for my students.”

Bucky visibly slumps, forehead in his hand, and chuckles, low. “Sure,” he says. “Email me the details and I’ll get ‘em for you.”

“I wouldn’t cancel,” Steve says.

“I know,” Bucky says, “but I’m still worried you will.” He doesn’t look up.

“It was just the one time,” Steve says.

“And the dozen other offers,” Bucky responds.

“I work, Buck,” Steve says, knowing it’s a weak defense given all of the options Bucky’s given him since the last time they saw each other.

“So do I,” Bucky says, looking up again, “and don’t get me wrong — I want you to work. I wanna work, too. I just want us to work, and that may sometimes involve seeing each other in the flesh.”

“I know,” Steve says, maybe a bit sharper than he should, because Bucky looks down again. “It just hasn’t been…”

“I know,” Bucky says soft, looking up. “I miss her, too.”

They sit in silence for a long moment. It’s hard to believe that Sarah has been gone for eight months.

“She would’ve been excited that you’re coming to play here,” Steve says as he picks at a lose string on his blanket. “She kept complaining that your tour never came to New York.”

“It was an international tour,” Bucky says. “That was kinda the point.”

“Ma liked to have it her way, though,” Steve says, smiling.

“And she always made apple cake for the crew when we came this way.” He sighs, dramatic. “If only her son would take up the gauntlet and do the same.”

“We both know that you’re the only person in this relationship that can cook,” Steve says. “I can barely boil a potato.”

“Yes, but have you tried boiling a potato since the one time you did it in the eighth grade?” Steve turns up his nose and doesn’t say a word, because anything he says can and will be used against him in the court of Bucky. Bucky groans, growing his head back. “You’re impossible,” he says without heat.

“That’s why you love me,” Steve says with a little, hopeful smile.

Bucky takes a heavy breath. “I do love you,” he says.

“I know,” Steve says.

“I also miss your ass,” Bucky says, finally smiling again.

“And it misses you,” Steve says. “Just a few days until you’ll be reunited.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Just a few days.”

— —

Bucky was Steve’s Bucky before he was Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos’ Bucky.

Still, that doesn’t change the fact that Steve’s Bucky is also Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos’ Bucky, which makes everything so much more complicated than it used to be. Bucky may’ve signed a contract with Shield Records, but Steve never signed anything, which makes sharing Bucky with the world even harder. It seems like things were simpler even when Bucky was overseas, serving in Iraq. Sure, there was the constant terror that he would be killed or forever changed — and all their nightmares came true when the grenade took Bucky’s arm — but the world’s eyes weren’t constantly turned to Bucky back then.

But what feels so weird is that while the world is tuned to Bucky on the radio and in the gossip magazines, none of them even know about Steve.

So Steve’s stopped listening to the interviews or reading the gossip columns. He doesn’t want to hear the speculation about who Bucky Barnes’ newest song is written about, or how he stepped out last night with Carly Rae Jepsen. Least of all, he doesn’t want to look at Bucky’s life and see that there’s no longer a space carved out for him like Steve always thought there would be.

Is it selfish? Sure.

But Steve’s always been selfish, and Bucky’s always humored him.

It’s just a matter of when Bucky decides to stop.

— —

“You’ll never guess,” Billy says, walking into Steve’s empty classroom. It’s lunchtime, and Steve wanted to catch up on some emails while eating the chicken caesar wrap he cobbled together from leftovers, but a visit from one of his (and he’s not afraid to admit it) students is welcome.

“Surprise me,” Steve says, turning down the classical music he had playing in the background.

“The band sent us tickets!”

“What band?” Steve asks, trying to hide his smile.

“Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos!” Billy says. “Apparently Gabe Jones saw some stuff America posted from our club meeting on Instagram and sent us tickets for this weekend because he was so impressed.”

“Imagine that!” Steve says. “Congratulations.”

“It’s kind of surreal,” Billy says.

Steve shrugs. “Just enjoy it. Not every day that you and your friends go get to see your favorite band for free.”

Billy grins. “That’s true,” he says, then pauses. “I gotta ask…”

“Yeah?” Steve says.

“Are you…” He starts, then shakes his head. “Never mind. I gotta go.”

“Alright,” Steve says. “Have fun at the concert, and stay safe.”

“Will do!” Billy says, practically skipping out of Steve’s office.

Steve texts Bucky. Thanks for the kids’ tickets. They’re pumped.

Anything for you (within reason and the law). Also, I’ve got a surprise for you.

???

You’ll see in a few hours!!! <3 <3 <3

Steve rolls his eyes and texts back, You know I hate surprises.

You’ll like this one. Bucky says. Though it’s not that trip to Disney World I’ve been promising you.

I’ll never forgive you, Steve texts, smiling.

It’s nice, he thinks, to have someone to look forward to. It’s nice to be in love.

— —

There’s a knock on his apartment door just after seven pm. Steve looks up from his computer, furrowing his brow. He didn’t order food and it’s too late for his UPS delivery (a set of colored pencils that he shouldn’t have splurged on, but did anyway), so he’s half-convinced that whoever is at the door is a murderer. But he’s not not going to answer, mostly because of the possibility that it is his pencils.

So he gets up, and scoots to the door in his socks. Steve undoes the four locks he has on his door, and standing on the other side is—

“Bucky!” Steve says, grinning.

“I brought dumplings,” Bucky says, dangling a paper take-out bag in his right hand.

“C’mere,” Steve says, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s torso and squeezing tight. “You were supposed to come day after tomorrow, I thought,” he says. “Just for the concert.”

Bucky kisses his temple. “Thought I’d surprise you,” he says. Steve lets go and Bucky straightens up. “You can take a minute to let all of your lovers out through the fire escape if you—“

“Stupid,” Steve interrupts, grabbing Bucky’s elbow and dragging him into the apartment.

Bucky laughs and follows along into the apartment, shutting the door behind him. He drops the bag of dumplings onto a nearby table and wraps his arms around Steve, pulling him in close. “Hi,” he says, smiling so big that the lines next to his eyes crinkle.

“Hey yourself,” Steve says. He snuggles in closer, resting his head against Bucky’s chest and shutting his eyes. “Been a while.”

Bucky hums in agreement, moves a hand to Steve’s hair and runs his fingers through it. Steve shivers a little at the cold metal, and Bucky chuckles quietly. He leans down and presses a kiss to the top of Steve’s head. “Missed you so much,” he says, then exhales. “But I also missed the pork dumplings, so can we—“

Steve shoves Bucky away and sprints to the table. “Steve!” Bucky yells as Steve grabs the bag of dumplings from the table and sprints across the apartment to the kitchen, nearly slipping because of his socks.

“They’re mine!” Steve calls when he gets to the kitchen island, dropping the bag down and opening it up.

“Steve, stop bein’ so dramatic and let go of that—“ Bucky trips over one of Steve’s discarded shoes and falls over with an umph.   

As soon as Steve sees that the love of his life is not, in fact, injured, Steve opens the bag and pulls out one of four white cartons of take out. By the time that Bucky is up and over in the kitchen, Steve’s got a dumpling hanging out of his mouth. “Ha,” he says between bites.

“You didn’t even use the dippin’ sauce!” Bucky says in mock despair.

Steve rolls his eyes and roots around in the bag to find the container of dipping sauce, and his hand comes across something small and soft. He furrows his brow and pulls out a small velvet bag. Dangling it in front of him he looks at Bucky, whose head is ducked down as he stares at his feet. “What’s this?” Steve asks.

“A present,” Bucky says.

“Is it more dumplings?” Steve asks.

Bucky chuckles, shakes his head. “Nah, not even a gift card that can be used to purchase more dumplings.”

“Then why would I want it?” Steve asks.

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno, it’s just… You don’t even gotta open it right now if you don’t wanna. It’s—“

Steve opens up the bag.

“Buck?” he asks, head shooting up when he sees what’s inside.

“I’m not… it’s not an actual proposal or anythin’.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You take all the romance out of it,” Steve says.

“I know that you’re not ready,” Bucky says, honest to god twiddling his thumbs. “But it’s a… I dunno, there was this guy who said he could engrave stuff and I thought…”

Steve pulls the ring out of the bag and takes a closer look, squinting his eyes. He reads, ‘To the end of the line…’ in beautiful cursive on the inside of the band and smiles.

It’s what Bucky said to him after his ma’s funeral. “I’m with you to the end of the line.” Steve was almost sure that it would appear in some Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos song, but it didn’t, and Steve thought Bucky must’ve forgotten.

“I couldn’t wait to give it to you,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry.”

“Jeez,” Steve says, looking back up and holding the ring firmly in his palm. “You don’t have to apologize.”

“I didn’t know how you’d take it,” Bucky says with a shrugs.

“I love it,” Steve says, almost surprising himself. “I love you.”

Bucky sags with relief, takes a few steps forward. “That’s… Okay,” he says. “I mean, I’m glad. I just wanted the rest of the dumplings,” he says in a rush, and before Steve really understands what’s happening, Bucky has closed the space between himself and the counter, grabbed the takeout bag, and is making his way to the couch. “Grab some sodas!” he calls behind him.

Steve flips Bucky off with his left hand and holds the ring in his right. Before he grabs two root beers from the fridge, he slips it onto the ring finger of his right hand.

It fits.

— —

“Can I do somethin’ stupid?” Bucky asks a few minutes later as they eat dumplings together side-by-side on Steve’s couch.

“Depends,” Steve says.

“On what?” Bucky asks.

“Will it ruin my couch?” Steve asks, raising an eyebrow.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “No,” he says, then pulls out his phone. “I’m gonna put somethin’ on Instagram,” he says.

“Lord,” Steve says.

“It’ll be funny,” Bucky says, rearranging their boxes of takeout and sticking his chopsticks into one. He then takes a few pictures from different angles. When he’s satisfied, he spends a good minute picking out a filter and typing out a caption, biting down on his lip as he types. He chuckles to himself, then holds his phone out to Steve. “Okay to post?” he asks.

Steve reads the post: Dumplings with my dumpling. #Brooklyn #HomeSweetHome #Bae

Steve rolls his eyes. “You realize that the gossip magazines will be all over this?” he asks as he hands the phone back to Bucky.

Bucky shrugs and grins. “I like that you call them ‘gossip magazines’,” he says, mocking Steve.

“Press post,” Steve orders.

Bucky does so with a snicker. He then pops another dumpling in his mouth and scoots closer to Steve, leaning over so that his head is resting on Steve’s chest. “We could—“ he starts after he’s done chewing.

“No,” Steve interrupts.

Bucky looks up at Steve through his long eyelashes. “I didn’t finish.”

“I knew what you were gonna say.”

“I didn’t know you hated the Central Park Zoo that much,” he says, which just makes Steve roll his eyes.

“It’s not a good idea,” Steve says.

“The zoo is— OW!” Bucky yells as Steve jabs him in the side with his index finger. “Okay, okay! Jeez.”

“It’s not that I don’t wanna be… open,” Steve says, moving his hand to Bucky’s hair so he can play with it. Bucky (who is, and always has been, a cat) sighs with contentment and snuggles in closer.

“I know,” Bucky says, shutting his eyes as Steve strokes the shorter side of his undercut. “It’s just…” He opens his eyes again. “I have something to tell you.”

“Something else?” Steve asks.

Bucky pouts. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks.

“You’re full of surprises tonight, is all.”

Bucky snorts. “This is a good one, I promise.”

“Alright, I’m ready.”

“I’ve talked to the band,” Bucky says. “And—“

“You’re not breaking up, are you?” Steve asks, eyes going wide.

“Jesus, what? No. Oh my God, Steve.” Steve opens his mouth to respond, but Bucky says, “Just lemme finish, ‘kay?” Steve nods. “So, I talked to the band, and we’re all… It’s been a lot, the past couple years. Everyone just kinda wants to go home for a bit.” He reaches down and pinches the material of Steve’s jeans between his fingers, looking at them distractedly. “Anyhow, we decided that maybe it was time for a break. Six months of downtime, then six months of recording our next album. No tourin’, no press, no music videos for a year.”

“Wow,” Steve says, quiet.

“And I’ve already talked to everyone and set everythin’ up, and we decided that we could do our recording here.”

“In New York?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods. “Yeah,” he says.

“But you did your last two albums in LA,” Steve says.

“And everyone’s sick of LA and the label knows we’re profitable enough that they can pay for us to be out here, so.” He pauses. “Are you happy about that?” he asks, looking almost shy.

Steve lets himself smile. “Having to see your ugly face for an entire year? No way,” he says, but goes back to playing with Bucky’s hair.

Bucky chuckles. “We could go on vacation, too, this summer, and I know you’re gonna tell me that you’re teachin’ summer school again, but you forget that I’m kinda rich now so I can schedule us a vacation wherever whenever so you just gotta—“

“Are you gonna live here?” Steve asks. “With me?” he clarifies, voice cracking at the end.

Bucky looks up with his wide, pretty eyes. “I’d like to, if you’ll have me.”

Steve can’t stop the wide smile that comes to his face. “When’re you moving in?”

— —

They always make out to Sam Cooke. Well, not always — they’ve made out to many things over the course of their twelve-year relationship — but when they have a choice, it’s usually Sam Cooke. It’s probably because they’ve been listening to Sam Cooke together for ages. He was Sarah’s favorite artist, and she’d have her “The Best of Sam Cooke” album playing in the background of the Rogers apartment almost constantly. Far before anyone would have even dreamt that Bucky Barnes would become one of America’s most popular singers, he and Sarah Rogers sang "(I Love You) For Sentimental Reasons” using broom handles as fake microphones while Steve looked on, cringing with embarrassment as his two favorite people made fools of themselves.

Now, Bucky hums along to “Bring It On Home To Me” as they lay together in Steve’s too-small bed, naked and honestly, still a little sweaty.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna get a whole year together,” Steve says.

“You’re gonna get so fuckin’ sick of me,” Bucky says. He won’t look up at Steve.

“Never,” Steve says, pulling Bucky close again and kissing him while the song turns over to “Nothing Can Change This Love”.

— —

“Let’s get bagels,” Bucky says the next morning, still wet from the shower.

“It’ll take you an hour just to do your hair,” Steve says. “I still have to go to work, you know.”

“It’s five in the morning and you don’t need to be there until seven-thirty. We definitely have enough time to get bagels,” Bucky says. “And it only takes me fifteen minutes, tops.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You know how long it takes me to do my hair?” he asks.

“You don’t end up in magazines when your hair looks like shit,” Bucky says.

Steve giggles. “I forwarded you that article, right? The one that said you were letting yourself go when you wore sweats to the CVS?”

Bucky groans, then leans over to shake his wet hair onto Steve’s head. “Hey!” Steve says. “Gross!”

“It’s cleeeeeean,” Bucky responds, grinning. He drops a kiss onto Steve’s head. “I’ll make it ten, then bagels?”

“Whatever,” Steve says, rolling his eyes but smiling.

— —

Bucky has Steve tucked under his arm as they walk the couple blocks to the bagel shop that they both like. The nice thing about living in the same apartment your entire life is that you really get to know the neighborhood businesses, so just about every granny with a restaurant in the area remembers Steve and Bucky when they were kids, and the bubbe who runs the operations of this particular bagel joint may not make the bagels anymore, but she still says Kaddish for Sarah Rogers when she goes to temple.

Steve is feeling pretty good, even if Bucky’s metal arm takes a bit to warm up against Steve’s neck.

And then some fuck in a Morning Glories shirt passes them and calls them faggots.

“What?” Steve asks, whirling around. The guy — dark hair, a little thick, white — snickers.

“Steve,” Bucky mutters, moving defensively in front of Steve, but turning his head back at the fucker. He may not be able to see Bucky’s face, but Steve knows that he’s leveling the guy with his best ‘don’t fuck with us’ glare. Having been on the receiving end of that glare, Steve knows that it’s typically pretty effective.

Except for, apparently, this fuck.

“Freedom of speech,” the guy says with a cheeky sort of grin. “Didn’t mean anything by it,” he adds.

“I wasn’t infringing on your freedom of speech,” Steve says, feeling his face contort into that ugly frown he gets when he gets angry. “Just asking you to repeat yourself to my face.”

“Faggots,” the guy says, and then Steve is pushing past Bucky and punching the asshole in the face.

“Steve!” Bucky shouts as the little fucker backs away, clutching his nose like he’s been mortally wounded.

“The fuck?” he asks. “You punched me!”

“You wanna get punched again?” Steve asks, lifting his fists up, ready to go.

He feels Bucky’s hand on his shoulder. “Steve—“

“You can’t just punch someone,” the guy says.

“I just punched you,” Steve says with a thin smile.

“That’s not okay!” the guy yells, still clutching his nose. It’s not even bleeding, and it makes Steve want to roll his goddamn eyes.

“Neither is calling people a slur in the middle of the street!” Steve yells back.

“You piece of—“ the guy starts, moving closer, but then Bucky moves between the two of them. He grabs the guy by his Morning Glories shirt and pulls him up using his metal hand.

“What were you sayin’?” he asks, low.

“Put me down!”

“You gonna apologize?” Bucky asks, practically growling. Despite his irritation that Bucky stepped in when Steve obviously had it handled, that voice is kinda sexy.

“I’m not even homophobic,” the guy says, “I’m just saying what you are. I’m—“

“Must be easy for you, goin’ around and sayin’ shit like it doesn’t mean anythin’, but it does. Even if you don’t think you’re bein’ homophobic, you are. You’re spreadin’ it, you’re preachin’ it, and then you’re tryin’ to distance yourself from the consequences — tryin’ to make it seem like we’re just bein’ sensitive. Pretty sure your balls’d be sensitive if I kicked ‘em, too, but I’m not gonna do that because I’m not a piece of shit like you are.”

“Your boyfriend just—“

Bucky’s jaw sets. “You say a word about my boyfriend and I will grind your fuckin’ face into the pavement and not bat an eye.”

The guy must finally recognize that Bucky means business and doesn’t say anything else. Bucky exhales, then drops the guy, shoving him enough that he stumbles. “C’mon Steve,” Bucky says, turning around as the guy hurries off.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Steve snaps.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “You wanna have that fight now?” Bucky asks. Steve scowls, then after a moment of intense eye-contact, Bucky chuckles. “Fine, alright,” Bucky says. “Lead the way.”

Steve does so, noticing for the first time the two girls in school uniforms standing across the street and watching them.

One smiles at Steve and Steve thinks oh shit.

— —

The headline on Teen Vogue reads: He’s Howling! Watch Bucky Barnes school the homophobe who made fun of his friend!

“It’s one of the nicer ones,” Sam says during lunch in the teacher’s lounge.

“You don’t think anyone here saw anything, right?” Steve asks.

Sam shrugs. “Don’t know,” he says. “It wasn’t obvious that it was you, if that’s your concern. Though, it’s probably a good thing you changed when you got here.” Steve looks down at his button-down and slacks, grateful. He’d worn something more casual when he went out with Bucky, but brought a change of clothes in his bag because he tends to get sweaty on the walk to school. “But I wouldn’t expect—“

“Steve,” Assistant Principal Hill says from the doorway to the Teacher’s Lounge. “Principal Fury wants to see you as soon as you’re finished with your lunch.”

“Spoke too soon,” Sam says as about a hundred expletives run through Steve’s head at once.

— —

Bucky is sitting on Steve’s couch, watching Steve’s TV, and eating Steve’s leftovers when Steve gets home. “Heya honey,” he says, grinning from the couch. “How was your day?”

Steve ignores him, and heads into his bedroom to change out of his stupid slacks and his stupid shirt and to put on pajamas, because it was that kind of day. Except, as soon as he’s in his bedroom shirtless, the door opens.

“Hey,” Bucky says. “Can I come in?”

“I can’t stop you,” Steve says.

Bucky snorts. “You could just tell me not to come in.”

“Just come in,” Steve mutters, rolling his eyes as he strips off his pants. He stands in his boxers for a moment before grabbing a dirty pair of sweats off the floor.

“We not goin’ out tonight?” Bucky asks as Steve pulls them on.

“You can go out if you want,” Steve snaps.

Bucky frowns. “Steve, what’s wrong?” he asks.

“I don’t wanna talk about it,” Steve says.

“Steve—“

“Would you just…” Steve says, but stops himself before he can finish the sentence.

But Bucky knows what would come next. “Shut up?” he suggests.

“I didn’t say that,” Steve says, knowing it’s a moot argument. He grabs a dirty shirt from the floor, and of course it’s a Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos shirt, worn and comfortable.

“But you were gonna,” Bucky says, then sighs. “I don’t even really care about that, which… well, it sucks that you wanted to say that, but that’s more a symptom than a cause, right?”

Steve doesn’t answer, not knowing what to say. Sometimes it sucks how intuitive Bucky is. It’s part of why people like Bucky’s music so much — it’s thoughtful.

“Steve?” Bucky prompts.

Steve sighs. “Have you looked online today?” he asks.

“No,” Bucky says. “Should I?”

“Someone took a video of what happened this morning and posted it on the Internet.”

Bucky’s face falls. “What?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Don’t worry about it, all your coverage was good.”

The blood drains from Bucky’s face. “Did they say somethin’ about you?” he asks. “I can get my lawyer, I’ll—“

“I was your ‘unidentified friend,’” Steve says, spitting out the last words.

Bucky pauses. “Did you want to be identified?” he asks.

“No, but you know who could identify me? Principal Fury,” Steve says, not waiting for an answer to his rhetorical question.

“Shit,” Bucky says, slumping against the doorframe. “Are you…?”

“Fired?” Steve finishes. Bucky nods, slow. “No,” Steve says. Bucky sighs with relief. “But I’m on real thin ice.”

“I thought you have tenure—“

“Tenure doesn’t really cut it when you’re filmed punching some guy on the street.”

“He was harassin’ you,” Bucky says, straightening up again. “Doesn’t that count for somethin’?”

“That’s why I still have a job,” Steve admits. “If it had been any other scenario, though…” He trails off, turns his back to Bucky and sighs.

“Then we’ll just be more careful next time,” Bucky says. “I hadn’t realized anyone was filmin’ us.”

“Are you ever not going to be filmed again?” Steve asks, shutting his eyes and tensing up.

Bucky is quiet for a long moment. Then he says quiet and level, “What do you mean by that?”

Steve turns back around. “I want to be able to be myself.”

“You can be,” Bucky says.

“Not if there are people constantly following you.” He pauses, runs a hand through his hair. “I never see you, you’re always busy, I can’t even talk to people about you or us. I just… I don’t know if I can do this anymore.”

“Steve?” Bucky asks, even more quietly.

“I think you should stay somewhere else tonight,” Steve says.

“Alright,” Bucky says, “I can do that.”

“Okay,” Steve says.

“But can we talk first?” Bucky asks. “Just, I wanna make sure that we’re good before I go—“

“We’re not,” Steve interrupts.

“What?” Bucky asks.

“Good. We’re not good.”

“I’m… confused. Steve, is it just this video? Because we can take legal action, make sure that your school can’t hold it against you. Or—“

“Bucky, stop.”

“No, Steve, I need to talk to you about this,” Bucky says, voice sounding raw.

Steve turns around. “I don’t want to.”

“But we have to, okay? I don’t wanna leave here without knowin’ that we’re—“

“Breaking-up?” Steve says, turning around.

There’s a long moment, then Bucky asks, “Is that what this is?”

Steve swallows hard. “I don’t see how I can keep doing this.”

Bucky takes a breath, then another. His eyes start welling up with tears, and Steve wants to look away. It’s not the first time he’s made Bucky cry, but hates it. He hates causing Bucky pain.

“I’ve been tryin’, Steve. I’ve been invitin’ you places, makin’ plans.”

“And I’ve been canceling them,” Steve says.

“Or not agreein’ at all,” Bucky says, voice a little hoarse. “Even when I tried to sneak away for that weekend, it was a month after the funeral, and you—“

“Wouldn’t let you come,” Steve finishes. “She had just died, Buck.”

“I know!” Bucky says, loud, then again, quieter. “I know.” He exhales. “I wasn’t her son, but I loved her, too. I needed to see you.”

“Oh,” Steve says, looking down. Steve assumed Bucky had pitied him, wanted to come because of that. But of course Bucky was upset. Bucky loved Sarah, too.

“And I understood, okay? I understood why, and I know that my work has been hard on you, but I can’t just quit. The band depends on me, the crew depends on me. And I don’t wanna quit. Steve, I love you, but I don’t wanna quit.”

“I’m not asking you to quit.”

“Yes, you are,” Bucky says.

“No, I’m not,” Steve says, getting louder.

“Then what am I supposed to do?” Bucky asks, finally getting a little loud himself.

“Nothing! You don’t have to do a thing, Bucky. Except leave.”

Bucky wipes at his cheeks. He’s crying now, cheeks red and blue eyes going bloodshot. “I don’t get it,” he says. “We were okay last night. I don’t get it.”

Steve clears his throat. He needs to be honest; he knows that. It’s the right thing to do, and he owes Bucky that much. “I don’t fit in your life anymore, Buck. I’ve known it for a while, but the evidence was there today. I’m not… an unidentified friend.”

Bucky’s expression clears up. “Steve, this isn’t that the video got posted. It’s because you weren’t—“

“It’s for a lot of reasons!” Steve finally straight-up yelling. “A lot, Bucky!”

Bucky cringes, takes a step back. “Alright,” he says. “Alright,” he repeats.

And then he turns around, and he’s gone.

— —

“It was a long time coming,” he tells Sam over the phone.

And he’s sure it was.

— —

He shouldn’t look Bucky up on the gossip sites, but he does:

Bucky Barnes checks into Brooklyn’s McCarren Hotel… But where was he last night??

“In my bed,” Steve mutters before slamming his computer shut and burrowing into his covers.

— —

“Can you turn that off?” Steve snaps when one of Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos’ older songs starts playing during Art Club on Friday.

“No,” America says.

Steve says, “America, turn it off, please.”

She looks up from her project and levels Steve with a glare. “Fine,” she says, walking over to the radio and turning it off. “Happy?”

“Peachy,” Steve says, turning back to his computer. He writes emails and grades digital art assignments and doesn’t think about Bucky. He doesn’t think about how Bucky is feeling right now, and he doesn’t think about whether Bucky is thinking about him. Steve doesn’t think about whether Bucky is ready for the show tonight or how Bucky always, always texts him before he goes on, no matter what the time or the place or the circumstance of the show. Once, Bucky texted him at four in the morning just to say that he was going to play a surprise acoustic set at a bar because he was drunk and felt like it.

Steve doesn’t wonder whether Bucky will text him tonight.

“Mr. Rogers?” Eli asks, standing in front of Steve’s desk, and Steve jumps a bit. He hadn’t seen him come over. “Sorry for startling you.”

“No, no, I’m just…” He trails off, clears his throat. “What can I do for you, Eli?”

“Well, everyone else left,” he says, and Steve looks up to see that… Yeah. Everyone did leave. And they even cleaned up after themselves. What thoughtful kids. (For once.)

“Yes, they did,” Steve says.

“And I wanted to stay back and ask if you’re okay.”

“Oh,” Steve says, slumping back down a little. “Is it that obvious?” he asks.

Eli nods. “Sort of,” he says.

Steve slumps further. “Sorry,” he says.

“No, no, it’s… Of all our teachers, you’re the one who’s there for us. You don’t tune out like some of the others, and you really do care so…” He shrugs. “We all saw that video of you and Bucky Barnes,” he says, finally.

Steve groans. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I’m not,” Eli says. “And I think all of us thought you were lying when you said that Bucky Barnes is your boyfriend, but you don’t lie to us.”

“I try not to,” Steve says.

Eli nods. “That must’ve been scary, right? That guy?” he asks, quietly.

Steve shrugs. “Honestly, I’ve dealt with — pardon my French — assholes like him before.”

“Then why’re you…” he trails off.

“Bucky and I broke up last night,” Steve says, and he can’t help the way that his voice sounds when he says Bucky’s name. He clears his throat. “I broke up with Bucky.”

“Oh.”

“We’ve been together for a really long time,” Steve says, “and it ended. It just ended. Really quickly, too, I’m not so sure that I…”

Made the right decision.

He’s not sure that he made the right decision.

“Are you going to the concert tonight?” Eli asks.

“I shouldn’t,” Steve says.

Eli smiles. “But are you?” he asks.

Steve pauses, runs his finger along the edge of his laptop. “Yeah,” he says. “I am.”

— —

Bucky sent him a backstage pass ages ago, but Steve uses one of the kids’ tickets to get onto the main floor. He doesn’t know what exactly he’s doing here, and he doesn’t want to cause Bucky unnecessary stress before the show by just popping up backstage.

Steve doesn’t text Bucky, either.

And Bucky doesn’t text him, even though he’s never not texted Steve before a performance. Though that’s Steve’s own fault.

Steve remembers just how much he doesn’t like being at concerts before he even gets inside. There’s a mediocre security check and a ticket check, and while most of the people around him are the same age as him, they’re all decked out in fashionably-worn Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos t-shirts they bought “back when they were still pretty unknown” or clothes that look so tattered that they must’ve spent obscene amounts of money to buy them like that, rather than wearing them out themselves. Back at Bucky’s old shows — and Steve sort of hates that he can say a phrase like that — people showed up because they were already at the bar the band was playing at, or they heard them on the street and decided to check it out. There were all sorts of people in the crowds, often people you wouldn’t expect — one of Steve’s favorite memories is a Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos gig in Hell’s Kitchen where he ended up hanging out with a mother and daughter from Idaho in the city because the daughter got a scholarship to New York University and they had been taking a tour. They had just heard the music from the sidewalk after they got supper and had nothing better to do, so they came to the concert.

Nowadays, Steve probably couldn’t justify the price of the ticket if Bucky didn’t comp him. Walk-ins just don’t happen.

“Don’t be such a hipster,” Steve mutters to himself as he navigates the crowd.

He gets there pretty late — he’s missed most of the opening act, and the floor is already buzzing in anticipation of Bucky and the band. A guy standing next to Steve is talking loudly on the phone, saying he heard that Bucky Barnes showed up late to the gig, which is why it seems like the opening act is taking forever. He promises to call whoever it is back when Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos actually start playing. “Where’d you hear that?” Steve asks him once the guy hangs up, not caring that it could be considered rude to listen in. (Talking on the phone in the middle of a concert is pretty rude, too, even if the opening act isn’t the greatest band in the world.)

“Bouncer,” the guy says. “Says it was weird, usually the band is super punctual.”

“Huh,” Steve says. “Thanks.”

The guy ignores him and Steve wanders away, trying to get a better vantage point.

After another two songs the opening act exits to mild applause and the crew starts setting the stage up for Bucky Barnes And The Howling Commandos. Steve spots a few familiar crew members and starts feeling a little nauseous, knowing that he’ll see Bucky’s face in just a few minutes.

And then the crowd starts cheering and the stage goes dark and when it lights up again, there’s Bucky.

He looks like shit.

Maybe to people who haven’t studied Bucky’s face for nearly three decades, he looks fine. He’s on stage, hair slicked back, wearing the typical leather jacket and black jeans that he wears to perform. But Steve can see that he’s pale, that his eyes are redder than usual, and that he has deep circles underneath them. He also looks dehydrated; Steve can just tell (don’t ask why — it’s a gift cultivated over many years of watching Bucky play sports and get dehydrated while Steve sat on the sidelines drawing or doing homework). He’s at the microphone and Jim starts up on the drums and Steve knows they’re going to open with “Hydra”, one of their biggest songs that tends to get people pumped up.

Bucky opens his mouth and Steve’s heart breaks.

His voice is cracking, he’s slow on the uptick, and his presence just drags. The audience is still into it — most of them paid a lot of money to be there — but a woman by Steve loudly asks her friend if she thinks that Bucky is drunk. He’s not drunk; Steve’s seen drunk Bucky, and he’s a lot more fun than than the guy singing up there.

They finish “Hydra” to great applause, and move on to “Dog Tags” and “The Alps”. Bucky isn’t talking as much between songs as he usually does; Gabe takes over for him, which Steve hasn’t seen before. Halfway through their fourth song, “Ends in a Fight”, Bucky trips over a cable. He doesn’t catch himself, and he goes down hard, face flat onto the stage. The band stops playing abruptly and Dum Dum drops his bass to go help Bucky up. Steve pushes his way forward in the murmuring crowd, eyes glued to Bucky. “I’m fine,” Bucky says, which the mic picks up on. He turns away from the audience for a moment, still sitting, shoulders tight. Dum Dum stands behind him, glaring at the audience like he’s daring them to pull some kind of shit while Bucky pulls himself together.

Then, after a long moment, Bucky turns back around. “Sorry,” he says into the microphone, voice cracking. He pushes himself back up, Dum Dum resting a steadying hand on his arm. “I’m not myself tonight, if you hadn’t noticed.” The murmuring in the crowd increases, and Steve stops moving. “Truth is, I’m not… It’s been hard to focus tonight. Last night…” His voice cracks again, and it feels like a slap in Steve’s face. “My partner of twelve years and I broke up.”

There’s a chorus of goddamn “awwwwws,” from the crowd.

“No, please,” Bucky says. “It’s…” He swallows. “I just felt like I should say why I haven’t been right. It’s a shock, it’s… I’ve known my ex forever. We’ve been together since we were sixteen. We lasted through my being overseas, through the tours, through, just, everythin’. And now we’re not. And I can’t call my ex, I can’t talk to my ex. We always texted before a show, always, and I didn’t know how I could go on without that. But I’m here.” He repeats, quieter, “I’m here.”

Gabe asks, “Do you wanna?” and Bucky nods.

“If all of you will indulge me, I’m gonna sing a song. A lot of singers, singers who’re a lot better than I am, have covered it but I’m gonna do my best. We used to… it was a song that meant a lot to us, to my ex’s family. We always listened to the Sam Cooke version and maybe if I sing it…” He swallows hard. “Maybe if I sing it, it’ll feel more real, or maybe I’ll—“ He wipes a tear from his cheek. “I dunno,” he adds, laughing. “I’m just gonna sing it. So here’s “Unchained Melody”.”

The lights go low, soft. Bucky puts the mic back into the stand and steps back while Gabe plays the opening on his guitar. Dum Dum sits down towards the front of the stage, and Steve is paralyzed, watching Bucky move up to the mic. Bucky shuts his eyes, and breathes.

“Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time.”

He pulls the microphone closer to him, and he looks beautiful in the lights, but Steve can’t help the other picture in his mind. It was on the fifth anniversary of his dad’s death. Steve doesn’t remember a whole lot of his dad — he died in action when Steve was five, and he hadn’t been around a whole lot before then. But Sarah Rogers loved him, and Steve loved him because of that. On that anniversary Sarah gathered he and Bucky and they danced around the living room together singing along with her Sam Cooke albums when Unchained Melody came on. Unexpectedly, Sarah had started crying.

She sat down on the couch, sobbing, broken down in a way that Steve hadn’t ever really seen her before. Wordlessly, both he and Bucky climbed up on either side of her. She put an arm around each of them, pulled them in close, and they just listened to to the song together, from start to finish. When the song ended they had gone back to dancing because that’s who Sarah Rogers was — she never stopped dancing.

When she died, Steve thought all of the happiness in the world died with her.

“Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine?”

But Bucky had tried to be there. He called, he texted; he sent plane tickets and train itineraries. Bucky even tried to send himself but Steve said no, he kept saying no, and now Bucky is up there, hurting because Steve said the ultimate no.

Steve starts making his way through the audience again, shoving past a crying woman and a group of hipsters holding up iPhones to record Bucky’s unique performance. He pushes and pushes and pretty soon Bucky is up next to where Dum Dum is sitting on the edge of the stage. “Dum Dum!” he whispers, as loudly as he can.

Dum Dum looks down, narrows his eyes. “Steven,” he says.

“Help me up,” Steve says.

“And why should I do that?” Dum Dum asks.

“I love him,” Steve says.

“I need your love, I need your love, God speed your love to me.”

“I have to apologize,” Steve continues.

“On-stage?” Dum Dum asks.

Steve tries smiling. “I’ve always been dramatic.”

Dum Dum actually snickers at that.

Gabe plays a solo on his guitar as Bucky sways, still clutching the mic stand with eyes shut.

“If you fuck this up,” Dum Dum says.

“I’ll let you beat me up backstage,” Steve promises.

“I’m gonna hold you to that,” Dum Dum says, holding out a hand. Steve takes it, and Dum Dum pulls him up onstage.

Steve scrambles up onto his feet and realizes that the audience’s eyes are now on him, including several of his favorite students. He swallows hard and feels the nausea that has been in his stomach since Bucky appeared onstage increase. There’s a reason Bucky ended up on stage and not Steve — Steve can’t take the pressure, he can’t take the world looking at him.

Still, he takes a step forward, then another.

And Bucky opens his eyes and keeps singing.

“Lonely rivers flow to the sea, to the sea, to the open of the sea. Lonely rivers sigh: wait for me, wait for me. I’ll be coming home, wait—“

Bucky looks to his left and finally sees Steve. Steve can see the exact moment when the rest of the lyric — “for me” — dies in Bucky’s mouth. Steve nods, and Bucky keeps singing.

He won’t look away from Steve.

“Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch a long, lonely time. Time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much. Are you still mine? I need your love, I need your love.” His voice gets hoarse. “God speed your love…” Suddenly, he leaves his microphone and strides across the stage, making it to Steve. He wraps his arms around Steve, pulls him close, and kisses him hard.

“To me,” he whispers to Steve when he pulls away. He pushes a hand through Steve’s hair and exhales. “I missed you,” he says.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I was stupid and wrong.”

Bucky smiles, tracing his fingers along that soft skin on the outer shell of Steve’s ear. “An actual apology? First time for everything, I guess.” he says. His smile falls. “What’re you doin’ here?”

“I wanna be with you, and decided I needed to let you know in front of this entire crowd of people.” Bucky snorts. “Seriously, though,” Steve says, grabbing Bucky’s left hand and intertwining their fingers, “I’m sorry. I need you. I’ll be better.”

“You can’t just…” Bucky starts, then stops. He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “It’s okay to be angry with me, to fight, to not talk for a while. I get that. There are times where I don’t wanna talk to you, okay? But don’t… Unless you really mean it, unless you’ve thought it over and don’t wanna be together anymore, don’t break up with me again, alright? Please, Steve. The past day has been the worst, the fuckin’ worst.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats.

“And if you do wanna break up with me someday…” He swallows. “Then you can. That’s your right. But you can’t do this again, can’t plunge me into ice and pull me back out again. I don’t think my heart can take it.”

“I promise,” Steve says, squeezing Bucky’s hand and looking him in the eyes. “If I ever do break up with you again, it’ll be for good. But I’m not gonna, Buck. You need to know that. You’re it for me, to the end of the line.”

Bucky smiles, blue eyes tearing up. “Yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Steve says with a resolute nod.

“Alright then,” Bucky says, leaning in and kissing him again.

There’s a roar of a cheer from the crowd and Steve feels himself going red. Bucky pulls away, takes one look at Steve’s face and laughs. “You gotta get used to the spotlight,” he says, “Since I think we’re a public item now.”

“Oh,” Steve says, taking a look out at the crowd. “Shit.”

Chapter Text

“Hey baby,” Bucky says, wiggling his eyebrows as he saunters up to Steve. Steve rolls his eyes. Bad pet name aside, Bucky is wearing his horribly embarrassing Tommy Bahama swim trunks, which Steve thinks he should burn. Bucky Barnes is an international rockstar with more money than one human being could possibly need. There is no reason why Bucky cannot get swim trunks that aren’t an abomination. He should not be wearing these abominable red swim trunks covered with blue flowers with orange leaves.  No fauna appears like that in nature; they shouldn’t appear like that on swim trunks.

But Bucky is also carrying a piña colada for Steve in a plastic pineapple so Steve opts to ignore the swim trunks from hell, as well as the pet name, and reach out for the drink instead. “Gimme,” he says.

“What’s the magic word?” Bucky asks, keeping the piña colada just out of reach.

Steve pretends to think for a moment. “Blowjob?” he asks.

Bucky shakes his head. “I was thinking ‘love’ or somethin’—“

“Gimme,” Steve says.

Bucky laughs, hands him the drink. “You’re the best,” Bucky says, dropping a kiss on Steve’s temple before sitting down on the lounge chair next to Steve’s.

Steve had wrestled with the idea of going on a cruise with Bucky. For starters, two weeks trapped on a boat with strangers could make for some uncomfortable situations when you’re cruising with a rock star. The last thing that Steve wanted was to spend his vacation taking photos of Bucky with his fans. Rockstar issues aside, Steve always considered himself the opposite of what he had assumed the typical cruise guest is; namely, midwestern. Bucky, who was technically born in Shelbyville, Indiana, was excited about it. “Everything is included!” he had said, bright-eyed as he looked at the website.

“Bucky, you’re rich,” Steve said.

“Yeah, but you don’t even have to carry a wallet,” Bucky said. “That’s so convenient Steve.”

“Since when have you forgotten your wallet?”

Bucky had just stared at Steve with those big blue eyes. “Please?” he asked.

And because Steve had been a real jerk recently, and it’s hard to say no to those eyes, Steve reluctantly agreed.

But honestly? Now that they’re actually together on the cruise? Steve can admit that he loves not having to carry his wallet around.

Steve takes a sip of his piña colada. “It’s delicious,” Steve says.

“And included,” Bucky adds with a grin. They watch as a couple of girls dive into the pool together at once. “They shoulda asked me to take a picture,” Bucky says. “That would’ve been a great photo op — Instagrammable.”

“Is that a word?” Steve asks. Bucky shrugs. “Besides, they’d probably be too intimidated,” Steve says. They’ve had a few run-ins with fans so far, but nothing too extreme. Just a few photos, a couple of signed cocktail napkins, and an invitation to sing at the cruise’s piano bar, which Bucky respectfully declined. It seems like word that Bucky is on the ship got out early on the voyage, and now that it’s day two people have sort of settled with the idea and aren’t too freaked out when they see him, though he does get stared at a little more than the average cruiser.

Then again, they may just be staring because of the world’s worst swim trunks.

“Me? Intimidatin’? Dunno what you mean by that.” Bucky sprawls out on his chair, takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Maybe these abs are intimidatin’,” he says with a cocky grin.

“Oh? Those? They’re so small I barely noticed ‘em,” Steve says. Bucky opens his eyes and glares at Steve. “They’re very nice, Bucky,” Steve says, reassuring Bucky with a pat to the abs.

“That tickles,” Bucky complains. “You got my sunglasses, honey bun?”

“I don’t know about a honey bun having your sunglasses, but they’re in my bag.”

Bucky smiles. “I love you so much.”

Steve blushes. “I love you, too.” He pauses. “But do you want your sunglasses?”

“Nah,” Bucky says. “I don’t want anything to impede the beautiful view.”

“You’re just staring at me,” Steve says.

“Exactly,” Bucky says.

Steve lays flat on his back and sighs. They’re on their way to Hawaii, the weather is beautiful, and Bucky is here. With him.

“Hey,” Steve says.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, eyes still closed as he soaks up the sun.

“Let’s get married.”

Bucky’s eyes open. “What?” he asks.

“The captain can do that, right? Marry people? I’ve seen it on TV.”

“You wanna get married?” Bucky asks. He’s up now, leaning towards Steve. “You know that marryin’ me would require us… to be… married.”

“Golly, Buck. I didn’t think about that,” Steve says. “Better call it off.”

“Really?” Bucky asks, visibly sagging.

“No! I wouldn’t ask if you to if I didn’t want to, doofus.”Bucky doesn’t respond for a long moment, just looks at Steve with an unreadable face.

“You’re serious,” he says, after a long pause.

Steve doesn’t answer, just grabs his bag. It takes a moment to look through it, but he finds what he’s looking for quick enough. “I usually keep it in my wallet,” Steve says, holding the ring out to Bucky. “But I always keep it with me.”

“Just in case of elopement?” Bucky asks, smiling as he takes the ring from Steve with gentle fingers. He looks at it for a moment, then holds it back out for Steve to take.

“Because I love you, and I want to be with you forever,” Steve says. “The ring is just a reminder of that.”

Bucky nods. “Alright,” he says. “Let’s get married.”

— —

The amount of onboard shopping on this cruise ship is ridiculous.

“They wanted how much for a plain ring?” Steve asks as they leave one of the jewelry shops.

“I told you I’d be fine with a Ring Pop from the theater concession stand.” Steve rolls his eyes and stalks toward another jewelry shop. “In fact, it’d almost be poetic. I can write the headlines myself, ‘Friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes tied the knot this weekend with longtime partner Steve Rogers, accepting a Ring Pop from Rogers in lieu of a ring.’”

“First of all, I’m not marrying you with a Ring Pop. Second of all, I am not marrying you with a Ring Pop.”

“Third of all?” Bucky asks.

“Third of all, that would be a lede, not a headline. And it’s not a particularly good lede, either. Too wordy, and way too wordy for the headline. The headline would just be something like ‘Bucky Barnes Weds Longtime Beau!’ though probably more saccharine.”

“But I kind of want a Ring—“

“I’ll get you a goddamn Ring Pop, but I’m also gonna get you a goddamn wedding ring.”

Bucky slings an arm around Steve’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “By gum, I think we’re gonna make this work,” he says, grinning.

“Oh, uh, excuse me?” says a nervous-looking girl in a white swimsuit cover-up and flip flops in front of them. Steve was so focused on the price of that goddamn ring that he hadn’t noticed her approaching them.

“Hi!” Bucky says with a goofy grin that makes Steve both roll his eyes and smile. His boyfriend’s a dork. In a few hours, his husband will be a dork. He presses into Bucky’s side, because that’s what happy people do when their future husband’s arm is around them.

“My friends and I were, uh, talking to each other?” Steve looks behind the girl to see a group of teenagers standing together, giggling as they watch their friend talk to Bucky. “And we thought you may, and oh my God it’ll be so awkward if I’m wrong, but are you Bucky Barnes?”

“Yup!” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’ a bit.

The girl’s entire face lights up. “Oh my God, hi!” she says, then blushes a little. “Wow, oh God, uh—“

“Do you want a picture?” Bucky asks.

“Yes, oh my God, if you don’t mind that’d be so, so cool of you.”

“Yeah, yeah!” Bucky says, arm still around Steve’s shoulders. “If you wanna ask one of your friends to take it that’d be great. Then we can do a group picture, but I think you should get one solo because you were brave enough to come up. What’s your name?”

“Helene,” she says.

Bucky gives her his sweetest smile. “Hi Helene. Why don’t you chat with your friends and then bring ‘em over.”

She’s grinning now. “You’re the coolest,” she says.

He nods. “Sure I am,” he says and she giggles.

“I’ll be right back,” Helene promises, turning around and going back to her friends.

Steve and Bucky watch in silence as Helene excitedly talks at her friends, one of which honest-to-goodness squeals when she tells her about Bucky. “You’re so popular,” Steve says, singing the word in the tune of “Popular” from the musical Wicked.

“Oh, let’s go to New York on our honeymoon,” Bucky says.

Steve looks up at him, grimacing. “Bucky, we live in New York.”

“But we could stay in Manhattan.”

“That’s such a waste of money! We can stay in the apartment and go see Wicked, which is what you actually want to do.”

“Maybe they’d let me play Fiyero for a spell,” Bucky says, suddenly dreamy-eyed.

“Who’s the goat professor?” Steve asks, all innocence.

“Doctor Dillamond?”

“Yeah, Doctor Dillamond. You can be him.”

Bucky sticks his nose out. “It would be my honor,” he says. “It would be the part of a lifetime.”

Steve goes up on his tip toes, leans over, and gives him a smooch. “I love you,” he says.

“If you really loved me you’d get me a Ring Pop.”

Steve kisses him again.

“Oh my God!” Helene says, excited. There’s a chorus of giggles and ‘oohs’ from her group of friends.

Steve pulls away, cheeks going red. Bucky is grinning like the cheeky bastard he is.

“Hey,” he says to the group, “you all wanna be witnesses at our wedding?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Helene says, her friends squealing behind her.

— —

As Steve puts on the tuxedo he brought for the cruise’s formal night, he thinks about his mother.

She hadn’t been the kind of mom to put pressure on him to get married, to settle down, or to have kids. Sarah never mentioned wanting grandkids and didn’t seem concerned that Steve’s professional and personal life didn’t seem to include any sort of traditional family life. In fact, Steve thinks that his mom was, at times, worried about how Steve and Bucky only wanted to be with each other. She always told Steve how she had dated around a bit before she met his father, and that he shouldn’t worry if he and Bucky broke up (though, of course, she didn’t want them to break up or anything like that).

But Sarah, first and foremost, wanted both Steve and Bucky to be happy. And while Steve would have liked her to be here today, he thinks that she would have liked them to be together, and to be married like this. No fuss, no hassle, nothing but them pledging their love and devotion to each other.

(Though Steve does feel a nagging sense of guilt that Bucky’s family won’t be here. He says it’s fine, and that they wouldn’t have wanted to haul ass to New York to see them get married anyway, but Steve still feels bad about it.  But Bucky already called his mom and promised that they’d visit his family in Indiana as soon as they got back from the cruise. A honeymoon in Shelbyville, the height of romance.)

Sarah Rogers got married in a white dress that she found at the back of her closet. She and Joseph Rogers were married at city hall and invited friends and family to a pizza place after the ceremony for a party that she said was the best of her life. Steve’s seen photos — she was radiant, beautiful, and herself.

He looks at himself in the mirror. He looks like he always does, just wearing the same tuxedo he wore to prom with Bucky in high school. It’s nothing too special, nothing too different. He’s himself, and he’s sure that Bucky will be the same. They’ve carved out places for each other their entire lives, and this is just the next step on their adventure. The two of them taking each other as they are until death do them part.

Steve knows that this is how it should be.

— —

“I now pronounce you married,” the ship’s captain says.

“Awesome,” Bucky says.

“Dork,” Steve says.

“Kiss me,” Bucky says.

Steve does, and the girls cheer.

And it doesn’t matter what the headlines will be in the morning, and it doesn’t matter if pictures of Steve presenting Bucky with a Blue Raspberry Watermelon Ring Pop in lieu of a wedding ring leak to the press. It doesn’t even matter that they don’t have their shore excursions set for tomorrow. They’re married now, and they have all the time in the world to figure out what comes next.

(Except for their shore excursions. They’ll have to figure those out pretty quickly.)

— —

Fin