Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"What's this?" Sam asked, staring at the blue jersey suddenly in his hands.

“It’s my jersey,” Bucky said like that answered anything.

“Yes, I can see that,” Sam agreed. “Why do I have it?”

“Because it’s game day. Girlfriends, er...partners, wear jerseys on game day and then give ‘em back after the last bell for the game.”

“Okay, well, we’re not actually dating,” Sam reminded him and held out the jersey. “So you can keep this.”

Bucky pushed it back to Sam. “If you want people to think we’re dating, you have to wear the jersey.”

Sam considered if class president was worth all of this. And then he remembered the way his parents looked when that Stanford letter came in.

Your file was referred to us by an educator … We’re very interested in your case … Your academics are outstanding … Your projects are original and just what we’re looking for … Keep up the good work, fill out your resume with a few more leadership roles your senior  year … We’ll be interested to meet with you in the spring .

“God, this is so stupid. And possessive,” Sam said as he pulled off the t-shirt he’d come to school in and yanked the jersey on over his head. It was itchy and smelt like bad detergent and also Bucky’s room. Kind of papery, kind of boyish, kind of cologne-y. But the jersey had been in the bottom of Bucky’s backpack so that was probably to be expected. “Look at me, I belong to a football player. It’s my one claim to fame in this school. It makes me worthwhile,” he continued to drawl sarcastically, shoving the ends of the shirt into his jeans.

“You shoulda tried out for the team,” Bucky said and when Sam looked over at him, he was appraising Sam appreciatively.

“I don’t know the first thing about football,” Sam pointed out and smoothed a hand over his stomach self consciously. “I don’t even know what position you play.”

“You can’t tell?” Bucky popped a hip out. “I’m a tight end.”

Sam rolled his eyes and threw his shirt at Bucky’s face. Bucky laughed and tossed it back. “Hey, all the guys and...partners eat together on Fridays, so you have to sit with us at lunch.”

“Oh my God, you’re a cult.”

“Hey, you want the popular vote. Gotta hang with the popular crowd.”

“Not that kind of… That’s not what popular vote… I said class president is a popularity contest. I coulda just as easily hung out with your crowd and been seen the same way.”

“Nah,” Bucky said. “Being friends with a football player and being girl--fuck-- boy friends with a football player are not the same thing. Ask Steve. It hasn’t earned him any extra points.”

“ Steve did not toss aside his morals and start eating lunch with your empty-headed friends.”

“Lunch is not a moral issue.” The warning bell for first period rang and Bucky stepped over to lay an exaggerated kiss on Sam’s head. “I’ll see you at lunch, babe,” he said as the first students trickled into Sam’s AP Bio class.

Again, Sam pressed his hand to his stomach to calm the butterflies losing their mind within it.

It had been Bucky’s idea. Sam and Bucky had been neighbors since Bucky’s family, and Steve and Mrs. Rogers, had moved to Louisiana their seventh grade year. The Rogerses were a few streets over, closer to the school. By virtue of being sat next to each other on the bus for ages, Sam and Bucky had slowly become secret friends. Sam had a trampoline and Bucky had a pool. Sam had cable and Bucky had an Xbox. Bucky got his license first, but Sam had a truck.

It wasn’t that they were intentionally keeping their friendship secret. Hell, their sisters were always telling people they hung out all the time outside of school. It was just that in school, they hung with wildly different crowds and the studious wannabe-academics couldn’t stand the athletes and most athletes didn’t have the time of day to be bullied by someone in fake horn rimmed glasses.

It wasn’t entirely like a movie. The school was small enough that there was plenty of overlap between the top 10% and various sports teams. There were always enough All-Academic athletes on any given team that the school didn’t really celebrate it anymore. Hell, Bucky was on track to be All-Academic and All-State next year in football and baseball. That did not mean Bucky hung out with the top 10% and Sam certainly didn’t hang out with anyone else on any of the sports teams.

But that summer, hanging out in Bucky’s room and wishing either of them had a fake ID, Sam had complained about the Stanford letter and lamented that there was next to nothing else he could add to his resume. He was a yearly state contender on his debate team. He was in the Top Ten, not just top 10%, of his class. He competed at Model UN. He had created the school’s robotics team and taken them to State as alternates. He even did One Act Play his sophomore year, as a stagehand. There was only so much a small school in Louisiana offered. And Sam had to manage his time around possibly having to jump on the boat some evenings to finish out a slow day.

“What about class officers? We run for the first time this year, right?” Bucky had said while he tossed a soft toy baseball into the air over his face.

“Ha, I’d never win an officer position. Maybe, like, treasurer or secretary, but probably not even that,” Sam had snorted and smashed a bunch of lego pieces into a pile again to start sorting them out a different way.

“Why not? You’re, like, the smartest guy in school.”

“It’s not about your qualifications,” Sam said. “It’s about how many people recognize your name on the ballot. Aaron Ayers or Melody Zaiontz will win.”

“Why Ayers?” Bucky asked.

“Because the other way to win is have your name at the top of the list. People check the first one they see.”

“You gonna go to college and become a political analyst?” Bucky teased. “I think Washington could really use you.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “No one knows me.  Even if Melody didn’t run--which isn’t going to happen. She’s been waiting for this day since Kindergarten--no one’s gonna think to pick my name from the list.”

“The school isn’t big enough for people to not know you,” Bucky pointed out and then dropped the ball on his face.

“Right, right, they’ll see my name and be like ‘wait, isn’t that the guy who got sick at the awards ceremony freshman year? Yeah, he should definitely lead our class.’”

Bucky snorted. “That was pretty funny.” He sighed when Sam groaned and flipped off the bed to sit knee to knee in front of Sam. “Listen, you should run anyway. The worst that can happen is you lose.”

“I lose and I don’t have any new extracurriculars on my application and I don’t get into Stanford.”

Bucky put his hand on top of Sam’s head in exactly the way Sam hated and the way he did when he wanted Sam to pay attention. “Stop thinking about Stanford. Stanford is ages away. If you don’t get the officer position, you can be the student medic for the basketball team or something.”

“Right, I wanna travel around with the one team you aren’t on.”

“Aw, I’m touched, Sammy,” Bucky cooed. “I just meant because it’s the only other fall sport. Football and volleyball already have their AD crews.”

“There isn’t enough time for all of this,” Sam sighed.

“Well, you could just make yourself popular,” Bucky said.

“Elections are a month after school starts. How am I supposed to make myself popular by then?”

Bucky thought. His hand was still on Sam’s head. Sam batted it off with a scowl. Then Bucky’s face lit up. “Who’s the most popular guy in school?”

“I’m not saying you.”

‘It’s not me. Think.”

“Noah Ford?”

“And why is Noah Ford the most popular guy in school?”

“Because he’s you but hotter and better?”

“Fuck you.”

“He’s the quarterback. He’s the most-hittingest baseball player in the state as of last season. He’s super fucking hot. He’s kind of nice, usually.”

“He’s the quarterback. Before anyone else cared about any of the rest of that, he was the quarterback.”

“People care that he’s hot.”

“Being hot doesn’t make you popular. If it did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation and you’d be a shoe in for any Officer position.”

“Shut up.”

“Who’s the most popular girl in school?”

Sam thought for a second before he realized what answer Bucky wanted him to give. “Ashley Ayers.”

“Why?”

“Because she brings everything to the table that her twin doesn’t.”

“ Why ?” Bucky insisted.

“Because she’s dating Noah Ford.”

“Ashley is more popular than her brother, than Melody, than the head of the cheer squad,” Bucky explained.

“Payton Day,” Sam said.

“All because she’s dating Ford. She’s also kind of hot and mostly nice, but mostly it’s that her and Ford have been together since Freshman year.”

“I don’t like where you’re going with this,” Sam said.

“If we pretend to date, that could put you in everyone’s minds enough to get you a position.”

“I don’t want to date you.”

“Fuck you, I’m a delight. Come on, Sam, it’s perfect.”

“How is it perfect? What are you getting out of this?”

“I get to come out fully, in everyone’s face, and plus my mom loves you. I think she wishes I was you sometimes. If she thinks we’re dating, she’ll get off my ass about everything else.”

“What’s she on your ass about?” Sam asked.

Bucky waved his hand. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a perfect plan. It’ll only take a month, right?”

What was a month in the grand scheme of things? “No one but my friends knows I’m bi,” he muttered eventually. “And it’s not gonna be like it was for you. You’re popular and you’re hot. It was a novelty to the rest of your personality. A little fun fact. It’s gonna be all people know about me.”

Bucky reached for Sam’s hand and electricity jolted through Sam’s arm. “You’re underestimating yourself, Sam. People know you and they like you. But I’m gonna be right next to you the whole time, alright? I’ll take some of the blowback for you.”

Sam doubted that because that was not the way high school worked.

“Sure,” he said to the objection of his anxiety. “Let’s try this.”

“Hey, it’s Sam, right?” a girl asked that afternoon while Sam stood in the slowest lunch line in the world.

He glanced at her and then around to figure out where she’d come from. “Uh, yeah,” he said. “Sam Wilson.”

“I’m Myra.” She reached to tug at the collar of the...jersey she was wearing. Dammit. “Dating 89, Doggy.”

“Your...your boyfriend’s name is Doggy?”

“Well, his name is Doege but, y’know how little kids can be. And the nickname stuck. Anyway, I was gonna ask what you brought Bucky.”

“Was I supposed to bring him something?” Sam asked and took half a step forward.

“Duh!” she laughed and Sam plastered on a fake smile. “We always bring the guys some cute little gift on game days. It’s usually candy. Something a little more extravagant for Homecoming.”

“My gift is not having killed him this morning,” Sam said

Myra laughed again. “You two are so funny. Y’know, a few years ago, there was a football player and his girlfriend--Barton and Natasha--and you two just remind me of them so much.”

Barton and Romanoff had been seniors when Sam was a freshman. He did not see the correlation. “How’s that?” he humored because they were still in the same spot.

“He was just a ball of fun and she was kind of a like a wet cat.”

“Thanks,” Sam said drily and then glanced up at the ceiling to make sure Romanoff wasn’t about to drop through and take that sentence right back out of Myra’s mouth.

“I just mean, you don’t buy into the whole game and she didn’t either.”

“I didn’t know there was a game. Bucky threw his jersey at me this morning and told me to change. He didn’t tell me anything else about any of this.”

“Well, you got together over the summer, so I don’t blame him for not wanting to talk football so far before the season. I wish Doggy would ever shut up about it.”

Sam guessed it made sense to say they got together over the summer. Bucky did odd jobs around the boats and spent the rest of his time with his family. He rarely saw his friends over the summer. So there was no reason anyone would have any reason to doubt they’d been together that long.

“Anyway, I’m glad you two finally got together. Everyone knew it was bound to happen,” Myra continued. Sam shuffled another floor tile forward.

“What do you mean?” he asked and tried not to say they’d never been interested in each other to make anyone think that.

“Y’all are just so cute together. Doggy and some of the guys have a bet going about who drives home when y’all fight over the driver’s side after school.”

Fuck, Sam didn’t realize anyone noticed that they rode in together, much less that they fought over who drove and who got the radio almost every day. “Who’s betting on that kind of thing?”

Myra shrugged. “I dunno, but it keeps them happy. For how often Doggy loses, I think Bucky figures out what he said and reports the opposite.”

“Wait, Bucky knows about it?”

“Yeah, sure, there aren’t any secrets in the locker room,” Myra said flippantly. Which didn’t sound good for this charade, Sam thought.

The clog in the line finally cleared. Sam gestured for Myra to step in front of him and they carried on through the line and over to the table of rambunctious, game-day inspired football players. Bucky’s face lit up when Sam came over and he scooted to the edge of the table bench to let Sam sit beside him.

“Hey, guys. This is Sam,” he introduced. A few of the guys that Sam knew from electives or the occasional class nodded at him and went back to their conversations. Bucky threw his arm around Sam’s shoulders and carried on like this was normal.

Sam looked up from tagging prep files when the door to the debate classroom opened. Bucky came through with two milkshakes.

“Hey, I thought you were supposed to be with the team,” Sam said and took the offered  milkshake.

“Need my jersey back,” Bucky answered.

Sam looked down in surprise. He’d forgotten he’d been wearing it. “Shit, yeah, sorry. I thought about it in sixth period but not in eighth.” He climbed over a row of desks to grab his backpack and pull his own shirt out. It was wrinkled and smelled like plastic, but it’d have to do. He tugged the jersey off and quickly pulled his shirt back on.

“Hot damn, Mr. Sam,” Bucky crowed before Sam could quite tug his shirt on. “You are lookin’ good.” The freshman in the far corner giggled and then held her hand against her mouth. Bucky threw a wink over at her. ”Hey, can you wait for me after the game?” he asked Sam. “I don’t wanna have to catch a ride with someone else.”

“I have to go to the game?” Sam asked with only a little bit of dread and irritation.

“Babe, what am I gonna do without my good luck charm?” Bucky teased.

“You managed just fine without me for three years.”

“Baby,” Bucky pouted and reached for Sam’s belt loops.

“I’m working,” Sam said.

“Good luck kiss at least.” He tapped his cheek and Sam glanced at the freshman before leaning over to kiss Bucky’s cheekbone. He felt Bucky’s eyelashes flutter against his nose.

“Good luck.” A pause. “I’ll see you after the game.”

Bucky grinned and kissed Sam’s cheek, far too close to the corner of his mouth for Sam to function again until he was well out of sight.

“Don’t ever date a football player,” he warned the freshman, but he didn’t think it was going to stick.

Sam had never actually watched a football game. He couldn’t stand it. He’d gone to one game freshman year with Steve to support Bucky and the first time he heard a series of helmets and pads crash together, he’d had to run to the nearest patch of grass and gotten sick.

Instead, that evening, he sat in the parking lot with his radio on just loud enough that he could hear the announcers call the game outside but not the sound of bodies colliding. He figured out the rhythm of the game and when Bucky was on the field and learned how to get some of his reading done in between worrying about concussions.

The game ended apparently uneventfully because the announcers didn’t lose their minds and Sam didn’t notice until people started streaming into the parking lot. Sam set his book aside and then thought better and threw his things into the backseat altogether. The parking lot emptied quickly and then even the groups of people standing around talking dispersed.

Sam climbed out of the truck to lean against the back end of it, eyes trained on the field house. A few of the younger players had already scurried out, but Bucky was about as slow as cold molasses. The few days Sam had waited around to pick Bucky up after a practice or game, he’d always been one of the last out the door. Tonight wasn’t any different and Bucky came out half an hour after the game ended.

Even in the dark, with no one else around to see them, Sam could see Bucky light up at the sight of him. “Hey, Sammy!” he greeted.

“You’ve got to get better time management if I’m gonna have to do this every week,” Sam said.

Bucky tossed his bags into the back bench, directly onto Sam’s things, and then shut the door and leaned on it next to Sam. “Don’t act like you had any other plans.”

“Sarah was ordering pizza, actually,” Sam said. True, it was because she had a bunch of friends over and Sam would rather avoid it if he could anyway. He’d thought about asking if he could stay over at Bucky’s house that night. Bucky would’ve said yes and Sam probably could’ve gotten away with not asking his parents. But the thought of either the Wilsons or the Barneses misinterpreting a sleepover now was enough to make Sam blush so hard he started sweating. So sleepovers were out of the question.

“Right, right, Becca said she was staying over tonight,” Bucky said. “Wanna kill time out here then?”

“You don’t wanna head down to the river or the beach?” Sam asked. Bucky was a water baby through and through. Half of the pictures in the Barnes house had him in a pool or the ocean.

“Nah, everyone and their brother is gonna be out after the game.”

“Congrats by the way,” Sam said.

Bucky grinned. “Did you watch? I had a cool play.”

“Even if I had, I would’n’t’ve known it was a cool play,” Sam pointed out.

Bucky clicked his tongue and grabbed the thick blanket Sam kept in the backseat before he climbed into the bed of the truck, spread the blanket out, and unceremoniously collapsed down. It shook the truck on its wheels and Sam rolled his eyes. But he climbed in too.

Up close, hidden by the edges of the bed, Sam got the chance to stop and look at Bucky. This was a practice normally done the Saturday morning after a game but he figured no harm in moving it up a little. There was a bruise curving along Bucky’s eye and a friction rash running the length of his arm, but other than that, he seemed to be in one piece.

“Stop looking at me like that,” Bucky said with a laugh, shoving Sam’s head.

“We’re dating, I’m allowed to look at you however I want.”

Bucky snorted and turned onto his back to stare at the sky. The lights were still on over the field so the stars weren’t half as bright as normal, but a few twinkled in the dark above them. “How was your first week?” he asked eventually.

“Weird. People kept asking me if it was true. Never actually said what it was. Just it .”

“Well, I told everyone exactly who you were. Full name and everything,” Bucky said with a grin. “If the whole school don’t know you by now, it may be a pointless endeavor to try.”

The thought soured in Sam’s gut but he didn’t say anything. “Everyone in debate looked at me like I’d grown another head,” he said instead. 

“Yeah, I’ve been saying nerds are more vicious than jocks nowadays,” Bucky agreed.

“Hey, what’d you get on your summer project for British Lit?” Sam asked suddenly.

Bucky laughed merrily and Sam frowned at him. “You sounded so...fuck, I dunno. So sincere when you said that. Like it was more important than coming out and betraying all your nerd friends.”

Sam’s mouth screwed to the side and he elbowed Bucky’s ribs. “It is more important. She took ten whole points off of my essay. I got a 93 overall.”

“Oh no, you got an A and not an A+,” Bucky lamented. He was quiet for a second before he said, “I got a 97.”

“Bullshit!”

“Yeah, she really liked my annotations and thought my analysis was solid and grounded in work already being done, but building on it, not just regurgitating.”

“Oh my God, did you memorize what she said?”

“I might have! It’s the best note I think she’s ever left on a student’s paper!”

Sam stewed quietly next to Bucky after a grumbled ‘good job.’ Then he said, “It wasn’t so bad. People finding out I swing both ways. I mean, most people didn’t do that much work on it. There were a few snide comments, a few dirty looks. But you know I don’t hang out with that many people anyway. It’s not like I lost friends.”

Bucky nodded. “Yeah, I thought the locker room was gonna be worse than it was last year,” he said. “Coach pulled me aside and asked if I needed to change somewhere else. Kind of surprised they didn’t just pull that plug on their own. They did with whatshisface our freshman year.”

“Pays to be a football star,” Sam said.

“I guess.”

Sam stared at the sky and then looked over at Bucky. “Wait, do you stay out of the showers when the other guys are in them? Is that why you take so long?”

Bucky shrugged. “It’s easier not to let anything get started. My locker is pretty isolated. It’s just the As and Bs on that aisle and so it’s just me and Aaron. He don’t play, so he just changes and gets out. I do my math homework and then shower.”

“Fuck, Buck,” Sam breathed.

“It’s not a big deal. Hey, look at me.” Bucky reached over to force Sam’s eyes on his face. “It isn’t a big deal. Don’t go making it a crusade. It’s my own choice.”

Sam wanted to argue but Bucky had specifically asked him not to argue. ‘I don’t need Debate-Sam right now’ he was fond of saying. Just Sam. Sam leaned his shoulder against Bucky’s, just to be there.

“Hey,” Bucky asked. “Can I go to your debate meets?”

Sam snorted and brought a hand up to his face, feeling the warm blush spreading over his cheeks. “You want to sit in a school four hours away to listen to me argue the same case six times over twelve hours?” he asked.

“Well, maybe not the whole day. I do like to keep my Saturdays open. Plus recovery.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Tell you what, we hit something close by and I do well enough throughout the day, I’ll text you and you can come see some outrounds.”

“Do people watch y’all?”

“Nah, not really. Just other competitors. My parents have never even seen me debate.”

“They’ve seen us argue plenty.”

“That’s not a debate. Debate implies intellectual rigor at some point.”

Bucky squawked and leaned over to pinch Sam’s sides. Sam squawked back and threw himself into the hubcap of the bed and then groaned when he lost his breath and sent pain spiraling through his ribs.

Jingling keys and heavy footsteps echoed through the parking lot. Sam pulled Bucky down. “Fuck, that must be the security guard. I forgot they stay late on game nights.”

“Hey, relax,” Bucky said. “We ain’t doin’ nothin’ wrong. Do you trust me?”

Sam nodded because there wasn’t really another option.

Bucky leaned down and kissed him, which stopped Sam doing most everything. Bucky was a really, really, really good kisser. And then his knee was working its way between Sam’s and his hand was under Sam’s shirt, burning his handprint into Sam’s chest where Sam’s heart hammered against it like it was trying to beat itself out of his ribs.

Finally, Sam’s head and mouth caught up and he kissed Bucky back. Which Bucky apparently wasn’t expecting because he let out a surprised little noise that went straight through Sam’s body like nothing ever had before. Everything whited out for a second and there was a line buzzing from the center of his forehead down his chest and stomach to well...everything.

Then Bucky pushed back into the kiss and the buzzing got more intense. Sam shifted and the truck rocked and the guard called out, “Who’s still out here?” A second letter the steps stopped outside the truck. “Oh, you two,” he said as Sam and Bucky sprang apart as if in surprise. His eyes narrowed a little in the moonlight. “You should be more careful. I coulda been anyone. Ain’t you the preacher’s boy?”

Sam nodded and wiped his hand over the back of his mouth and then felt disgusting for it. But also...very much so not. “I am, sir. Sam Wilson.”

“And he’s alright with…” The guard gestured to Bucky.

“Yes, sir,” he said, anxiety and shame curling in his stomach suddenly. “In fact, he likes Bucky a lot.”

The guard hummed in a way that made Sam think he didn’t believe him. “You two needa get outta here. This ain’t a lover’s lane.”

“Yes, sir,” Sam said.

The guard turned away and Sam realized Bucky’s hand was in his. He looked down at their tangled fingers and then let out a shaky breath. “Fuck, I hated that.”

“Is... is your dad okay with this?” Bucky asked, all wide blue eyes.

Sam steeled his jaw, nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, he likes you more than any of my other friends.”

“Sam…”

“He’s coming around to it. I’ve just...gotta give him time.”

Then Bucky was hugging him and pressing right into the still burning spot his hand had been on Sam’s chest. Sam hugged him back. “It really is lucky that it’s you. He’s more understanding of that. He’ll probably be more pissed off at the fake breakup than anything else.”

Bucky laughed and pulled away. He put his hand on Sam’s head briefly, just long enough to make Sam glare, and said, “Come on, let’s get home.”

The drive home was quiet. Sam let Bucky get the radio without a fight, but Bucky put it onto a channel they could both stand. Sam pulled into his driveway and opened Bucky’s door for him.

“Thanks, hey come by tomorrow and we can start planning your campaign.”

“Campaign? I was just gonna put signs up around school. Let your word of mouth do it’s work.”

Bucky grinned. “My mouth is good for more than that.”

“Oh, no.”

“Oh, yes. PDA is the fastest way to spread a message in this school.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Come on, Sam.”

“You didn’t get enough PDA back there?”

“From you? Never. Come on. Just a few, strategic moments.”

Sam shook his head. Thought about Stanford. Stopped thinking about Stanford and thought about the way Bucky’s mouth felt on his and the fire his touch brought and how muscular and strong he was…

Shit.

“Fine. Hey, am I supposed to bring you candy or something on Fridays?”

Bucky made a face. “No way. Bring me cookies.”

“Do you...like, need enough to share?”

“Even if that was a rule, I wouldn’t share.”

Sam rolled his eyes and pulled Bucky into a hug. “Go get some sleep. You’re gonna be sore if that eye’s anything to go off of.”

“Nah, it was one bad hit. I’ll text you tomorrow.” Bucky waved over his shoulder as he walked across the lawn to his house.

Sam was so entirely screwed.

Chapter Text

That Saturday morning, Sam woke up smelling like Bucky. For a moment, the memory of Bucky’s mouth on his, the heat of his hands, was good. Really good. And then it was mortifying again. He held his hand over his chest for a second and then swung his legs over the side of his bed and rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. He didn’t have the bandwidth to think about any of that.

The house was quiet, so either his parents were still asleep or had already left to run errands. Saturday mornings, they’d explained as soon as Sam was reasonably old enough not to burn the house down, were for themselves. Him and Sarah could do whatever they wanted as long as they stayed out of trouble. Usually, that involved watching TV or swapping out with a Barnes sibling for the day.

Becca was probably still around from staying over the night before, which is why Sam was not expecting his door to open as soon as he dared to let one floorboard creak under his weight. “God, Sarah, can you knock?” he asked, holding the shirt he’d pulled from his closet over his chest. The mortification returned in full force when he noticed Becca behind his sister. “Sarah!” he hissed and quickly pulled on the shirt.

“Relax, it’s not like we haven’t spent the past five summers swimming together,” Sarah said. “Are you going to see Bucky? We saw y’all come home together last night.”

“Yeah, of course I drove him home. Same way I drove your nosy butt home yesterday too. Shouldn’t you be entertaining your friend and not bugging me?”

Sarah hummed and ran her fingers over the State debate patch on Sam’s letterman where it sat on his desk chair, waiting for the first cool snap of the year. “You didn’t kiss him good night,” she pointed out.

“We haven’t kissed yet,” he lied. And then realized it was a lie and had an internal freak out about that. “We’re taking it slow.”

“Yeah, so slow neither of us noticed when you got together,” Becca said.

“Good morning, Rebecca,” Sam greeted. He pulled on tennis shoes and shoved his wallet in a pocket. “We just kind of decided to try it a couple of weeks ago.” He hated lying around Sarah. She saw right through him every time.

“So it’s all very new,” Becca said. Becca, it seemed, had the same nose for the truth that Sarah did.

“Sure, you could say that. You,” he added to Sarah, bodily turning her and walking her out of his room, “out. If you need something, call mom or dad.”

“What, you’re gonna be too busy with Bucky to go to lunch or something?” Sarah asked.

“Uh, yeah? Listen, I’ll be right next door if it’s an emergency, alright? But if it’s not, let me have a few hours to myself. You’ve got the TV all to yourself and I won’t tell mom if you eat all her ice cream again.”

“It’s family ice cream!” Sarah argued.

“All teenage boys are the same,” he heard Becca say as he headed out the door. Just for good measure, he made sure he had the truck keys.

It was already warm outside but the air was clean and it was a Saturday, so Sam couldn’t complain. Besides, he really was just walking over a lawn and a half. He knocked on the front door and plastered on an easy grin for whichever Barnes parent opened it. Instead, he was surprised to find Bucky on the other side, looking sleep mussed but bright eyed. He was wearing a blanket around his shoulders and the same athletic shorts Sam was.

“Hey, Becca said you were heading over,” he greeted and stepped back so Sam could walk in. “I meant to meet you down here but I had to pee.”

“Thanks for the info, Barnes,” Sam said drily but threw a grin over at him. “Your parents around?”

“I think they went grocery shopping or something. Why, whatcha got in mind, tiger?” he asked playfully, pulling Sam towards him with a finger in Sam’s waistband. Sam’s entire body thrilled where Bucky’s knuckles brushed along his skin.

Instead of letting it show, though, he shoved Bucky’s hand away and rolled his eyes. “You wish. Just didn’t want to turn on the TV if they were asleep.”

“We can just watch TV in my room. I think it’s still paused on that shark movie you put on last weekend. Let me grab snacks.”

“It’s nine thirty in the morning,” Sam said but Bucky had already disappeared into the kitchen with a flourish of his blanket.

Sam sat on the arm of the couch and looked around the living room he’d been living in for practically half the time between seventh grade and now. There was a picture of him and Bucky from the first day of high school, arms slung around each other, backpacks at their feet. Bucky had just gotten sick with nerves and no one in their school knew the picture existed, but they’d still rushed outside to take the picture for Winifred. The smiles were still real. There was a CYO trophy in front of a picture of a team Sam and Bucky had been on together. An art project Sam had done for a school competition sat on the wall leading to the kitchen because Bucky had been the inspiration and Sam hated it when he didn’t win.

The Wilson household was just as haunted by Bucky. Jackets that they’d swapped or Bucky had left in Sam’s room for too long. The toothbrush that lived in Sam’s bathroom. The picture of Sam holding Bucky on his shoulders at the beach last summer, Bucky’s hands halfway over Sam’s eyes as he tried to balance himself by holding onto Sam’s head. They’d been laughing so hard their faces were blurry in the picture. 

He set the picture from freshman year down when Bucky came back out. Sam made a face at the yogurt in his hands but took the fresh fruit from him. “I thought we were supposed to be talking political strategy, not shark movies.”

“Tell you what, you get attacked by a shark, or an alligator, and I bet half the school’ll vote for you outta sympathy,” Bucky said as he moved through the living room and into his own bedroom.

“If a sympathy vote could be garnered, dating you should get me it,” Sam said.

Bucky blew a raspberry of disagreement. “I can’t get you the popular vote and the sympathy vote.”

 He dumped the yogurt and spoons on his bed before moving to turn on the TV. Sam kicked off his shoes, crawled over the food on the blanket, to the wall side, and pulled another of Bucky’s blankets around his own shoulders. “Hey, did you tell your sister anything about this?”

“Hell no, she’s been so stressed out about being in high school now that she hasn’t looked at me twice. Why?”

“Her and Sarah cornered me this morning. It was like they didn’t believe we were together.”

“Well, we’re not together and I guess if anyone was gonna figure it out, it’d be them,” Bucky supposed. He grabbed the remote and came to sit by Sam. “So what? We’ll make out in front of them and they’ll get off your ass.”

“That cannot be your solution to everything,” Sam said.

“It worked pretty well last night.”

It did. In many, many more ways than Sam was going to admit to. He tried to pay attention to the movie when Bucky started it, but every time their fingers brushed in the fruit bowl or Bucky laved his tongue over the spoon he was using, Sam lost a little bit of his mind.

This was, decidedly, not fair. They’d done this a million times before and Sam had never noticed how warm Bucky’s fingers were or how nice his mouth looked. Sam’s heart was racing in his chest.

“Oh, shit!” Bucky yelped and toppled backwards in his bed as a shark lunged onto the research platform.

It did not break the enchantment, which was also unfair.

“Do you mind if I use your laptop to make some posters?” Sam asked so he’d have a reason to look away from Bucky.

“Yeah, sure. No stealing my English essay so you can get a better grade,” he added with a grin at Sam.

Sam scowled and tugged the laptop free from where it was half hidden under Bucky’s bed and his uniform from the night before. “Hey, how’s your arm today?” he asked with the reminder.

Bucky bent his arm to look at the outside of his forearm. “It’s fine. I kind of forgot about it. Told you, it didn’t hurt.”

“You should still clean it. Who knows what’s on that astroturf.”

Bucky scrunched up his nose and Sam thought it was probably better if he just stopped talking and letting Bucky react all together. All of it was overwhelming.

“I’m serious that you can’t just do posters. No one looks at posters. They’re just background,” Bucky added, pausing the movie on a particularly grotesque freeze-frame of a body being dragged underwater.

“Lots of people look at posters. That’s why we still put up posters.”

“Come on, just a few kisses. Maybe one after the game.”

“I can’t go to the game on Friday,” Sam said distractedly as he navigated to a photo editing program past the nine hundred video game playthroughs Bucky had open.

“What? You’ve got to go to the game. First of all, how am I gonna get home? Secondly, good luck charm and all.”

“I can’t. I have a debate meet on Saturday. I’ve got to prep and then I’ve got to get to sleep. We have to be on the bus at 4.30 in the morning.”

“Jesus, why do you do this to yourself?”

“Okay, Mr. Concussion. Why do you have so many pictures of me on your computer?”

“Mom makes me download everything you post so I can email it to her and she can print them or whatever.”

Sam was oddly touched. It also made making his poster that much easier. “You’re not gonna be offended at me if I don’t use a picture of you, right?”

“I mean, I thought the point was to look as good as possible, but sure, don’t use me,” Bucky teased. He leaned over to watch what Sam was doing. “Which one are you gonna use?”

“Probably this debate headshot.”

“No way, too boring. You’re not actually running for office. Come on, what’s Ayers gonna use as his picture?”

“I dunno. Probably a football picture or something. Though he really shouldn’t remind people how bad he is at football. But I’m not trying to be like Aaron. I’m trying to be like Melody.”

“Melody is boring. You’re trying to stand out from the crowd, from her. You want people to notice your posters. It’s gotta be fun.”

“I don’t take fun pictures.”

“Sure you do. Look, what about this one?” Bucky asked, opening a picture. It was from the same vacation as the sitting-on-shoulders picture from the Wilson’s living room. This time, Sam was on an outside deck of a restaurant, wearing a gaudy floral print shirt, sunglasses tucked in the collar, taking a drink from a cup shaped like an alligator as he looked off in the general distance dramatically. Sam could almost taste the sunshine in the picture.

“I’d rather be there again,” he muttered.

“Great, so we agree: it’s the perfect picture to show off your personality.”

 “In what way? I’m trying to prove that I’m the best fit to be making class decisions.”

“If that was how people voted, Aaron wouldn’t bother running. It’s a popularity contest, right? This is gonna make people love you. It’s a great picture,” he repeated.

“Only because you took it. I’m not like this with anyone else but my friends.”

“Being popular just means everyone thinks they’re your friend. Give ‘em a bit of personality and move on with your day. It’s one picture. Hey, speaking of, how did they all take it? Your friends and this,” he said, gesturing between them.

“Well, you know Carol already mostly likes you. Maria thinks I’ve lost my mind. Riley is Riley. He’s just being goofy about it all. Actin’ like I shoulda chosen him. And Steve is incredibly betrayed you didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, I know. He’s already wrung me through the wringer. ‘I go away to art school for two months, Barnes!’” He moved a text block on the poster and Sam moved it back. “We probably shoulda told him.”

“We did tell him first. It was just...a little late,” Sam conceded.

“Yeah, right before first period Monday morning is a little late. I like it like that.”

Sam stopped messing with the poster and looked at it.

The way class elections worked was that people ran for individual positions: secretary, treasurer, press something. President was run for too, but not vice president. VP was whoever got the second most votes from the presidential race. It was supposed to ensure the best opportunity for students who would be fine with either position. Mostly it was because all the smart kids started running for VP because it was easier to win, which then left president, and its many decisions, to less qualified applicants.

Kind of like the real world.

So Sam’s poster just said ‘Sam Wilson for Class President’ across the top. Then his silly picture. Then ‘The Future’s Never Looked So Bright’ across the bottom, which was all Bucky’s doing. He’d first had ‘never looked so good’ but Sam had quickly changed it.

“Let’s do another,” Bucky said.

“Let’s not.”

“You need variety.”

“If Melody puts up multiples, I’ll make another one.”

“You can’t just follow Melody’s lead. Be proactive. Be a leader .”

“You just have a picture you want to use, don’t you?”

Bucky quickly pulled up a picture from last Halloween. Bucky had been going to a house party and Sam was going to  the ‘Fall Festival’ at his dad’s church, but Sarah had ended up sick and Sam stayed home with her and then Bucky stayed home too. It had all been so last minute that the goofy angel costume Sam had worn, to match Sarah’s, hadn’t gotten packed away before Bucky saw it. And Bucky had meticulously, teasingly, managed to get Sam stripped down to the leather skirt, golden sandals, and wings only.

In the moment, a little very drunk on liberated alcohol from the Barnes stash, Sam hadn’t cared. Sarah had been asleep all evening, Becca was out with other friends, the Wilsons were at the church and the Barneses were handing out candy on the other side of a hedge line. Bucky had changed into red shorts and a tail from an old costume to play the devil to Sam’s angel, and they danced to spooky music and watched gorey movies until they both passed out in Sam’s room.

The next morning, when he saw the pictures on their phones, Sam was more than mortified and demanded all of them be deleted. Clearly, Bucky listened about as well as he held his alcohol.

“Absolutely not! Why do you even still have this?”

Bucky cackled and threw his arm around Sam’s shoulders. “Because you’re hot as hell. And I’m hot as hell. We should do this again this year.”

“I’m not going to any party with you,” Sam muttered. He thought about deleting the picture, but Bucky really did look terribly good on his other side. So he just closed out of the editing program. “Email me the poster so I can print them in the library on Monday.”

Bucky lazily saluted him and tossed his laptop aside. “Now, about your other strategy.”

“No.”

“Yes, come on. Just a few kisses. If you aren’t at the game, we’ve gotta make up for that too.”

Sam rolled his eyes and laid back in Bucky’s bed. “Just say you’re itching to kiss me and let me let you down easy.”

“Ha! As if.” Bucky laid beside him, both of them looking up at the roof. Sam’s fingers were locked behind his head and Bucky had his far arm tucked under his pillow, the other on his stomach.

“People are gonna hate me when we fake break up,” Sam said eventually.

“Nah, they’ll be thanking you for putting me back on the market.”

Sam groaned and then laughed. “You’re so full of it. Who’s the last person you dated?”

“It ain’t about actually letting people have me. It’s the idea that maybe they could have me.”

“Ah, right,” Sam agreed. “That’s the kind of commodity you are. A white whale.”

“Exactly! I’m Moby Dick.”

“You’re certainly some kind of dick.”

Bucky knocked the back of his hand against Sam’s chest and laughed. They laid in silence for another second, almost enough time that Sam considered turning the movie back on, but then Bucky said, “Do you want me to drive you to the school on Saturday?”

“Nah, man. You don’t wanna get up that early after a game. I’ll just leave my truck in the parking lot. Take myself there, take myself back.”

“Come on, you’re my good luck charm, maybe I’m yours. How’re we gonna know if we don’t see each other that morning?”

Sam rolled his eyes and turned over on his elbow. “You’re ridiculous,” he said. “Compromise: I’ll come see you after the game. Here.”

“Deal,” Bucky said with a grin. “What’s debate like anyway? What do you do?”

“You want to hear about debate?” Sam asked dubiously. “It’s pretty boring if you’re not into it.”

“Yeah, but I should know about it if we’re together.”

“I don’t think a single debate SO knows anything about it.”

“Stop being difficult,” Bucky whined. “It’s not why I fake fell in love with you.”

“You knew just how difficult I was when you fake fell in love with me,” Sam argued, just to be contrary and difficult and debate-y. He and Bucky elbowed each other for another few seconds before Sam sat up. “I do policy debate. It’s a partnered debate. Riley’s my partner.”

“Do you know how many people have been shocked you’re dating me and not him?” Bucky asked. “They keep asking when you two broke up.”

Sam snorted. “No thanks. Anyway, policy debate is a debate where you make a real world applicable case for a way to fix some topical problem. Like, this year, the topic is that the US Federal Government should fund research into the conservation of the oceans. Riley and I are arguing something very scientific about growing coral reefs back. Then the other team talks about all the reasons our case will never work. They can argue that we aren’t topical, that it’s dangerous or expensive, that it won’t work, that there’s too many systemic issues in the way. Whatever. Then we have to refute all of that. And it goes back and forth for two hours.”

“That sounds miserable,” Bucky said. “I have to watch that?”

Sam burst out laughing. “My mom has never even watched me debate. No, you don’t have to sit through a CX round because you’re fake dating me.”

“You’re making it difficult to be supportive of you.”

“Be supportive by bringing me food at practice.”

Now it was Bucky’s turn to laugh. “I’ll bring you food,” he promised. “Turn the movie back on,” he ordered as he wrestled Sam back onto the bed. Sam might’ve shrieked a little with laughter, elbowing Bucky’s arm to make him stop while also digging the remote out from the blankets to start up the movie in time for the jump scare.

__________________________

“I just don’t get it,” Riley said as he decidedly did not read the sources for the Disadvantage argument he was supposed to be putting together. “I mean, Barnes? The guy doesn’t have two brain cells to rub together. What do you even talk about?”

“That’s pretty rich coming from you, Rye,” Sam answered without looking up from a very dry, very technical explanation of how electroshocks could stimulate coral growth.

“I mean, when did you even get to know him? Did you go to his boring, rich-person bar-b-ques all last summer?”

“The Barneses aren’t any richer than we are.”

Riley turned in his seat. He’d already been sprawled sideways, but now he hung mostly upside down out of it, feet propped up on the wall behind him. “I’m just trying to understand, dude. And don’t expect me to play nice with him.”

“I don’t. Don’t worry about it, alright? You’re still my main man.” Sam shot a grin at his best friend, just to see him beam back. Upside down, it was much toothier than usual.

“He really makes you happy?”

Finally, Sam sat aside the research paper and moved to sit on the floor in front of Riley. His hair was too long for the dress code, but it meant Sam could tug on it while it hung in the air.

“He really makes me happy,” he agreed. “We’ve been friends for a while, on account of being neighbors and riding to and from school together. Our sisters are friends. We had a lot of dual babysitting nights together.”

“I’ve never even heard you talk about him, unless you were bitching about his music or something.”

It was funny, Sam thought as he worked a knot from behind Riley’s ear, the way Bucky’s friends seemed to expect the relationship and Sam’s friends didn’t. Sam hadn’t considered he was making any conscious effort not to mention his friendship with Bucky. He’d just thought the both of them were keeping it between themselves.

“It’s kind of new,” he said, which wasn’t a lie. They’d always hung out, but in the last few years–since high school really–they’d gotten closer than Sam expected. “Besides, you go off to Montana every summer and don’t tell me about any of your friends up there.”

Riley grimaced. “You wouldn’t like any of the people up there. They’re not my friends. They’re people I’m stuck with on my grandpa’s farm.”

Sam scratched his fingers over the base of Riley’s head. “We’re just having fun. We like each other. We’re trying it out.”

“Well, have fun and try it out and be done with it before you’re thirty so we can still marry each other,” Riley answered, swinging himself around so he was more or less sitting on the chair again.

Sam knocked a fist against Riley’s side as he stood. “I don’t think a Singles-Pact counts if you’re intentionally staying single,” he pointed out. “You should try going out too.”

Riley’s nose crinkled. “I love everyone in this town but no thanks. I’m waiting for bigger and better things.”

“You think you’ll find someone better in DC than in Delacroix?” Sam asked dubiously.

“If I act quickly before the rot of politics sets in, it’ll be fine,” Riley promised with a grin.

Sam shook his head and pushed the disparate bits of a DA argument towards Riley. “First step to taking over the world democratically is to write this oil DA.”

Riley groaned dramatically, dropping his head to the desk. “I’ll have an intern for this in DC,” he said.

“And first you’ll be that intern for some stuffy old white guy.”

“Hey, I’m aimy for a stuffy old white woman. Gotta get my cougar-fill first.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a laugh. “You’re the worst.” He dug a knuckle into Riley’s side before sitting back down and picking up the article again. “Don’t be so jealous. It makes your face pinch.”

Riley kicked Sam’s foot under the desks.

__________________________

“I just don’t get it,” Steve said, sitting in the back of Bucky’s mom’s car while they ate lunch. It was too hot in the middle of the day in early September, but getting to be outside was better than being stuck in the cafeteria with the rest of their classmates. “You two don’t even get along.”

Next to him, Bucky shrugged and stared at the swaying wildflowers in the field across the street from the school. He’d already gone through this argument with Steve about four times and he was over it, especially when the alternative was eating lunch in silence. “We just got close, alright? I like him. And he likes me. So we decided to give it a go.”

The truth was, this was all really easy. So easy, in fact, that it was starting to get irritating when people questioned him. Not so much Steve, who was less questioning the validity of the thing and more the legitimacy of thing, Bucky thought. Much more the people on the team or the girls in the squad who looked at him like he might have lost his mind. Bucky really liked Sam. He always knew he had. They were perfectly fine friends outside of school. But over the summer, when they’d hatched this pretty asinine plot, it was like all those feelings grew exponentially. Like a floodgate left open. He liked Sam so much. And to be questioned at every stop was just–

“Clearly you like each other. Getting caught by Mr. Martinez after the game like that,” Steve continued.

Bucky glanced over at him with a pinched expression. “How do you know that?” he asked.

“He told Chris and Chris is telling anyone who’ll stay near him for a split second.”

Bucky groaned and fell back into the back of the car. It shook the whole frame and he reached out to hold his soda still. “I forgot he was Chris’s dad.” Chris couldn’t keep his mouth shut for shit. He’d tell you about the paint he saw drying if you gave him ten seconds to do it. He was decidedly not allowed at the field parties.

Steve patted Bucky’s knee. “Listen, I’m glad you’re happy and all, but if you ruin the three of us’s friendship, I’m gonna disown you instead of Sam.”

Bucky turned a wounded look on him and Steve clutched at his chest dramatically. “You brought this on yourself,” he continued.

They sat in silence for a few more minutes. Bucky eventually pulled himself back up and resumed staring at the flowers.

“His posters look good,” Steve eventually said.

The off-hand comment made Bucky’s heart kick up in his chest. After Becca and Sarah, Steve would be the first person to see through their charade. If he had a subtle bone in his body, Bucky would be especially worried that he was hinting at knowing their game. But if Steve suspected something, Bucky was pretty sure he’d just come out and say it.

“I took the picture,” Bucky said, because he thought it’d help with the whole ‘we really are friends’ point.

Steve tilted his head thoughtfully. “Maybe you two do work well together.”

“Thanks, I think so.”

The first release bell rang through the building behind them and Bucky heaved a sigh before downing the rest of his drink and tossing the uneaten package of chips into the backseat. “I’ve got practice after school, but if you stick around, I can drive you home,” he offered.

“That’s alright,” Steve said with a wave of his hand. “I told mom I’d be home early today. I’ll probably dip out of eighth period early too.”

Bucky nodded and waited for Steve to jump out of the car before shutting the door and making sure it was locked. “Give her my love. Maybe I’ll swing by Saturday. Bring lunch or something.”

“If you bring your mom’s brownies, she’ll forget you didn’t show up at all over the summer.”

“I came a few times!” Bucky objected. “I just didn’t think about it without you around.”

“And you were too busy macking on your new boyfriend.”

Bucky rolled his eyes and elbowed Steve as they walked back into the school.

__________________________

Sam glanced at the jersey in his peripheral vision and internally sighed. He had been kind of hoping that this particular aspect of the weird little traditions he was being introduced to was fake–just Bucky fucking around with him last week. Alas.

He took the jersey without closing his locker and looked up at Bucky, who was cheesing at him like he knew how much Sam hated this. The hallways were increasingly filling with students getting ready for their first class of the day and Bucky was standing distractingly close, even with the locker door between them. Sam finished shoving books into his backpack and shut it. Bucky immediately took a half step closer.

“Hey, lucky charm,” he greeted, wrapping an arm around Sam’s waist. It made a few people glance over but Sam didn’t really care. Between getting ready for the tournament and Sarah trying out for the freshman volleyball team, he’d hardly seen Bucky all week. He was drinking in his fill now without self-consciousness. “Still coming to mine after the game?”

Scratch that: minor self-consciousness. Sam was deeply glad no one was near enough to hear that and wolf-whistle. “Yeah, just let me know when you get home.”

“At least listen to the game on the radio?” Bucky asked, pouting out his lower lip.

“Probably not,” Sam said as he tucked in the t-shirt he was wearing and pulled Bucky’s jersey on over it. When he got it situated and looked back up, Bucky’s eyes were burning as he stared at Sam. He wanted to make a joke of it–“the last time you looked at something like that was the new burger at Doll’s”--but it died on his tongue the longer Bucky stared at him. His fingers flexed at Sam’s back and Sam stepped closer to him, fingers coming up to Bucky’s belt loops.

“See something you like?” he teased, finally drawing Bucky’s eyes to his face.

“Please let me kiss you,” Bucky breathed raggedly. Sam remembered Bucky’s ‘strategic plan’ and some of the warmth that had been blooming with his stare ebbed away. This was all an act, he reminded himself. He couldn’t fault Bucky for being a very good actor.

He brought his hand up to Bucky’s jaw and pulled him into a kiss as the first warning bell rang. Again, it lit up every nerve in the middle of Sam’s body. He tried to step closer to Bucky at the same time Bucky clutched at his hips tighter and they sank together, chest to chest and thigh to thigh.

“Barnes!” an adult voice called out in warning. Neither of them stepped away for a second, breathing against each other’s mouths for a few more breaths. “Mr. Wilson!”

Finally they stepped apart, one of Bucky’s hands falling away while the other continued to spasm on Sam’s hip. “Who taught you how to kiss, Wilson?” Bucky asked, leaning in to ghost another kiss over the corner of Sam’s mouth.

“No one,” Sam said. He and Riley had kissed each other at the end of Freshman year once, just to get it out of the way, but it had been nothing like the last two kisses Sam had with Bucky. Bucky put a knuckle under Sam’s chin and lifted his head, brushing his thumb over Sam’s lip.

“Just naturally gifted then,” he joked.

“Gentlemen!” the teacher called again. “Get to class.”

Bucky’s fingers squeezed around Sam’s hip gently and he finally peeled himself away from Sam’s body. “Let them talk,” he said with a cheery smile, hiking his bag on his shoulder and walking backwards down the hall.

Yeah, Sam thought a little brokenly, let them talk.

__________________________

Bucky wasn’t expecting Sam’s truck in the parking lot after the game. In fact, he had to blink a few times before he really believed it was Sam’s truck. It both filled him with glee and dread. He’d spent the last fifteen minutes waiting for everyone to clear out of the locker room thinking about the way he was definitely spiraling into this game him and Sam were playing. He thought it had been a pretty close call this morning. If that grating math teacher hadn’t been around, Bucky probably would’ve given away just how much he was really enjoying kissing Sam. Let them talk. What a stupid thing to say.

He’d kind of been looking forward to the silent drive home. A chance to clear his head and convince himself Sam wasn’t onto him. When he’d gone to the debate room after school to get his jersey back–and Sam had kissed his cheek like he had the week before–nothing seemed different. No knowing looks. No betrayed glances.

But now Sam was leaning against his truck like he was supposed to be there and Bucky had completely lost the grip he’d struggled for on the idea that he wasn’t actually into Sam. It sailed away into the night sky while his heart thundered in his chest with elation at getting to see him again.

“Hey,” he greeted, throwing his bag into the bed of the truck. “I still have my mom’s car. I can’t ride home with you.”

Sam cringed a little. “I thought you might say that,” he admitted. “I got caught up in debate stuff and didn’t leave until late. Drove Riley home and had to pass by the school again, right as the game was ending. Figured I’d miss traffic and see if you needed a ride too.”

“Sorry, I should’ve mentioned driving in.”

There was no one else in the parking lot with them and therefore no reason for it, but Bucky reached over to tangle his fingers in Sam’s, letting himself step closer to the other young man. Sam brought his other hand up to the split in Bucky’s lip gently.

“I don’t get how you bust your face up so bad. You wear a helmet.”

Bucky shrugged. “Impact. Force. I actually just spit out my mouthguard and then bit my lip with this one.”

“I hate this sport,” Sam said with a grimace.

“It’s not so bad,” Bucky said with another shrug. Then Sam surprised him by closing the distance between them and wrapping his arms tightly around Bucky’s midsection. Bucky’s arms curled around Sam’s shoulders carefully. “You okay, Sammy?”

Sam nodded against Bucky’s shoulder. “I just missed you,” he said.

“I missed you too,” Bucky murmured. He pressed his face to Sam’s shoulder too and closed his eyes. The spiral had turned into a freefall.

Chapter Text

Sam had been too tired to think straight, much less see straight, after debate meets before. Tonight, he wasn’t feeling that groggy. Mostly just happy to be that much closer to a shower and bed. There really was nothing like the grossness of sweating in a suit.

Still, he was wondering if he was more tired than he thought because as he pulled into the driveway and cut the engine, he thought he saw someone sleeping on one of the porch chairs. He grabbed his laptop bag and slowly unfolded himself from the truck, keeping one wary eye on the guest until he recognized the sleep pants he was wearing.

“You couldn’t convince Sarah to let you in the house or something?” he asked, coming up on Bucky’s side and startling the other young man awake.

When he was done flailing, Bucky rubbed the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I didn’t try. I thought I’d timed your trip home right. Thought I’d only be here a few minutes.”

“Sorry, I drove Riley home,” Sam said. He sat on the bench next to Bucky and leaned heavily back into it. “Why’re you here in the first place?”

Bucky mimicked his pose, just a breath of space between them. Well, enough space for a Junebug to cling to the wood slat between their arms. “Came over to congratulate you. Third place, huh?”

Sam dug in his pocket and handed over the medal that him and Riley had gotten. “Third’s not so bad. We dropped a round early and we got a judge who was hell on our speaker points.”

“I don’t know what that means, but it sounds like they’re stupid.”

Sam laughed softly and shrugged. “It’s how it goes.” He lolled his head against the back of the bench to look at Bucky. “You gonna crash in my room?”

“Your mom already said I can’t,” Bucky snorted with a fond look. “They conspired on that rule, y’know. Mine and yours.”

“I bet they did.” Sam knocked the side of his hand against Bucky’s chest before pushing himself back to his feet. “I’m falling asleep right here. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’m going down to the harbor to help the Ruizes on their boat. But I’ll be back in time for dinner, if you want.”

“You know you’re always welcome for dinner.”

Bucky knocked his forehead against Sam’s. They’d done it a thousand times—it began after a dinosaur documentary that showed some crested lizards ramming their heads together—but now it felt different. And Sam kind of never wanted Bucky to pull his head away. But he did, because of course he did. “Tell your mom I’ll be around to make biscuits if she’ll let me.”

“Will do,” Sam said. In the morning, though. Right now, he was about ready to pass out right on the front porch. He watched Bucky trot off the porch and back to his own house and finally made himself walk inside too. He didn’t know why he was waiting for Bucky to turn around and duck in for a kiss.

It’s not like this was real.

__________________________

Sam knew there was trouble coming from the way Riley’s eyes darkened as he tracked something behind Sam. Hoping for a few more seconds of peace, Sam shoved the rest of his mashed potatoes in his mouth and closed his eyes.

“What do you want?” Riley asked as a body took up the seat next to Sam.

“Hey, Riley,” Bucky greeted with a vicious undercurrent of sarcasm. “Hey, Sam,” he added much more politely. Sam swallowed and opened his eyes to look over at Bucky.

Riley also found his manners. “Hey, Steve,” he said, holding out his fist as Steve sat next to him, across from Bucky. Steve knocked his fist into Riley’s. Riley and Steve both had AP Art together and had for three years. It had always impressed Sam that Riley got on so well with Steve and held such deep-seeded disdain for Bucky.

“I saw that new mixed media you’ve got in the art room,” Steve said to Riley as Bucky swapped out pieces of their meals. “It looks really good. Are you gonna put real flowers over those placeholders?”

Riley threw up his hands in the air. “Thank you! It’ll look so good, right?”

“So good,” Steve agreed. “And it’ll bring in an aroma to the piece too. You could force audience interaction in a way they normally wouldn’t get to.”

“Ms. B said it was derivative,” he scoffed. “Said I should build flowers out of something else.” His mouth curled up in an angry snarl for a second before he calmed down again. “But if you see flowers, I’m sticking with flowers.”

“I see flowers,” Steve assured. “And who’s she to call you derivative? Half of the Art 2 students last year turned in projects that looked exactly the same.”

“Homecoming’s next Friday,” Bucky said to Sam while Steve and Riley disparaged their art teacher.

“I know,” Sam agreed. “The elections are the Monday after.”

“I think you should escort me for Court.”

Sam almost choked on a piece of bread. He was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to be toast, but it was dry enough to be. “I don’t think that’s allowed.”

“It’s not. I already said Carol would escort me, but she wants to escort Maria. We can switch on the field.” Bucky began to pull items out of an old, beat up lunchbox. He traded a candy bar with Steve’s apple sauce and handed over the tomatoes in a plastic baggie for Steve’s lettuce.

“I don’t know, Buck,” Sam said. “None of us can afford to get into trouble right now.”

“Come on, you think Stanford’s gonna reject your application because you took a stand for something? They love that shit.” He began to construct a sandwich that felt uneven for some reason, but Sam couldn’t place it. Not enough flavor, probably.

“That’s a lot of attention,” Sam pointed out warily.

“Yeah, perfect campaign boost right before the election.” Bucky wiped his fingers on his jeans and then held Sam’s wrists and shook his arms between them. “Be a leader,” he emphasized again.

Sam glanced up and found Riley already scrutinizing him while half listening to Steve. Sam had never gone to the Homecoming game, or the dance that proceeded it. In fact, he’d left the pep-rally for it early Freshman year and never went to another one of those either. HoCo was his least favorite part of the year. Everyone was even more obnoxious than they normally were and the debate team was expressly forbidden from having a tournament that weekend so that no one felt the need to miss out. It was backwards, was what it all was. 

“And we’ll have to start looking at outfits for the dance,” Bucky added.

“What?” Sam asked, looking away from Riley with an offended expression.

“Obviously we have to go to the dance together.”

“I don’t want to go to the dance,” Sam said seriously. “I hate that dance. You didn’t say anything about the dance.”

“You’ve never been. You can’t hate it.”

Sam was going to say something snide but failed to come up with a good example. “I don’t want to go.”

“Come on, the HoCo King can’t go to the dance without a date,” Bucky insisted. He turned in his seat and knocked his knees against Sam’s. “It’s just an excuse to dress up and have fun. I promise I won’t let you be miserable.”

And, God, why’d he have to say it like that, huh? How did he know exactly the trick code to get deep into Sam’s heart and make him relax. And then his fingers were ghosting over Sam’s cheek and he was grinning all saccharine and hopeful.

Riley grimaced at the display. Sam had given their sisters preliminary credit for being the first ones to figure them out, but he realized he had discounted Riley in that estimation. Steve would believe their charade because he wanted to. Riley, though… 

Sam and Riley had been connected at the hip for so long people occasionally forgot they weren’t really related. And Riley had internalized plenty of that too. They both had. Sam took his own opinions for granted and assumed Riley agreed with him. He knew Riley was doing the same thing with him as far as Bucky went. Sam was halfway regretting not telling Riley that every summer he disappeared to Montana, Sam and Bucky worked side by side and hung out when no one was watching. At least then Riley would be more accepting of the blow, maybe.

Part of him wanted to come clean about the whole thing to Riley, but he and Bucky had agreed that no one—not their parents, not their sisters, not Steve, and not Riley—could know the truth. Two could keep a secret, etc etc. He didn’t even necessarily want to tell Riley because he felt bad about faking. He wanted to tell Riley because he wanted to talk about how this was all a terrible idea because he was beginning to think he might actually want something like this, for real, with Bucky, and he couldn’t do that if Riley didn’t know it was all fake in the first place.

“Doll,” Bucky said, suddenly playing the begging boyfriend with such a complete earnestness even Sam had to blink at him. “Please? For me?” He shot Sam big Basset Hound eyes and squeezed his wrists.

“I’m not spending more than sixty dollars on an outfit” Sam said with a sigh and tossed the last bit of not-toast crust onto his plate again.

Bucky beamed and leaned over to plant a wet, dramatic kiss on Sam’s cheek. Somewhere beside them, Riley scoffed, but Sam didn’t care. He just hoped Bucky didn’t notice him leaning into the gesture.

__________________________

“Why does Sam get to go to Nola alone?” Sarah whined, bouncing on her toes for emphasis. “You said when he got his license, he had to take me when he went.”

“I’m going with Bucky,” Sam repeated for the dozenth time. “It’s not like we’re going to hang out and see a movie. We’re gonna buy dress shirts and slacks. That can’t be interesting to you.”

Sarah’s eyes intensified somehow, wide and bright and challenging. Sam liked to tell his momma ‘shoulda stopped at me’ every time Sarah’s eyes got like that. As if he couldn’t be the exact same way. “He should have a chaperone since he’s going with Bucky!” she insisted and pointed an accusatory finger like that proved something.

Darlene sighed and looked to her husband to run intermediary. But Paul had said his peace when he’d given Sam permission to go and he wasn’t likely to say more in the face of any argument. His sermons, and their tendency to run very long, did not follow him home.

“Sarah, Sam’s almost full grown,” Darlene offered. Paul and Sarah both let out the same kind of snort, even if Paul’s was better hidden behind a newspaper. “He has to have the freedom to do some things on his own. Besides, the rule was always that he had to take you if he was going alone. He’s going with friends.”

“He’s going with his boyfriend,” Sarah corrected. “That is so not the same thing. If Harry wanted to take me somewhere, I wouldn’t be allowed to go.”

“Harrison is not full grown,” Paul said easily. “And you are my baby girl. You deserve better than Nola.”

Sarah preened at that–Paul always knew exactly how to sate his children. She offered one last weak glare at Sam before sighing and sitting at the breakfast bar in defeat.

Sam raised an eyebrow as he looked around the room. “Great…” he said slowly. “So… I’m gonna go get Buck. We’ll be back before dinner,” he promised. He leaned over to kiss his momma’s cheek and squeezed his father’s shoulder and yanked on one of the twists Sarah had spent the whole night before putting in. She scowled and batted his hand away.

“At least bring something sweet back,” she called as he quickly left the house.

Bucky was already waiting by the truck and he brightened as soon as he saw Sam. “Hey, you ready to go?” he asked.

“Yeah, man,” Sam laughed. “Quick, before Sarah climbs into the bed.”

Bucky laughed merrily and he hauled himself into the passenger seat. “Yeah, Becca wanted to come too. Had to remind her a new season of that dating show was streaming.”

Sam snapped in a lightbulb-moment kind of way. “That’s exactly what I should’ve reminded Sarah of,” he agreed. He got the truck started and pulled out of the driveway before anyone could decide reality dating shows were less exciting than Homecoming shopping.

Bucky instantly began fiddling with the radio, but he found a station that played 60s jazz, so Sam didn’t complain. He just let the familiar landscape pass by as Bucky nodded off next to him. He was a terrible–or wonderful, depending on the day–passenger. Always passing out before they even got on a highway. Sam snuck a glance over at him and felt his heart cinch in his chest.

This was such a bad idea.

“You really want to do blue?” Sam asked with a grimace. Bucky was holding up two suit coats in front of himself, but there were another handful hanging on the dressing room door.

“It’s school colors,” Bucky said with a shrug. “The whole Court is gonna be in blue and I don’t want to buy two suits for the night.” He half turned to face Sam. “You don’t have to do a blue suit. You can do, like, a grey one with a blue shirt.”

Sam idly flicked through the shirts they’d already gathered, not feeling particularly inspired by any of them. Then again, he hadn’t been inspired at the mall any at all either. This place, a small boutique kind of thing that Bucky had found, was much less crowded than the mall had been and Sam felt like he could hear himself think for the first time all day. What he was thinking was that he hated the color blue.

The shop owner had let Sam and Bucky have the run of the fitting room area. It was small, with four changing areas and a mirror corner at the far end of the hall to examine the outfit from every angle. Sam had dragged one of the waiting chairs over to the mirrors, where Bucky had been parked for half an hour now. He’d decided what shirt he’d wanted a while ago (a nice deep black with an interesting set of pleats running down either side of the fly), but he was having a hell of a time with the slacks and coat. These pants were too wide, these ones too narrow. This one had too many creases, this jacket had too many pockets. Why was this double breasted? This one didn’t do anything for his waist, these pants didn’t fit his thighs. He said things that Sam wasn’t even aware he should be looking for.

Sam personally thought Bucky looked great in all of them.

He finally picked one of the blue shirts and brought it over to compare the shade with the coats Bucky had.

“That one’s too shiny for you,” Bucky said after a few seconds. “You’ll want a deeper color, more matte.”

“Truly, I just want to match you and get this over with,” Sam corrected.

“You really hate Homecoming, huh?” Bucky asked with a slight chuckle. He shrugged out of one jacket and into another. It had a ridiculous tail and he instantly removed it again.

“I hate high school. I don’t discriminate against what gets my ire beyond that.” He pulled out a different shirt, one in a style he’d seen Bucky try on which he had liked. He thought it was more matte.

“How can someone who is so good at high school, hate it?”

“I just want whatever is coming after this. I want to get out of this town and see the world, do something interesting.” Sam held up the shirt to his chest, but his gaze was really lost along with his thoughts. Out-of-this-town left a lot of open space. The thought was as exhilarating as it was horrifying.

If Bucky noticed, he didn’t say anything. He reached for a coat that matched the shirt in Sam’s hands and shrugged it on. Sam forced his gaze back towards him. Despite his own reservations about not being able to tell a good coat from a bad one, he had to admit this one looked much better on Bucky than the other had. It hugged his shoulders and tucked in at the waist just right for Bucky’s body at the moment. No tails, no extra buttons, neatly hidden pockets.

“I think that one might be it,” he said, just to watch a grin spread over Bucky’s face.

“Yeah, you think?” he asked, turning to look at Sam instead of just making eye contact in the mirror. “Kinda ties you to that shirt.”

Sam looked back in the mirror again, at the way the blue sat against his skin and the image him and Bucky made together. “I can live with that.”

“Good. Now we just need to get you a suit.”

Sam rolled his eyes and reached for the first grey jacket he could. “Done. Can we go get lunch now?”

Bucky laughed and shook his head. “You’re lucky you’re so damn handsome that it doesn’t matter what you wear. You’ll look good no matter what.”

Sam’s cheeks burned and he wanted to look away from Bucky, to stop the blush as it scalded down his neck to his chest, but he just couldn’t. “Like I’ll look like anything standing next to you. In a blue suit.”

Bucky stepped off the small stairs in front of the mirrors and reached for Sam’s shirt, tugging him close. “Nobody is gonna be looking at me if you’re there looking like next season’s Bachelor.”

Sam rolled his eyes and willed his heart to stop trying to beat out of his ribcage. He was so close to Bucky, he could practically feel the heat pooling off of him, which meant Bucky could almost certainly feel his racing heart. “The second black bachelor ever, huh?” he asked.

“And Sarah thinks you don't pay attention.” Bucky swayed forward just a little and Sam let their foreheads come together gently.

“No one’s around to see,” he murmured softly.

“I know,” Bucky agreed. He rocked his head down just enough that their noses brushed and Sam couldn’t stop his terrible body from leaning up to finish closing the distance between them.

Someone cleared their throat from the front of the hall and Sam sprang back from Bucky, wrenching his shirt from Bucky’s fingers. “Gentlemen, are you finding everything alright? Do you need help with anything?”

Bucky, who now had a blush that seemed to be competing with Sam’s, recovered first. “Uh, yes, actually. Do you have straight-leg in a 34/31 in this grey color?”

The shopkeeper appraised Sam and then nodded. “I should have that. I’ll bring a few different materials. Please change out of the merch before you get it sweaty and wrinkled,” she teased before she walked away with an echoing chuckle.

Sam felt like he was about to combust. He turned from Bucky quickly and brought his hands up to his face. If he couldn’t see it, it wasn’t happening. Bucky also hadn’t relaxed, no guffaw to release the tension, no lame joke to smooth over the awkward air that had settled in the room. 

“Uh… I’m just gonna try on the pants. If they fit, I’ll get the coat and we can go,” Sam offered weakly. He made himself turn around to look at Bucky, though he couldn’t quite force a grin to stay on his face. “Figure out what you want for lunch.”

“Sure,” Bucky said. “There’s a hotdog place down the road.” He wasn’t meeting Sam’s eyes and he eventually turned around himself, shrugging out of the jacket he’d just decided on and carefully hanging it back on the hanger. He hung the pants over the cross beam and set it aside.

Sam was just about to say something else when the shopkeeper came back with several grey pants over her arm and a few coats to choose from. “Now, I know you said 31 straight, but I know it’s fashionable for boys your age to wear them a little shorter sometimes, so I thought you might like to see some of our cuffed fits,” she explained. “These are the regular pants, here are the ones with the shorter leg.”

“My mama will never let me out the door in high-waters,” Sam said when the shopkeeper had left them again. He slid the extra pairs out of the way and then did a cursory glance over the rest of them to make sure the waists looked right or the legs weren’t too long. “Why wouldn’t you put pockets in pants?” he mumbled as he set aside another pair.

Bucky didn’t respond, so Sam just quickly changed from his jeans into the slacks and checked himself in the mirror. “I need you not to be so weird and quiet, Buck,” he said. “How’s it looking?”

“Looks fine. Yeah, it looks good,” Bucky mumbled. He passed his hand over his face and then nodded, really focusing his attention on Sam. “Better than the cuffed ones would look. You’re too classic not to do something like this.”

Sam made himself roll his eyes instead of marinating in the compliment. They just needed to put their buffer back in place. Remember that the flirting was an act. Get back to where they were. “Well. Good. I didn’t want to try everything on.”

As he tried on the coats–again, these all seemed exactly the same to him–Bucky continued not to talk. “Y’know, when Riley and I had to go get our first suits for Debate, I had to get a coat from the juniors department,” he offered into the mirror.

Bucy glanced up at him and then at his back. “Well, your shoulders came in at some point in the last three years,” he said and offered a weak smile, which may have been worse than no smile.

Sam looked at his own reflection again and tried to remember what it felt like to be a freshman trying on off-the-shelf suit coats in the closet big-name store squirreled away in a dilapidated strip mall. But all he could focus on was the thrilling knowledge that Bucky was right behind him now and they were getting ready to go to a dance. As fake as it all was–and Bucky’s icy reaction to the last few minutes was an unmistakable reminder this was all fake–Sam felt miles and miles away from that kid.

“Come on, man. I’m starving,” he eventually said, shrugging out of the coat he was wearing to add it to the pants he’d picked. “Let’s pay for these and get out.”

Bucky nodded and took Sam’s clothes while he changed back into the outfit he’d come in. He passed them back as they walked to the front of the store again. Bucky started to say something a few times, but kept stopping himself as they wove through a complicated maze of racks and displays. Most of the dresses in the shop had the absurd poofy bottom halves befitting a princess movie and the more Sam tried to squeeze by them, the more the tulle made his arms itch.

By the time they got up to the small register–most of the business space was taken up by a cutting and folding table half-covered with gift boxes and garment bags–the shopkeeper had disappeared again.

“How does she keep doing this? This place isn’t that big,” Bucky grumbled and almost sounded like himself again.

Sam picked up a box with cufflinks shaped like flying birds. “You know, Riley and I make fun of competitors who wear cufflinks,” he said. “But I do kinda get it. Especially fun ones.”

“Are monogrammed, gold cufflinks considered fun?” Bucky asked.

Sam snorted. “Definitely not. Why, do you have some? JBB. It’s kind of boring.”

“STW just looks like an acronym for a disease,” Bucky shot back.

Sam had a good retort but the shopkeeper appeared before he could launch it. “Sorry to keep you boys waiting. I was altering a dress and when the machine’s working, no reason to stop,” she explained.

She handled the clothes with a care that they’d likely never see once they were out of the store. “I’m giving you boys the prom discount. I know it’s Homecoming, but you two are sweet.”

Bucky smiled charmingly as he paid for his outfit, followed by Sam. He took the garment bags, the way he’d handled the clothes in the shop. It was a new side of Bucky that Sam had never been on the receiving end of: this urge to be helpful. He’d seen Bucky employ it for half the town but it was disconcerting to suddenly have someone offering to get the door or hold a bag. His hands felt constantly empty.

Sam did manage to get the back door to the truck for Bucky, who gave a gracious half-bow before hanging their suits from the roof handle. “Hey, listen,” he started as he leaned back out of the truck. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable back there. You said no one was watching and I should’ve stopped. Guess I just got caught up in the game.”

Sam was glad for the heat that had already brought beads of sweat to his hairline and an imperceptible flush to his cheeks, else he might really give himself away. “I know. It’s nothing,” he assured, shoving away the knot in his throat. “We were just having fun. It’s fine, Buck.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed lowly, scuffing the toe of his shoe against the pavement. “Hey, that woman totally bought it,” he offered with another forced grin.

“Yeah,” Sam agreed. “Guess we must be getting pretty good at this.”

“Guess so.” They stood in awkward silence for a few more seconds before Bucky bounced on his toes. “Well, let’s get food and get back home.”

“Yeah,” Sam repeated lamely. “Home.” At least there he could pull the covers over his head and pretend like none of this had ever happened.

__________________________

Homecoming week was filled with stupid dress up days and activities. It was meant to get the school body hyped for the game–as if this football brain-rotted population wasn’t hyped enough–but all it ever succeeded in doing was derailing all the rest of the education that was supposed to be happening.

Luckily, the bar on debate tournaments didn’t expand to debate practices during the week. Sam had thrown himself into extemp prep. He couldn’t bear to look at Bucky and he didn’t really want to be around Riley, though the other young man was making that nearly impossible. Riley could be like a loyal dog sometimes: able to sense when something was wrong and offering big, sad eyes and a warm presence as recompense.

Sam was not surprised when he showed up fifteen minutes after the last bell of the day rang. He was dressed like James Bond (the dress up day was Your Hero or some such bullshit) though his martini glass had been confiscated before the first bell had even rung. So really he just looked like some old-timey singer or something.

“Hey. I know you don’t actually want to be reading about…” He turned a sheet of paper Sam had printed and needed to file into the tub. “The Suez Canal and why it should be widened.”

“Freight carriers are getting bigger. Jams are more likely to happen,” Sam answered without looking away from the domestic topics he was organizing.

“I think there’s a whole bunch of geo-political stuff you’re ignoring about chipping away at countries,” Riley said.

Sam shrugged. “Extemp isn’t an argument. It’s just facts.”

Riley, who had never done extemp in his life, just grunted and sat down in the desk beside Sam. “Did Barnes do something to piss you off like this?” he asked after he got bored of looking at the articles Sam had printed.

“No,” Sam lied. “And even if he did, I wouldn’t tell you. You’d, like, go start a fight you couldn’t finish.”

“You think I can’t take him in a fight?” Riley scoffed.

Sam actually had no idea who’d win a fight and he didn’t feel like finding out. “As enticing as the thought of the two of you grappling around with each other is, I’m gonna pass on it anyway.”

Riley rolled his eyes and then refocused his attention. “I would kick his ass,” he said solemnly. “If he ever does anything to hurt you, I swear he’d never do it again.”

“Are you giving me the shovel talk for him? Should I be writing this down to pass on?” Sam asked drily. “Hey, you’re co-President of this club. You should be helping me.”

“Co-President is not a thing,” Riley answered immediately like he had been for a year. “You just call me that to foist shit onto me.”

“I do not foist shit onto you. I grant you authorization to do cool shit.”

“Cool shit like take everyone’s orders and hike to the nearest fast food place at tournaments without a concessions stand?”

“You use the school’s credit card!” Sam exclaimed. “What is cooler than that?”

“Literally anything else in the entire world.” Riley kept a cool gaze on him. “Sam, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. The game. The dance. Whatever hell-on-Earth he drags you to afterwards. You don’t have to do anything that makes you uncomfortable. You are worth so much more than Barnes.”

Sam let out a groan of frustration and threw aside an article that was basically the exact same thing as another he’d printed out. “I’m not mad because he made me uncomfortable! I made him uncomfortable!” he practically shouted. “I got ahead of myself. Moved too fast. And he shut down like-like-like a switch had been flicked. And I’m mad at myself. And I’m getting mad at you for always treating him like some bomb that’s about to go off because it’s turning me into that bomb!” Sam took in several shaky breaths and willed away the sting of tears in his eyes. “I just…you’re two of the most important people to me, okay? And I can’t stand to have you at each other’s throats all the time.”

Sam didn’t have to glance over at Riley to know he’d probably be able to count the individual striations in the tendon at his jaw. He’d always suspected Riley was going to lose his back teeth before he hit thirty with his tendency to clench his jaw like he wanted to mash his mandibles into one piece.

“You’re not mad at me,” he said through his teeth, which just about made Sam see red. “You’re mad at him.”

“I’m mad at everyone in this situation!” Sam snapped. “The only one who walks away unscathed is Steve and that’s only because I haven’t seen him all week. He’d probably want to know why Bucky’s so upset too.”

Sam listened to Riley breathe through his nose for a while. He really wasn’t expecting a response. Riley was much better about controlling his tongue when he was mad than Sam was. That’s why, when Riley got mean, it hurt so much worse.

“I’m gonna go home,” Riley said suddenly, standing quickly enough that the desk shifted forward. He took several steps towards the door before he paused and turned just enough to look at Sam again. “And, just so you know, as mad as I am right now, if anything happens at the game or after, I will still kill him.”

“What are you so scared of happening? I go to the game and the dance and maybe a party and have a bad time? I embarrass myself on Friday and lose the election on Monday? What does it matter?”

“It matters because you deserve better!” Riley shouted. “Because, as long as I’ve known you, you’ve only reached for the best and now you have Stanford on the line and instead of celebrating, you’re hiding out in the debate room pretending like you don’t exist!”

“It’s fake!” Sam shouted back. The words felt, at once, like a lead weight and the biggest release of pressure.

“What?” Riley asked, deflating entirely in one fell swoop.

“It’s fake. This relationship. We’re doing it for the class officer election. But it hasn’t been fake for me. Not for a long time. And I’m…I’m losing my mind over it, Rye. So I really don’t need your judgment on top of everything else.”

Riley blinked at him and took a step backwards then towards Sam again before he finally finished crossing the space between them. Sam let out a sob against Riley’s shoulder as his best friend’s arms came around him. He clutched onto the back of Riley’s shirt, terrified that Riley was going to step away and Sam would never get him back.

“For being the smartest guy I’ve ever known, you sure are stupid sometimes, Sam,” Riley muttered into the top of Sam’s head. “How did you think you weren’t gonna fall into this head first? You are the worst with emotions.”

“I’m too tired to argue with you,” Sam mumbled. He wiped his tears on Riley’s shoulder because Riley never minded that and then stepped back just a bit. Enough that he could more or less look at Riley’s face but could still keep his fingers curled in his shirt. “I didn’t realize how much I liked him until I got to have him. This weekend, we were buying suits and goofing off and we almost kissed. Afterwards he was withdrawn and, like, angry about it.”

“Then he’s as stupid as I’ve always thought he was,” Riley said. Which was approximately what Sam assumed the answer would be. “And what do you mean it’s for the election?”

Sam sighed and slowly let go of Riley’s shirt. The material was stretched out, but at least he hadn’t torn any holes in it. He sat back heavily in the chair and shoved away articles about some cow shortage somewhere. “When Stanford offered to keep an eye on my file, they suggested leadership positions. Bucky thought the easiest way to give me a leg up was if I dated someone popular. Him, specifically.”

Riley frowned as he sat on the desk next to Sam’s. “And what does he get out of this?”

“Uh, something about really coming out. People couldn’t ignore it anymore.” Sam rubbed his hands over his face.

“So what he got out of it was making his life miserable?”

Sam cleared his fingers from one eye and raised an eyebrow. “His life is hardly miserable. He said it hasn’t been that difficult. Do you think my life is difficult?”

Riley’s eyes narrowed a little. “I wouldn’t know, would I? You decided to start keeping this secret and you totally shut me out.”

“I had to!” Sam defended. “I mean, look at this! You pressed me one time and I opened up like a spring flower. I told you everything at the slightest pressure!”

Riley shook his head. Sam watched a variety of arguments pass through him before he opted not to answer at all. “So what are you going to do?”

“The election is on Monday. It’s just a few more days. And then I’ll wallow and go to college and forget it.”

“You’re gonna wallow until you go to college?” Riley asked dubiously. “If you care that much, why not just tell him.”

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me this weekend. He’d never accept it if I told him this was more than a game to me.”

“Sam, you know I can’t stand the guy, but I don’t think he’s the kind of guy to throw you away for having a crush on him,” Riley said softly. “He’s probably used to that. It might be awkward in y’all’s driveways, but that’s it. Wouldn’t that be better than living like this?”

Sam let out a long sigh and shook his head. “I don’t know, Rye. At least this way I get to pretend.”

“Get to or have to?” Riley asked.

Sam blinked away a fresh wave of tears. “I don’t know,” he repeated softly. “It’s only a few more days. I can handle it for that long.”

He had to.

Chapter Text

Sam had done an excellent job of avoiding Bucky all week, which Bucky completely understood. He’d avoid himself if he was in Sam’s shoes too. God, how boneheaded did he have to be to try to kiss Sam like that? How could he have ever thought that was a good idea? And now he had a whole week of knowing he was being avoided while also seeing Sam’s face– his Sam’s face, the one only he knew–on a sign every ten feet in the hall. And that was his own damn fault too.

It wasn’t until Thursday morning that he actually saw Sam again in any real capacity. Which was good because there were two rehearsals for the Court Procession coming up and it’d probably be bad to start airing dirty laundry in front of everyone else. This was also not ideal, though, seeing as he found Sam curled up in the ADA stall of the bathroom while Bucky himself was crashing through the door to get sick.

He spared an extra split second to realize, yeah, that was Sam on the floor, before he was dropping to his knees by the toilet and losing the breakfast sandwich he’d woken up early to get this morning. When he sat back, Sam passed over a wet paper towel.

“Who’d you have to disappoint today?” he asked, because of course he knew Bucky’s damage without Bucky having to say anything at all. Sam knew he was a people pleaser, and he knew that tendency had gotten more intense as they’d gotten older. To the point of illness if he thought someone might look at him with disappointment in their eyes, apparently.

“I have to tell Coach I need to miss part of the second quarter to get ready for the procession,” he said raspily. He wiped his face off with the paper towel and then laid it over his forehead.

“I’m pretty sure he gets six people asking him that every year,” Sam pointed out. And Bucky knew that, but it was different when it was him. Not even in a ‘star of the team’ kind of way. Just because Bucky was the one people were supposed to be able to rely on. He was the one who juggled everything and did it all. And because Bucky was being a little selfish here.

“If I didn’t want to change, if I just walked the procession in my uniform, I wouldn't have to miss any of it,” he explained. For an ADA stall, there wasn’t a lot of space. Him, sitting on the far wall with his legs in front of him, and Sam on the other wall with his legs in front of him, could lock their ankles together. Sam did as Bucky talked and Bucky just stared at that point of contact.

“You’re not the first,” Sam reiterated. “You should be allowed to put on uncomfortable clothes for a stupid school thing. Coach’ll know that.”

“Do you even know the coach’s name?” Bucky asked.

Sam snorted and looked away with a small grin. “He’s one of them,” he said. “Belli or Wester or Jordan.”

“None of them coach football. It’s impressive you chose, like, the only three in the whole school who aren’t involved with football in some way,” Bucky teased.

Sam shrugged. “I really don’t care about any of them. Not like you ever mention your coach by name.”

That was fair. Bucky didn’t. He picked at a frayed hem on his athletic shorts while Sam sniffled and wiped his nose. It was 70s day. Sam looked freaking awesome in an outfit clearly inspired by Marvin Gaye–with the red hat and bedazzled jean jacket and kickass silver boots. Bucky had heard his mom talk about how handsome Marvin Gaye was back in the day but he hadn’t believed it until he saw Sam busting silly dance moves in the hallway with Riley that morning. Bucky had been dressed, but he hadn’t changed back after the athletics period. Besides, he didn’t look half as good as Sam did. And he’d dressed like The Warriors, not something specific to the 70s.

“Are you anxious about the court?” Bucky asked. Where he got sick with the grief of letting people down, he knew Sam’s anxiety always made him nauseous.

Sam’s eyes turned tortured again and he made half a move back towards the toilet. “Everyone is gonna be there,” he groaned softly. “And we’re doing shit to get ourselves in trouble.”

“We don’t have to,” Bucky offered. “Maria and Carol will understand.” And at Sam’s doubtful look, Bucky amended himself. “Maria and Carol will do what they want and we can walk stag.”

“I don’t want to walk stag. I want to take a stand. Say something. It’s just so damn scary beforehand.”

“I’ll be right next to you,” Bucky promised. And maybe it wasn’t what Sam wanted to hear, not after last weekend, not after avoiding Bucky all week, but it was what he had to offer. “Listen, I know I haven’t been next to you the way I shoulda this whole time we’ve been friends. But if there’s one thing I’ve already taken away from this year, it’s that I never don’t want to be next to you, alright?”

Sam studied him for a few seconds before he shifted to his knees and then scooted next to Bucky so they were sitting side-to-side. His hand found Bucky’s and he squeezed Bucky’s fingers tightly. “I might hold you to that, Barnes,” he muttered.

“I want you to,” Bucky answered honestly. He was just about to lay his head down on Sam’s shoulder when the shrill cry of the bell sent them both springing to their feet. “I’ve got to go back to the field house,” he said. “But I’ll see you at lunch?”

Sam tilted his head in agreement and the nasty knot in Bucky’s chest eased out some. They knocked their foreheads together before splitting up for class.

__________________________

“What are you doing down here?” Riley asked, ducking under support beams for the bleachers and then sitting on the concrete next to Sam. In all the insanity of this Court scheme, in the wild chaos of the election scheme, Riley was still Sam’s rock. He still didn’t really agree with what Sam was doing and he had no confidence in Bucky, but he was there when Sam texted him through hyperventilations and begged for a few moments of company.

Sam squeezed open one eye to stare at his best friend, drink in the familiarity and comfort of his face. “I was hiding from the girls and Bucky,” he admitted.

“Why?” Riley hooked his foot behind Sam’s, knocked his leg down so he could cross their ankles. Sam watched his sneakers scuff the concrete for another few seconds.

“They were all going to go get food and hang out until the game. I couldn’t do it. Seen ‘em too much between all of these rehearsals. And the girls act like they aren’t worried about it, but they’re nervous too, and it’s freaking me out even more.”

Riley huffed out a noise that could either be acknowledgement or poking fun at Sam. “Why not just go home then?”

Sam grunted and shrugged. “I dunno. Scared I won’t come back out.”

“Do you even have your outfit?”

Sam groaned and shook his head. “Bucky and I are supposed to get ready at my place in an hour or so. My mom wants so many pictures.”

Riley knocked his shoulder into Sam’s. “Let me come with. I’ll alleviate some of the tension. Knock him in the teeth if he gets bitchy.”

“You think he’s always bitchy.”

Sam felt Riley shrug. “I’ll be slightly more discerning. Come on. Get up. You need to shower.”

“Thanks,” Sam groused. He let Riley tug him to his feet and they carefully extricated themselves from beneath the bleachers again.

“Besides, I needed a ride home anyway,” he added with a grin, when it was safe for Sam’s swinging elbows to reach out to him without hitting metal. He danced away from the attack and then came back amiably when Sam settled down and they came out the other side of the bleachers. “So, what, your boyfriend’s gonna put on his suit at your place, take a bunch of pictures, change into his uniform, play two quarters, change again, do the court bullshit, and then change one more time to finish the game?”

Sam let out a low whistle. “When you say it like that, he sounds a little vain.”

Riley laughed. “If the cleat fits, y’know.”

They walked to Sam’s truck in easy quiet. Sam’s stomach was still turning itself over into knots, but it was, as always, better with Riley next to him. Even on debate days, when the anxiety and pressure would not be thwarted, Riley was the grounding presence that kept Sam from really spiraling.

“Hey,” Riley said, hand on the passenger handle. Sam stopped walking and leaned against the hubcap. “If you get uncomfortable at any time tonight, for any reason, call me. Please, Sam. I’ll come get you.”

Sam’s chest glowed with adoration and love. “Rye, you don’t drive.”

“I’ll figure it out,” Riley insisted. “Call me.”

Sam stepped forward and hugged Riley tightly. “It’s gonna be fine, Rye. If you’re so worried, you should come. To the game. The dance. After parties.”

Riley made a gagging noise. “No. But I’ll come save the day.” He squeezed Sam back and then stepped away. “Come on. Mama Wilson will not want to wait for you to get ready.”

“She will if you’re around to distract her.”

Riley laughed and shrugged. “Just admit it, your folks would be so much happier if you were dating me.”

“I dunno,” Sam said exaggeratedly, shrugging deeply. “Bucky talks about the Saints all night with my dad.”

Riley gagged again and laughed as he got into the truck. Sam was laughing too.

__________________________

Bucky felt a little silly as he stood outside the Wilson front door and felt nerves curl around his stomach. He’d been in the house countless times. He had been greeted by every Wilson who could possibly open the door. There was no reason for him to be nervous. This was practically home too.

Still. Sam was beyond that door. Even if he thought they were playing a game, it was not a game for Bucky anymore. The tantalizing thought of getting to pretend to be Sam’s all night was doing all sorts of things to Bucky’s typical suaveness. He couldn’t even knock on the door.

As it turned out, he didn’t have to. All of a sudden, so many of Sarah’s friends piled out of the house together, a chattering, giggling mass. A few of them noticed Bucky and the giggling got louder. Bucky blushed and ducked away from the attention. (“Aren’t you used to that by now?” Sam had asked once after Bucky had had a rough start to a conversation at the mall with girls from a rival school. The answer was, and would always be, no.)

Inside the Wilson home, the buzz of energy and anticipation was only a little dimmer. Darlene came out of the kitchen with a wide smile and a pyrex full of dessert for him. She kissed his cheek and fussed with his hair. He’d spent half an hour on it next door and Winnifred had already done this, but he wasn’t going to complain.

“Sam’s upstairs,” she said. “Do you want me to get him or are you just going to head up?”

“I can wait,” Bucky said easily. “I don’t mind.”

“Go, sit down,” she insisted. “Paul is watching the Astros game.”

“Are they winning?” he asked, directing the last half to the living room as he stepped between the rooms.

“Letting everyone get their hopes up in the last stretch of the season,” Paul huffed.

“Hey, if the Rangers keep choking, they could worm their way into the Wild Card,” Bucky said. He sat on the couch, one cushion between him and Paul.

He and Pastor Wilson were…fine. Bucky was much closer to Darlene, but he’d spent enough days on the boat with Paul and he was pretty sure the occasional bonding they did over sports had ingratiated him to the man. The easy relationship they’d had since Bucky had moved to Louisiana had had a strain put upon it recently though. At least, Bucky thought so. The conversation was stiffer. The times they were alone in a room had diminished to just about never. Bucky hadn’t been on the boat since the first trip out after the winter time cold.

They watched the game together now, sucking in the same disappointed breaths when the Mariners made contact or the Astros didn’t, and celebrating in the same way when Altuve or Alvarez cracked one out. They’d made it through a full inning before Bucky heard any noise from Sam’s room–a burst of laughter that he recognized and made his skin prickle a little.

“Riley’s here?” he asked Paul.

Paul’s thoughtful eyes glanced over to Bucky, appraised him quickly, and then went back to the last few seconds of action on the field. When it cut to a commercial, he muted the TV and turned his full attention to Bucky. Bucky swallowed thickly.

“He is,” he agreed. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course not,” Bucky assured, though his stomach still twisted with a little bit of bitterness. “He just doesn’t really like me. I wasn’t expecting him to be around.”

“Why doesn’t he like you?” Paul asked.

Bucky didn’t go to the Baptist church. He’d been less than a handful of times with Sam on mornings when they were hanging out or he had little else to do, but he wasn’t subject to Pastor Wilson’s sermons. He imagined the relevant ones felt like this.

“Uh, I guess just ‘cause he was Sam’s friend first,” he tried with a shrug. “We’re just different. He thinks I’m an idiot. We don’t have a lot of common interests.”

Paul considered this. “Riley has been part of this family for most of his life,” he acknowledged. “Do you know much about him?” he asked.

Bucky shrugged again. “Not really. Like I said, we don’t really talk.”

“I think you’ll find Riley’s protectiveness has less to do with jealousy and more to do with fear.”

Bucky looked up from where he was picking a cuticle away. “Sir? What do you mean? I mean, yeah, he thinks I’m gonna hurt Sam. Like…intentionally, because he thinks I’m awful. But I’m not. That’s…so unfounded.”

Paul shook his head and patted Bucky’s knee. “Riley has always tried to keep Sam from ever being hurt how he’s been hurt. You have George and Winnie, your sister, your friend Steve. Riley does not. In fact, he probably has the exact opposite. And he’s going to make sure Sam never has to know how that hurt feels.”

“I don’t… Sir, I don’t understand what that has to do with me,” Bucky insisted. His irritation with Riley had turned on a dime and now there was some desperate need to understand chewing its way through his ribcage.

Paul kept his hand on Bucky’s knee. “I’m just trying to say, give him some patience and know that his only concern is Sam.”

The game came back on as Bucky tried to parse out what the hell that meant and why Paul was concerned with the relationship between Bucky and Riley in the first place. Paul’s moment of intensity and emotion was gone with the sportscasters coming back onto the air. Bucky tried to focus his attention on the TV again, but he failed miserably.

It didn’t matter. Before the third pitch could even be thrown, Sam noisily made his way down the stairs, Riley right on his heels, judging from the pattern of stomping shoes. Bucky jumped to his feet, spinning around to face the stairs to greet Sam. Despite the strangeness of his conversation with Paul still clawing at his chest, the smile on his face as soon as he saw Sam was as genuine as it always was.

Sam stopped at the bottom step suddenly as he caught sight of Bucky. Riley crashed into his back and mumbled out some aggrievement before also seeing Bucky.

“Hey,” Sam said, a little breathless. His eyes were so bright, it made Bucky’s heart ache. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I don’t know how you hear anything with the two of you banging around like that,” Paul said, as if he hadn’t just defended Riley’s entire honor and existence to Bucky. “Opened the closet door no less than thirty-seven times.”

Sam’s bright expression shifted to a fond eye roll as he briefly looked at his father. Then it was all sunshine again when he looked at Bucky again. Behind him, Riley was more of a smoldering raincloud. Sam finished crossing over to Bucky and gave him a tight, quick hug.

“You look amazing,” Bucky greeted finally, when he’d found his tongue in his mouth. He had seen Sam in all the disparate parts of this suit, but all together with his sharp Oxfords, he was something else entirely. “Sam, I mean…” He held Sam by the shoulder and hip as he looked over him again. “God, you are so handsome.”

Sam looked a little bashful and Bucky put his palm against Sam’s cheek to feel his blush. His heart tripped in his chest at the simple gesture, and then again when Paul cleared his throat pointedly.

“Oh my, look at you two!” Darlene preened as she appeared in the living room, called in by all the noise no doubt. “You too, Riley,” she added, shaking a dishcloth at him as she stood next to him. “You could still go to the dance.”

Riley shook his head, arms crossed over his chest. “Nah, the only guy I woulda accepted a date from went and got himself tangled up with someone else,” he said. The teasing edge in his voice was barely beating out the steel beneath it.

“You wouldn’t’a gone with me,” Sam objected with a roll of his eyes.

“You’re right. I’d rather hang out with my favorite lady all night,” Riley agreed. The steel was gone from his voice, the hard edge of his face eased away as he threw an arm around Darlene’s shoulders and leaned into her side.

Sam scowled at what must have been familiar ribbing, but he was still glowing and Bucky really couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.

“Pictures!” Darlene said suddenly. She hugged an arm around Riley’s waist momentarily before ducking away and getting out the camera that had followed Bucky and Sam since the seventh grade.

“Uh, hey,” he said, turning to Sam before Darlene could start staging them. “Last weekend, you were looking at those cufflinks,” he started. “I went back and…” He pulled a small box out of his pocket and opened it to show Sam the delicate silver birds. “Better than a corsage, right?”

Sam’s face had gone a little slack and his fingers were shaking just a little as he reached up for the box. “Buck, you shouldn’t’ve.”

“It’s your birthday on Wednesday,” Bucky insisted. “You really liked them. I could tell.”

“I did. I do,” Sam corrected. “Will you help me put them on?”

“Well, uh…” Bucky held Sam’s wrist gently. He brushed his thumb over the meat of Sam’s thumb as he examined the shirt cuff. “Should I undo the button first? Or just put it next to it?” He did not look over to Paul who definitely knew the answer and was definitely judging him.

“Just unbutton it. It’s fine,” Sam insisted. He turned his hand over to give Bucky more space to work. Bucky ran his fingers over Sam’s hand again before he deftly unbuttoned the shirt button and replaced the space with the birds, placing them so their wings would hold the button hole closed.

He brought Sam’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his knuckles softly and then grinned when Sam laughed at him. Suddenly there was no one else in the room, in the whole world, but them and those smiles.

“Okay, okay, Casanova. Other hand now,” he said and swapped out hands in Bucky’s hold.

“Yes, sir,” Bucky agreed. Tonight was going to be fine.

__________________________

Sam had never stood on the football field with the lights on. They’d been down on the field long enough that the class sponsor had put them into order–Bucky and Carol, Maria and Sam–and they had swapped back out–Bucky and Sam, Maria and Carol. Which meant it was long enough that sweat was dripping down Sam’s ribs. His nice shirt was going to be rank before they even got to the dance. He fiddled with the cufflinks mindlessly. Wished he had wings to fly away from this. Or even just to create a breeze.

Carol and Maria looked marvelous next to each other–flawless and strong and beautiful. He’d expected Carol to wear a suit, but they were both in elegant dresses. Carols was more understated, a navy blue with silver accents. Maria’s was more gown like, long and shimmery with a very fine silver mesh overlay. They were grinning and laughing together, arms linked together, even as Carol fussed over Maria’s Court sash. Sam really wanted to steal some of their confidence and energy. He needed all the help he could get.

Even Bucky, next to him, was jittery, bouncing his leg impatiently and glancing around the field which he must’ve known like the back of his own hand. His eyes kept going to the full bleachers and his leg would start bouncing faster.

Sam slipped his hand against Bucky's, squeezing his fingers tightly. Bucky looked over at him and visibly took a breath.

It didn’t seem like anyone around them had clocked the switch yet. The MC for the Crowning of the Court was in on the whole scheme. They’d announce the names in the order that they walked, not how they were supposed to. Once that was done, there was nothing anyone else could do about it.

Except expel them, he supposed. Which… Shit, there was no bathroom anywhere near them for him to dash to.

Then it was Bucky squeezing his hand and leaning over to whisper in Sam’s ear, “Aaron’s shirt has the ugliest pattern I’ve ever seen in my life.”

Sam snorted and searched through their lineup for Aaron, up at the front. He was walking with a girl Sam had known all his life but had never realized she was close enough with Ayers to walk with him. Her dress was fine. But, yeah, Aaron’s shirt was God awful. Some kind of paisley that Sam was pretty sure was on the bathroom wallpaper in his grandma’s house when he was a kid. Like, behind the toilet only.

“Everybody wants to be George Strait,” he said.

“You know I don’t speak country music references,” Bucky whispered back. Then he kissed Sam’s cheekbone unexpectedly and Sam’s heart just about vacated his body. It had been doing that a lot this evening. The way he’d held Sam in front of his family. The cufflinks. The kiss to his hand. The way all the casual affection had followed them out to Sam’s truck and they drove to the school with Bucky’s hand just above his knee. Sam had had to stay in the truck for the first half just to make sure he wasn’t going to have a cardiac arrest event in front of everyone. And now Bucky was right back to making his heart really push itself to the limits.

“Y’all are just too cute,” someone said behind them.

Sam jumped just a little, but Bucky remained composed. He turned a cheery grin on Ashley Ayers. She was dressed a lot better than her twin. She was stunning, actually. Everyone already knew she and Noah were going to win Queen and King. The rest of this was just for show. It’s part of the reason Maria and Carol were so ready to pull a stunt like this.

Ashley was dressed like a queen. The royal blue dress was fitted just perfectly to her body and rhinestones glittered down from the neckline, trickling off so she looked like a waterfall with each swish of the gown. Noah hadn’t changed from his uniform, like Bucky had, so he was all ‘masculine ideal’ in his filthy uniform next to her.

“You look beautiful,” Bucky complimented for the both of them. “Nobody’s gonna be able to look away when you win.”

Ashley at least looked a little shyly pleased, as if she didn’t already know that. “Well, I think what you four are planning is brave. I wouldn’t mind people looking away for that.”

“You know?” Sam asked in surprise.

She laughed airly. “You should know that nothing stays a secret in this school,” she pointed out. “Jen gave me a heads up. Think she thought I’d have a total meltdown if things went wrong. I’d actually love to see things go wrong. I think these games are so boring.”

“I would rather just get it over with,” Noah said grumpily. “Swear I’m gonna do exercises to stay warm if it takes too long.” Ashley shushed him and rolled her eyes. “Glad to have you on the Court, though,” he added to Bucky. “Buncha basketball players otherwise.” He glanced at the other side of the line of Court nominees. The rest of them were younger, but Sam did know there were no other football players.

Noah and Bucky fistbumped and then the intercom screeched to life as the band vacated the field neatly, avoiding the court procession. Sam hadn’t really even realized they were playing. The procession resettled itself in its lines.

Bucky’s hand went back to Sam’s. Sam looked over in time to see him take in another deep breath.

“Ladies and gentlemen and loyal fans, your Delacroix High School Islanders Homecoming Court!” Jen introduced. The band played some kind of regal march. Sam thought it was a riff off the fight song, but blood was pounding in his ears too loud for him to really tell. “Seniors: Aaron Ayers, escorted by Julia Pinot. Maria Rambeau, escorted by Carol Danvers. Bucky Barnes, escorted by Sam Wilson. And Ashley Ayers and Noah Ford, escorting each other.”

Sam wasn’t sure when the cheering started. Whispers were still flying through the crowd, but so many people were cheering and whistling. He heard people call out for Maria, for Bucky. For Carol and him too. Bucky kept his hand in Sam’s, but waved with the other hand and beamed at the crowd. If nerves still wracked at him, he was doing a fantastic job of ignoring it.

One of the admins on the field was hissing something up at Jen, but she was standing on the drum major’s podium and pretended not to hear. She continued to introduce the underclassmen and ignored the vice principal, who had taken to shaking their keys up at her.

Bucky turned to look at Sam. All the stadium lights were twinkling in his eyes. How different he must look right now to how he usually did on this field, Sam thought. Sam’s heart was already beating double time in his chest, so hard he thought he might choke on it. But when Bucky looked at him like that, it tossed and turned for a whole new reason.

“Don’t kiss me right now,” he pleaded softly. “I couldn’t handle it.”

Bucky just grinned, touched his forehead to Sam’s, and then turned back to the crowd and Jen as she read out the order of the Court. Sam missed the entire announcement.

__________________________

The vice-principal tried to give them all a reaming, but everyone kind of Spartacus’d the blame around. Even Ashley and Noah said it was their idea, even though it clearly wasn’t. The game had to go on. Noah and Bucky were both needed back on the field. (Ostensibly Aaron was too, but, like…not really) Ashley and Maria also needed to take photos for the yearbook. Aaron’s escort was working the concession stand that night, even in her pretty dress. And Sam just wanted to get back to his car.

The punishment went nowhere.

Sam figured a few people coming up to highfive and fistbump them, even as the VP kept ripping them a new one, didn’t help matters. Carol was the only one who stuck around, already knee deep in a spiel about fairness etc. Sam slipped away with a squeeze to her elbow.

In the aftermath of it all, it had felt good. Nerve racking and anxiety inducing to the point of black spots in his eyes, but good all together. There had been so many photos. There’d be photos in the yearbook, maybe even the paper, of him and Bucky holding hands and grinning together. It was definitely going to end up on the fridge at some point, after Sam (and probably Bucky too) got the lecture of a lifetime.

Instead of crawling into the driver’s seat again–he could totally go get food or go home and watch half a movie before having to come back for Bucky and the dance–he grabbed the blanket from the backseat and laid himself down in the bed of the truck. It meant he could hear all the noises of the game, which made his stomach hurt each time, but he was more focused on the stars than the game.

He used to play a game as a kid. He knew there were constellations up there, knew a handful of them, but he was always dreaming up new stories to put in the stars. Giant octopuses. Glittering wolves. Shooting stars become the errant tears of forgotten gods, or maybe kisses blown across the universe.

Tonight, he thought of all the young heroes of the stories and what they did when they weren’t doing things that got them sculpted into stars. He thought of Bucky’s brilliant grin, his shining eyes, laughter bright enough to bottle up and wish upon. He wondered which of these stars were just waiting for him, already the right color and size and shine.

And then he carved out spaces next to all of those stars. Put together enough glittering dark to add a character to the story. Alone, in the back of his truck, he was allowed to do that. To put himself next to Bucky and picture them glowing together for eternity, shining down on some other sad sap out there who was falling in love with their best friend.

That’d be a sad constellation story. The man forced to stand right next to the man he was in love with, silent for eternity.

Sam should just tell him. Get it out there. The election was on Monday. What did it matter at this point? They’d still go out tonight and then the election would happen in third period. No one could possibly hear that they’d had a falling out by then.

Then again, at this point he’d rather lose the election than lose Bucky. He was sure Riley was right. He’d tell Bucky. It’d be awkward for a few days. Bucky would rebound with someone. Sam would ignore it. They’d go back to how it had been. Friends only when other people weren’t looking.

God, he could not go back to that.

No. He couldn’t tell Bucky. They just had to see this out to the end, plan out a breakup, and then be easy friends again. “We tried it out. It was fun. Just wasn’t for us.”

It’d only be the biggest lie Sam ever told.

__________________________

Bucky was going to come clean to Sam tonight. At the dance maybe. If Sam hadn’t picked up any of the hints yet, he just had to be direct about it. He’d use the cufflinks as an intro. That’s what they were supposed to be, his quiet little declaration. But there’d been so many other people around, and there were pictures to stage, and he and Sam hadn’t gotten two seconds to themselves.

“Hey, your lip is still bleeding,” Noah said to him as he slung his bag over his shoulder. He gestured to his own mouth and Bucky brought his fingers up to mimic. It wasn’t so much that it was still bleeding. He’d just been worrying the split all night any time his mouthguard wasn’t in.

“Thanks, man,” he said with a nod and pressed his thumb over the split. “Are you going to the dance?”

“Have to,” Noah said and waved the silly crown the Court used. The guy who’d won King last year was a James, like Bucky. He’d made some joke about wanting to send it on to him–keep the King James theme going. Looking at the crown now, he thought Long Live the Noahs. “I’ll see you there?” he asked, breaking Bucky out of his thoughts..

“Yeah, need to get cleaned up but I’ll be there,” Bucky agreed.

“Don’t get too distracted with your boyfriend’s truck,” he joked and made several obscene gestures, to which Bucky flipped him the bird. “Hey, and tape that hand,” he added, like he was just remembering the shitty on-field tape Bucky had gotten after jamming his fingers in the fourth quarter. ( After he’d split his lip. Sam was going to kill him.)

Bucky continued to think about what he was going to say to Sam as he mechanically washed sweat and dirt off. Maybe he’d just take a roll of tape out to the truck and have Sam wrap his hand. Sam taped his own fingers during baseball season. He was good at it. Not that he did it because his fingers were jammed, Bucky supposed. It was just some idiosyncrasy he had for fielding.

He dried off and wrapped his own damn fingers before getting changed back into his suit. It was still damp from sweating in it earlier, but he didn’t really plan on staying at the dance for too long. If things went well with Sam, he kind of wanted to get back home and make out until his jaw went numb. If things went poorly, he wanted to go home and cry until he suffocated.

He wasn’t trying not to think about that. He was manifesting only good shit.

He finished throwing things into his bag and then headed out of the field house. Sam had pulled the truck around, like he always did. The parking lot was still pretty full. It seemed like most people hadn’t bothered driving over to the theater hall where the dance was being held, but Sam had still managed to put himself closer than where they’d had to park earlier.

He was playing on his phone, leaned up against the bumper. He looked like a teen movie come to life. Bucky really liked the portrait he cut in jeans and a t-shirt, but he looked just as good like this, all decked out. Sam looked up with an easy smile when he heard Bucky walking over. Bucky wondered if he was giving Riley updates. ‘Survived the Crowning of the Court. No SOS yet.’

He pushed the thought away and grinned at Sam. “We won!” he called.

“Yeah, I heard the celebrating,” Sam agreed. “Band got real loud.” He caught Bucky’s hug easily, swinging him around just a little until Bucky hip-checked the fender and swore under his breath. “Hey, let me see,” Sam said. Then his fingers were on Bucky’s jaw and he was examining the split in his lip like it was the most pressing issue in the world. He touched his thumb over it, made sure it wasn’t bleeding, and then reached for Bucky’s hurt hand.

“You could always kiss it better,” Bucky joked, just so he could convince himself he still knew how to breathe.

Sam glanced at him, all long lashes in the moonlight, and then gently brought his bandaged fingers to his lips.

“Let’s go to the dance, tough guy,” Sam said. Dropped Bucky’s hand but didn’t let go.

Bucky was so coming clean tonight. There was no way he could hold it in for a moment longer.

Chapter Text

The dance was nothing to write home about. Bucky had been to the one last year as well. Almost everyone on the football team had gone, so he had. It had been excruciatingly boring and he’d ducked out with the first group to head out for a party instead.

Tonight, the only thing keeping it from being horrible was the fact that he was with Sam. Sam also seemed to be enjoying himself more than he expected. They’d walked three steps in the door before he was pulling Bucky off to the side to join up with a group of his debate friends. They were mostly younger than Sam, so Bucky hardly knew them. He was lucky to keep Becca’s friends straight and, despite the fact they could all argue with a brick wall, none of them were part of the debate team.

From the debate team, they moved on to the football team when five of the guys surrounded Bucky and exalted the block that had jammed his fingers. Bucky idly stretched them beside his thigh and tried not to cringe too obviously when pain lanced up his hand. Sam brushed his knuckles over Bucky’s wrist, but didn’t grab his hand again while all of the other guys were around.

Sam and Bucky danced together all of the time. Both the Barneses and the Wilsons were big on dancing. Him and Sam were two of the only kids at the middle school dances who could do more than shuffle and blush. So Bucky was more than delighted when Sam tugged him away from a lingering conversation with their wide receiver because there was, of all people, George Strait playing over the speakers, something about leather bags and goodbye kisses.

“I hate country music,” he insisted, even as he settled close to Sam’s chest.

“I know you do. You know I mostly do too.”

“Liar,” Bucky objected. “When the list of exemptions gets longer than the list of bad ones, you don’t hate it.”

Sam laughed and shrugged. “Maybe so,” he agreed. He started them in an easy slow dance, even though he knew the song would get faster in the chorus.

Now that they were older, there were plenty of people who knew what they were doing on the dance floor. Most of them were wearing cowboy hats, which Bucky could almost put from his mind. Except then he looked up at Sam and all his prominent cheekbones and long eyelashes and those warm hands holding onto Bucky’s waist and hand, spinning him around. And when had they decided Sam was leading?

“You should get a cowboy hat,” he said, tugging Sam closer again.

Sam caught his waist and snorted. “Not even on the threat of death,” he argued. “You can dance with Riley if you want that look.”

Bucky scoffed and let go of Sam’s shoulder to scruff his hand over Sam’s head. “You’d look so handsome. Some rodeo fantasy come true.”

“Yeah, I bet all sorts of cowboys weigh 130 soaking wet,” Sam agreed sarcastically.

“I dunno. I’ve never been,” Bucky admitted, which made Sam laugh again. If Bucky could just keep that going all night, nothing could go wrong. He laughed in surprise as Sam spun him out again and then stepped right into the country swing steps that Sam had switched to for the faster chorus.

“We’ll go in November. Or January.”

“See, just admit it, Wilson, you secretly wanna be a cowboy. Know all the rodeo dates.”

Sam rolled his eyes fondly. “You focus on not tripping, Barnes.”

“That was one time,” Bucky objected instantly and pulled Sam closer instead of twirling back in himself. Sam did not trip, but he did land right against Bucky’s chest anyway.

Just tell him, Bucky thought desperately as he watched Sam’s lips part for a breath. Tell him and you could kiss him right now.

Then Sam stepped back and continued the dance and Bucky did not tell him.

__________________________

They stayed at the dance longer than Sam kind of expected. It was dry and sterile, like he always expected these things to be. But once he got Bucky dancing, the other boy’s twitchy gaze settled. If there was one way to distract him and calm him down, it was definitely dancing. Learning that they could both dance had been one of the first things they bonded over as kids. It had happened at a neighborhood cook off a year or so after the Barneses had moved to Louisiana. They had stumbled together when a local band had begun to play some song of the summer at the time–Sam couldn’t even remember what it was anymore–and somehow their mutual joy had translated into dancing with each other. It had been silly. A two-step set to a pop song. But they had laughed about it through the entire dance. And the adults were very complimentary of their dance, which was always a plus as a thirteen year old.

As always, though, eventually they had to stop and breathe, get a water bottle. At which point, Bucky’s twitchiness came back. Sam watched him lightly as they both chugged down more water than they’d had since before the game. He loved watching Bucky. The guy was stupidly beautiful, which was its own pleasure, but every movement always hit Sam as the greatest miracle of life. Sam could get that way about most people, but it happened so damn much with Bucky. Every flutter of his eyelashes, every time he drew his lower lip into his mouth to chew on, his insatiable need to pick at his cuticles, the way he bounced his leg when he was anxious. Which was doing right then. All of it. Chewing on his lip, picking at his fingers, bouncing his leg.

“Your lip’s bleeding again,” he warned. He dropped his feet off of the chair next to him.

Bucky glanced over and then pressed the back of his hand over his mouth. He examined the smear of blood on it with irritation. “You mind if I go change into jeans so I can start wiping my hand off?” he asked.

“Gross,” Sam snorted. But he stood too and nodded towards the door. Actually, he could really go for changing too. He was going to have to get this suit dry-cleaned at this point.

Bucky curled his fingers into the back of Sam’s suit coat to follow him through the dim, strobing lights of the theater. Sam reached back to hold onto Bucky’s wrist and Bucky turned his hand so he was just holding Sam’s hand again. The hand holding was definitely going to Sam’s head.

The coolness of the night air–not even cool, it was September, the freshness of the night air–was a balm. Sam tilted his face back to enjoy the fading flush of the dance. Right on time, his legs began to ache.

“If you could win Class President based on how well you dance, you woulda just won yourself the position,” Bucky said as he curled closer to Sam’s back. It was awkward and he kept jostling his cheek on Sam’s shoulder, but this did not deter him from trying to lean on Sam as they walked.

And, yeah, Sam still remembered the election was happening. But it did put a buffer on his happy, floating emotions when Bucky blatantly reminded him of their whole game.

“Well,” he said, hiding his disappointment from his voice. Because even if this was a game still, it was fun. They’d, at least, always have dancing with each other. “If you coulda won HoCo King by how well you dance, you’d have that crown.”

“God, it’s so ugly,” Bucky groaned. He only peeled himself away from Sam’s back when they got to the truck and he could dig his gym bag out from the backseat. “The girls get the most beautiful tiaras and the crown looks like it’s from a costume shop only a step up from Party City.”

“Oh, Noah’s showing you his crown, huh?” Sam teased as he dug his own bag of clothes out. He opened either door to give them some meager amount of privacy in the parking lot. Luckily, with not having moved the truck from the field house, there was really no one out and about anyway.

“Don’t be jealous.” Bucky teased. “What happens in the locker room stays in the locker room. He promised.”

Sam laughed so hard he tripped putting on his jeans. He landed heavily on the door and had to sit on the edge of the frame to finish pulling them on. “You can’t just say that,” he laughed.

He leaned back against the edge of the driver’s seat when Bucky appeared in front of him, half dressed and disheveled himself. He reached for Sam’s collar, popped it up, and then slowly began to undo the button of his dress shirt.

“I’m a patriot, pal,” he said, though Sam’s heart was beating so loudly he almost couldn’t hear anything. “I don’t go for the monarchy. More of a presidential man, myself.”

“You couldn’t name a single thing a politician had done recently,” Sam breathed. God, he was literally breathless. With every fiber of his being, he wanted to lean into Bucky’s touch, crowd around him like they were dancing again. Instead, his terrible body was pulling away, propping an elbow up on the seat so he could lounge back. With Bucky between his legs and his shirt being unbuttoned, this was possibly worse.

“I dunno. Fucked people over,” he hazarded.

Sam forced himself to roll his eyes. Forced himself to push Bucky back before he got to the last button and could reveal all the fluttering his stomach was doing with each shallow breath. He stood, took a few subtle breaths, and then shrugged out of his shirt and pulled on an old Earth, Wind, And Fire tee he’d stolen from his dad ages ago.

Bucky’s were still so damn intense on him. It was something he must’ve seen Sam in a million times. Sam had spent more than a few summer days doing work in it. It was half painted at this point from countless renovation projects.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he gruffed out. He finished pulling Bucky’s shirt out of his jeans, where it had gotten tucked up when the other boy was getting dressed. “You said you had to hit up a party. Where is it?”

Bucky did not stop looking at him like that. Sam curled his fingers in the hem of Bucky’s shirt, tugged Bucky forward a step. “Buck,” he tried again. “What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Bucky licked his lips, looked down at Sam’s mouth, licked his lips again, and then tried to say something, though nothing actually came out.

“Buck,” Sam said again, pulled him closer. Bucky braced himself against the frame of the door to box Sam in. He smelled like sweat and Sam wasn’t sure he’d ever smelt anything better. He was three seconds away from turning his face into the crook of Bucky’s arm just to get closer to him.  “I’m gonna call an ambulance, swear to God.”

They were standing close enough that Sam felt like he was feeling both of their heartbeats at the same time. He couldn’t even see all of Bucky’s face at once.

“Dylan’s,” Bucky eventually said.

Sam blinked, felt all of the air evacuate his body at once. “What?”

“The party. It’s at Jack Dylan’s lake house.” Bucky took two shaky steps away and shoved one hand through his hair, then the one with the bandages on it, which made him flinch and shake it out afterwards.

“I–” Sam blinked again and tried to shake his head clear. “I don’t know where he lives. On a lake or otherwise.”

“It’s alright,” Bucky said with a shrug. “There’s a pool.”

“There’s a pool at a lakehouse?”

“Rich people,” Bucky said with another shrug. “Uh, I can show you.”

“Yeah. Sure.” Sam waited for Bucky to walk around the front of the truck before he scrubbed his hands over his face.

What the fuck just happened? He felt like he’d been catapulted to, and back from, an alternate universe. Or maybe that’s what a full-on out of body experience felt like. Had he been breathing? Maybe he just killed a bunch of brain cells from oxygen deprivation. Maybe Bucky had killed a bunch of his own brain cells during the game.

Bucky was still wooden as he sat in the passenger seat and directed the vents towards himself. He’d pushed them all away earlier, too nervous and flushed to have the extra stimulation on him. Now, though, he flipped the AC up another notch.

Sam started the truck, which chugged and puffed with irritation at the console dials being moved without the vehicle running. The noise was at least something though, so Sam wasn’t going to complain this time. “Which direction is it?” he asked Bucky as he cut through the parking lot.

“Left out of here,” Bucky said without looking to the left because he was too busy looking out the passenger side window and not towards Sam.

“Don’t be weird,” Sam snapped. “You know I don’t go for the broody thing. I hate the broody thing.”

That, at least, got an irritated glance. Bucky reached over and turned on the radio, flipping the channel to a pop station that Sam kind of hated, but kept on his favorites because Bucky always chose it.

The tension eased a little and they continued the rest of the drive in partial silence, only broken by one of them singing along to a song or Bucky giving short instructions. Jack Dylan lived out in the middle of fuck-all. If it was a rainier day, Sam would worry about everyone else’s cars getting back out of these backroads. (Not his truck, though. His truck would survive anything.) There were already many, many cars parked along the overgrown property line. Sam parked in the first spot he found, which made Bucky grumble about having to walk, to which Sam pointed out he’d hurt his hand and not his feet.

The noise was abrasive as soon as they were a few car lengths closer. Out here, with the houses so sparse and so much space between them, Sam supposed parties got to be obnoxiously loud. There were people all over the place. Several people were hanging out by the cars, drinking and dancing in their own mini-parties. When they finally made it to the house, Sam thought there couldn’t be people inside because there were so many people outside.

“Where are the Dylans?” he asked over the music.

“Hell if I know,” Bucky called back. “I think they leave on purpose. Dylan’s always throwing these things.”

Sam eyed the house warily as Bucky continued on. He let himself in without knocking–not that anyone would’ve been able to hear anything anyway–and Sam followed after a brief hesitation. He could just go home. Bucky would find a ride with another friend.

But then, for the first time in the past twenty minutes, Bucky turned to grin at him over his shoulder. “I love this song!” he said. Sam could not hear the song, but Bucky grabbed his wrist and dragged him into some wide open room that had been half converted into a dance floor. Bucky had gotten a can of beer from somewhere. He let go of Sam’s wrist only long enough to pop the tab, take a swig, and then offer it to Sam.

Sam had been drinking with his dad for a while now. He was probably thirteen or  fourteen the first time Paul had nudged a can over to him after a whole day working on the boat. It tasted gross, but by the time he was sixteen, him and Riley were snagging bottles out of the fridge when they were the only ones home, or the only ones still awake. He had not been to a real party like this. He’d never drunk in a social crowd, if the half can of Lone Star he’d had at a cookout one year didn’t count.

The beer was warm, which made it even more disgusting, but he shared it with Bucky back and forth as they danced, poorly, to shitty house music. It took two spotify ad breaks for someone to curse out whoever’s phone was connected and connect theirs instead. The party was not like what he was expecting. There were fewer people inside than outside and most everyone was just hanging out in clusters. He had seen a beer pong table outside, but it was far enough away that he’d more or less forgotten about it. Even the amount of dancing was greatly exaggerated by the movies. This was kind of boring actually.

Bucky was more relaxed. He wasn’t taking in any of the pitiful scenery as he ducked around the groups of people. He fell in and out of conversations like breathing. He kept a drink in his hand, which he continued to split with Sam. When they got bored of dancing, they curled through the crowd, Bucky moving like he belonged in this place.

It was odd to think that this was the Bucky everyone at school knew. No one knew about how he looked, lounging on a fishing boat and bathed in the sunset. No one knew about the way he danced to shitty pop music that Becca was listening to a room over. No one knew his existential conversations late at night. They just knew this suave, charming man who was more of a chameleon than a person. He talked to people Sam had never even seen before as if he knew them. He talked about things that Sam didn’t even know he knew about. Baseball statistics and racecar drivers and TV shows. The Barneses didn’t even have cable.

Sam had been zoned out for most of the conversation Bucky had found himself part of. They were half inside and half out the back door in a large group of people that Sam only kind of knew. The freshness of the air had long since disappeared and Sam was beginning to sweat down his back. The citronella torches weren’t doing a whole lot to keep the mosquitos away either. He waved one out of his face just in time to tune into a girl cooing and tsking as she reached for Bucky’s hurt hand.

“You should be more careful,” she scolded in a voice that could not possibly be her real voice. No one’s register sat that high. She pouted out her lower lip at him and held onto his hand with both of hers, like she had some magical healing touch.

Sam wasn’t jealous. He didn’t care about most things enough to be jealous about them. With the exceptions of Sarah getting praise from their parents or watching someone else succeed on something he’d chosen not to do, he avoided jealousy pretty easily. He was confident in himself and happy with the things he did and the people he had in his corner.

So when a white hot fire curled in his stomach and shot straight through his ribs and into his heart, he didn’t really have a name for it at first.

Without really thinking about it–he really could not stress how much he was not thinking–he slipped his hand into Bucky’s and leaned on his shoulder. “Yeah, but he still made the block,” he said. He hoped it was true. Half the guys in their semi-circle were football players too. Bucky hadn’t talked much about his injury. Just that he’d gotten it when his hand had gotten caught in someone else’s chest-pad.

“Oh, yeah,” Doege said suddenly, jostling Myra as he threw his arm wide. Her drink spilled, but missed everyone’s shoes. “That was the same scoring drive right?” he asked. “You gave Noah enough time to take his stupid extra step back.”

“Actually it was the down before,” Bucky corrected. “I just didn’t try to get it wrapped until after we swapped with defense.”

“That’s so selfless,” the unknown girl–come on, Sam, she was in your third grade English and History block–piped in again.

“Actually, it’s just kinda how the game goes,” Doege corrected, oblivious to any intentions on the girl’s part. Sam had never been so happy to hear him speak.

Myra seemed more attentive to what was going on and she shot Sam a smile of support and shared pain.

“Then again, maybe you just did something wrong,” Sam suggested, tearing his eyes from Bucky’s hand in someone else’s hold.

The girl gasped in affront, but Bucky turned to grin at Sam so quickly, he could’ve broken the sound barrier. “Yeah, that sounds about right,” he agreed.

And, again without thinking, Sam leaned in to kiss him. Of all the ways they’d kissed, kissing Bucky while he was smiling was definitely the best. Sam almost missed that Bucky took his hand from the girl’s hold to hold Sam’s cheek instead. He was too focused on the happiness pouring out of Bucky, the way he didn’t stop smiling, even as their teeth clacked when he tilted his head.

The rasp of the bandages on Sam’s cheek, shared beer breath, the split in Bucky’s lip, brought Sam back into the moment at least enough to remember there was an audience. He pushed Bucky back just a breath and gave an awkward laugh, which stuttered out when Bucky kissed the hinge of his jaw. Myra’s smile was much less tight now. She practically beamed at Sam.

“I wanna see the pool, Doggy,” she said, tugging on Doege’s arm. That was still the worst nickname Sam had ever heard in his life.

“It’s probably half beer and piss at this point, but sure,” Doege said with a grossed-out twist to his lips. “I ain’t gettin’ in it though.”

With their departure, the rest of the group separated as well. The girl who had been vying for Bucky’s attention barely hesitated, seeming to size Sam up, before she went tottering off after someone else.

Bucky laughed as Sam pulled him back inside. The AC wasn’t much to talk about, but Sam was determined to find a vent that broke through the humidity of dozens of bodies packed inside together. “Will you rewrap my hand?” he asked, following after Sam with a fist in the back of his shirt. “I don’t do it the way you do.”

“You oughtta be icing it,” Sam called over his shoulder. He didn’t have to hear Bucky’s scoff to know it happened. Sure, Sam needed both hands to count how many times he’d seen Bucky actually put ice on an injury, but he had enough fingers left over to make it moot anyway.

Sam had almost made it to the first set of stairs, where hopefully the air would be cooler the higher he went, when Bucky caught him around the waist and settled him against the wall. Sam relaxed against the wall–he was definitely more tired and alcohol heavy than he’d realized–and tilted his head up at Bucky.

“What are you doing?” he asked, hands coming up to rest on Bucky’s chest.

“Appreciatin’ the view,” Bucky said. “They always talk about how good it is up here.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but his hands smoothed from Bucky’s chest to either side of his neck. “I think they mean the lake,” he pointed out. “Can’t see that from here.”

“Nah, I’m pretty sure they gotta mean this one.”

Sam had never seen Bucky really drunk. Like Sam, his drinking habits at home centered around days working around the older guys or the cookouts. Neither provided a chance to get good and shitfaced. He was loose in a way Sam only saw him late at night, while they chattered on the phone instead of opening their windows and shouting at each other. Bucky would lay on his bedroom floor, facetime call fairly useless until he’d flash his camera towards his face again to make some animated point, then leave it directed up to the ceiling or the underside of his bed again.

Bucky was always putting on a show. It’s part of what drove Sam nuts about him. Sam saw him at home, knew who he really was, and then he was trapped into playing the same game Bucky did at school.

But now he was loose and warm and seemed fully set in himself. The anxious paranoia in his gaze had settled and was focused entirely on Sam. His bandaged hand was on Sam’s cheek again, thumb resting over his lower lip.

Sam’s heart felt like it was really going to beat out of his chest this time.

“We should get some water,” he said.

He felt it beneath his fingers when Bucky swallowed. He nodded. “Yeah. We should.”

Then they were coming together again, pulling each other closer, even as their legs tangled and hips pressed flushed and there was no room to get closer. Sam couldn’t even find it in himself to feel embarrassed that they were doing this in front of anyone else. He couldn’t think beyond the feeling of Bucky’s mouth on his, his cheek, his jaw, his neck. He pushed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, dropped his head back, let Bucky have at whatever he wanted.

“God, Sammy, you need to know,” Bucky groaned from somewhere around Sam’s clavicle. But he didn’t finish his thought before his mouth was on Sam’s again and his hands were under Sam’s shirt. Sam gasped in a breath and felt the most violent shudder of his life tear through his body. There was a rushing over-stimulation sitting just on below his skin, making him ache in the best way.

“Is this okay?” Bucky asked when Sam hadn’t managed to make his wire-tight body relax.

Sam nodded jerkily. “You have no idea how good it is,” he breathed before pressing their mouths together again. As his nerves came back in service, he reached for Bucky’s shirt, but hesitated before actually touching him. Him and Bucky had been all over each other constantly over the years. They were always grappling around for the remote or playing some form of chicken in the water or dancing with each other all night at the cookout. Still, the way his body had just sparked electric, Sam was well aware that this was far different than passing out on the pull-out couch in the boat together.

There were still inescapable zings running through his palms and the pit of his belly as he let go of Bucky’s shirt and tried to take a step back, which was impossible against the wall. “I want to go home,” he said. The way his voice was absolutely wrecked was embarrassing, but he wasn’t sure if Bucky could even hear it.

Bucky blinked, blown-wide eyes stuck on Sam’s slick mouth. “What? Why?” he asked. He swayed closer to Sam and Sam couldn’t stop himself from tilting his face up to catch his mouth again. Bucky hummed into it pleasantly.

“Because I can’t– We can’t– Not here, Buck,” he pleaded softly.

Bucky’s eyes focused a little as he fixed his gaze on Sam’s. Fixed may have been a little strong. His eyes were still darting from one side of Sam’s face to the other. Sam hadn’t seen him like that since the last time he’d pulled more than an all-nighter to study for a biology exam. Hyped up on anxiety and caffeine and deficient in sleep.

Sam put his hand on Bucky’s cheek and felt reality come crashing back down around them. “Do you even know where you are?”

Bucky leaned into Sam’s touch, eyes fluttering closed. “Up by the lake,” he said softly. “With you.”

Sam put his other hand over Bucky’s heart and felt the way it was thundering in his chest. “We should go home,” he said again.

“I can’t kiss you at home,” Bucky said. “You won’t let me. And someone’ll know. They’ll know just looking at me.”

“Know what?” Sam asked with a frown.

Bucky’s heart tripped in his chest, but he didn’t answer again. Just leaned into Sam’s space until Sam was helpless again kissing him and holding him and falling into that warm embrace.  And if they were doing this somewhere where Sam felt safer, he’d never want to leave the moment. If they were in his bedroom, or Bucky’s, he’d assume this was what Heaven might be like.

But they weren’t in Sam’s room and the party was getting impossibly louder. Or maybe the blood rush in Sam’s ears was just subsiding a little. Though every time Bucky grabbed his waist again, the white-out bliss came rushing back.

“Buck,” Sam breathed.

“You’re so beautiful, Sam,” Bucky breathed back. For the first time in a while, he stopped kissing Sam and dropped his face to the curve of Sam’s neck. “God, it hurts to look at you sometimes.”

Sam’s fingers came back up to Bucky’s hair, petting through it idly. “Now I definitely know you’re drunk.”

Bucky shook his head vehemently, which jarred his nose into Sam’s shoulder painfully. “No. I think it all the time. I’ve been–” His breath stuttered out and Sam lost his words beneath the whispery breath and the din of the party. “It’s been so long,” Bucky continued.

“What?” Sam tried to prompt. “What’d you say?”

But Bucky didn’t answer. He just leaned against Sam’s chest, hugging him around the waist tightly. Sam leaned back against the wall until it felt like it was supporting all of his weight so he could support all of Bucky’s weight. He lost track of time like that, eventually pressing his face into Bucky’s hair so he could rest his eyes for a while too.

They were both jostled back to the land of reality as someone tripped into them and spilt beer over all three of them.

“Oh, shit!” someone said with a laugh. He was a year younger than them, but Sam couldn’t place his face. “Sorry, dudes! Get outta the walkway.”

Sam grabbed Bucky before he could start a half-conscious fight. “Come on, man,” Sam said around a yawn. “Let’s go home before I pass out right here.”

Bucky was practically simmering beneath his touch. He kept throwing backwards glances over his shoulder until they were outside again. The parties on the front lawn had mostly dissipated. The noise from the backyard was much louder. Halfway up the driveway, Bucky tried to lay down in the grass, but Sam managed to keep him upright with a promise of the truck bed instead.

He was surprised when Bucky did actually climb into the bed when they hunted down the truck again. He had hoped Bucky would’ve come around to the idea of actually getting home by then. But he followed Bucky up and laid down next to him again. From out here, the party was just a distant thought, a soundtrack playing from far away.

Bucky reached for Sam’s hand, then tugged him close so they were pressed together, even moreso when he turned onto his side to hug Sam close in a half spoon. Sam freed his other hand from beneath them and used it to trace the veins and bones of Bucky’s hand against his chest.

“You’re a pretty good kisser,” he admitted. “I used to think everyone was just fronting for you.”

Bucky laughed. It was subdued and sounded more sad than Sam wanted it to. Still, he leaned over to kiss Sam again. Slow and deep, compared to the frantic way they’d been trying to melt together in the house.

Sam went lightheaded. He wasn’t sure where it came from when he said, “We shouldn’t.”

“Why not?” Bucky asked.

“You’ll regret it in the morning.”

Bucky huffed out a noise. “I’m never gonna regret you.”

And Sam lost all of his arguments at that. He let go of Bucky’s hand to drag him down again. Fell asleep to lazy kisses and soft touches.

__________________________

“Oh my God!” Sam shouted, practically throwing Bucky across the bed of the truck as he sprang up.

Bucky groaned and squeezed his eyes tighter against the blast of sunlight. “What’s wrong?” he asked. It was really only the creaking swaying of the truck as Sam vaulted himself out of the bed that brought the whole night back to Bucky all at once. He cursed under his breath too and quickly climbed out of the bed to get into the passenger seat instead. The pieces of his suit were piled up in the backseat like some silent, judging reminder of how the night was supposed to end.

Jesus, what had he done? Told Sam he was in love with him? Kissed him like he’d never get the chance to again? Because he wouldn’t? And now Sam was panicking and it was eventually going to settle in for him too. He was going to know that nothing last night was an act. He was going to realize Bucky had completely forgotten about their agreement, forgotten about everyone else at the party, only had thoughts for Sam. God, it had been like that for so long and Bucky had been so good at controlling it. But the almost-kiss in the parking lot had broken him. He had lost the last desperate hold he’d had on the threads of the game.

“Sam,” he said as Sam turned off the old dirt road. “About last night…”

Sam looked over at him in surprise. “God, I’m sorry,” he said, which shocked Bucky into silence enough for Sam to continue. “Beer doesn’t normally hit me like that.  I guess it was just everything about it.”

Bucky blinked at his handsome profile. “What?” he asked.

“I should’ve stopped. I shouldn’t’ve kissed you like that. Should’ve made you go home.”

“What?” Bucky asked again. Actually, was he saying anything at all? His throat was so dry.

“I guess no one should doubt us now though.”

For a moment, raging, burning embarrassment tore through Bucky  and turned into a white-hot rage. But it burnt out even faster. “Because people were watching?” he asked. He was sure there must’ve been a first part of the question, but he couldn’t really articulate it.

It had all been part of the game. That’s why Sam hadn’t grabbed him back. Why his kisses and the flirting were accepting, but not reciprocating.

Sam’s nose crinkled a little like it always did when he was blushing. The only tell that Bucky got for when he was embarrassed too. “Actually–” he started to say, but then his phone rang.

They both jumped and then both dug through the pockets available between their clothes and the clothes in the back. Bucky found it below the dashboard, where Sam kept his sunglasses and extra straws. “Uh, it’s Darlene.” Sam actually flinched. “And you’re at 6%.”

“Answer it please. Speakerphone.”

“Samuel Thomas Wilson,” Darlene said before Sam could even answer.

“I’m sorry!” Sam said quickly. “Bucky and I went to a party. We were sleeping over a little bit of a tipsy daze.”

“Without a word to anyone!” Darlene said. “Not me or your father. Not your sister or Riley. No one in town had seen you! Where are you?”

“I’m sorry. Buck and I are just heading back in,” Sam promised. “We’ll be home in fifteen minutes. But, momma, my phone’s dying. I can’t stay on and talk.”

“It’ll be the last thing that phone does for a week,” Darlene threatened. “Riley was about to go drag the swamps.”

Sam rolled his eyes, which Bucky knew he only did because Darlene was not here to see it. “I’ll need my phone to text him,” he pointed out, cheeky anyway.

Bucky checked out of the conversation, which went on until Sam’s phone did die in Bucky’s hand. He stared out the window and replayed his words from the night before. I’ve been so in love with you. It’s been such a long time. How could Sam just ignore that? Was this just his way of reminding Bucky to dial it back? How was Bucky supposed to ignore admitting that he was in love with Sam?

“Sam–” he started again.

Sam looked near tears as he stared at the road. “Yeah, I’m sure your momma was part of the search party too,” he agreed.

Bucky hadn’t considered how much trouble he’d be in. It was hardly his first all-nighter, but he idd usually text too. “Sam, I just wanted to say–”

“Don’t worry about it,” Sam said with a shake of his head. “The election is on Monday, so we never have to do this again.”

“What?” Bucky asked. But, again, he wasn’t sure if he really said it outloud. The sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces was too loud in his head.

__________________________

The whole weekend was wrong. Sam had never been in so much trouble in his life. Both of his parents were mad at him at the same time, which never happened. Mad, disappointed, upset, heartbroken. Even Sarah kept slightly more distance, though her resolution broke much faster and she spent Saturday night in his room, watching zombie movies on his laptop with him.

Bucky must not have fared much better because Sam didn’t even see him through the windows, curtains drawn dark and immovable. Sam had, in fact, lost his phone for the weekend, so he couldn’t even text Bucky to get some mutual lamentations.

Probably for the best. If Sam talked to Bucky, he was definitely going to reveal just how real the kisses at the party had been. And that he wanted more. So much more.

He barely slept all weekend, so going into school early on Monday for some debate prep was hardly a loss. Mondays were the one day a week the football team didn’t have early morning practice, so Sam didn’t bother trying to offer Bucky a ride. He wouldn’t be surprised if Bucky didn’t sleep all the way through first period before coming in.

If the weekend had been wrong, the school was downright vile. It started off with some of the younger debate kids who stared at him wide-eyed when he walked in, then scampered out of his way when he started to pull down file tubs.

“Y’all working on something?” he asked with a raised brow.

They shook their heads. “Just a prose reading,” one finally offered.

“Well, don’t keep me from you practicing out loud,” he offered with a wave of his hand.

And when Riley walked in fifteen minutes later, the two freshmen disappeared entirely. Riley looked appropriately weirded out as well. He tossed Sam a bottle of crappy sweet tea and sat beside him.

“Sarah told me you lost your phone,” he said. “So I won’t take that part personally.” Sam snorted and gave him a file of Disadvantage arguments to sort. “But you’ve got to tell me what happened at that party. ‘Cause either you two practically climbed on top of each other in the living room or you had the worst fight this parish has ever seen.”

“What?” Sam asked, mortified. He almost set the sweating bottle down on his pile of papers. “What?” he repeated, because his brain was overheating now.

“Yeah,” Riley agreed, setting aside the arguments he was not going to look at. “First I heard that you two should’ve found a room. Broke a lot of hearts. Heard it was a good show.”

“We were standing under the stairs!” Sam hissed.

Riley’s eyes widened. “Oh my God, what did you do?” he asked.

“We just made out!” Sam insisted. He ignored the fact that if Bucky had taken him up on going home the first time, they might have done more. “It wasn’t any worse than what anyone else was doing. That pool had jets. Do you know the kind of gross shit that was definitely happening in the pool?”

Riley’s face scrunched up and he pointedly moved past that. “Well, as bad as that is, I think the second one might be worse for you.”

“Why?” Sam asked apprehensively.

“I heard it was all fake. And not from you.”

Sam stared at Riley. His blood ran cold through his veins, burst in the same spot on his palms that all the electrical zaps of the weekend had. “What do you mean?”

“I mean exactly that. Someone must’ve figured it out. Or put their best guessing cap on.” Riley hesitated a little, then shifted to sit closer to Sam. “Hey, I think both of those cancel each other out. I mean, you chose a hell of a time to practice PDA.”

“No, you don’t understand,” Sam said. “This weekend… I think I went too far. I think I crossed a line. What… What if it was Bucky who told people?” he asked. He felt like the space in his ribs was freezing over and cracking apart. “What if he’s getting back at me?”

Riley frowned, eyebrows coming almost all the way together. “I don’t think he’d do that. What do you mean you went too far?”

Sam sighed and brought the sweet tea up to his face to cool it. He was pretty sure he was just warming up the tea. “At the party. I mean, he kissed me first but… It was so good. I just kept taking more and more.”

“So…you kissed back and you think that pissed him off?” Riley parsed out. “He kissed you because of his fake-dating scheme, and you think you did something wrong?”

“You don’t get it. We were kind of drunk. I knew it. I…I wasn’t even thinking about this. I just wanted to kiss him.”

“Right,” Riley agreed. “You kissed him and he kissed you. What’s the problem, Sam?”

“What else would it have been? It was me and him. And you, but I assume it wasn’t you.”

Riley held a hand over his heart, raised the other hand in an oath. “I would never. And, if you want, I’ll hit him for you since he’s the last standing suspect but…”

“You really don’t think it was him?” Sam asked in slight shock. Riley was usually the first one to blame Bucky for most things. If he could find a way to blame Bucky for the JFK assassination, he would. “Who else would it be?”

Riley shrugged. “I don’t know. But if he’d been the one to say it, I don’t think it’d be a rumor. It’d just be the truth, right?”

Sam dropped his face down to the desk. His forehead connected with a harsh thud. “The election is in third period. How come this couldn’t wait for two hours?”

Riley grunted in sympathy. He brought a wide hand up to the back of Sam’s neck and rubbed at it slowly.

And the oddness of the morning followed him like every eye in the hallway. Sam tried to ignore it, took comfort in Riley walking right on his heels all day. Still, he couldn't help but overhear every whispered conversation as he passed.

I was only gonna vote for him ‘cause of Bucky.

I still don’t know who Melody is.

I’m voting for Melody ‘cause she isn’t in debate.

Why would they lie about it? Who lies about something like that?

Does that mean Bucky’s single again?

Sam’s already the debate president.

Wait, that’s today? Who’s running?

Sam didn’t see Bucky all day. It wasn’t unusual. They didn’t share a class and he was sure Bucky was avoiding him, so there’d be no locker visits. It made the day more dull than he was expecting. And a lot more lonely. He even skipped lunch to sleep in the library instead.

And for all of this bullshit, the results came out at the end of seventh period. Sam would have rather waited one more hour so he could go wallow at home right away. The intercom crackled to life and the staff sponsor of the Student Government chirped out a greeting.

Sam missed most of the other positions. The secretary was in his class, judging by the cheering and congratulating from the other corner. Blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was racing in his chest. He really wished Bucky was next to him, no matter how mad they were right then.

“Now this is odd, students. In fact, I’ve never seen this happen. I checked through all of the by-laws, but there’s nothing pertaining to this situation,” the sponsor said. She must’ve drummed her fingers on the table beneath her, but it was barely audible through the intercom. “There was a dead even tie for Class President. Melody Zaiontz and Sam Wilson each received 214 votes.” The class erupted in murmurs and giggles. Sam buried his face in his hands. “We will have the faculty vote in two weeks–don’t forget we’re off next Monday!--and we’ll have our President and Vice then. Thank you all for participating in your first bit of democracy. And isn’t it fun that this one is special!”

The intercom cut off with a shriek. Sam felt every gaze on him. A few people congratulated him once he dropped his hands, but none of it felt real. When the bell rang a few minutes later, he was the first person out the door and down the hall to his locker.

It had only been open a few seconds when it was suddenly shut in his face, leaving him staring at dented vents. He turned to the boy standing next to him, bandaged hand still on Sam’s locker.

“We need to talk,” Bucky said with a grim set to his mouth.

Chapter Text

“We need to talk,” Bucky said gruffly. He hadn’t meant to slam Sam’s locker shut. His dad had rewrapped his bandages the night before and they were still tight enough that he didn’t have all of his fine motor skills on deck. He hadn’t been able to grab the narrow ledge of the door either.

Sam looked too tired to glare at him. His mouth opened to answer, but closed again when he looked over Bucky’s shoulder and his face went even more drawn. “Don’t start,” he warned.

“I didn’t–” Bucky began to object before Sam was stepping past him and squaring up to someone else. Bucky whirled around after him and came face to face with a thundercloud wearing Riley’s face.

“Don’t,” Sam said again, holding one hand up to Riley’s chest while keeping Bucky back with an elbow to his. “You were on his side seven hours ago.”

“I don’t care,” Riley growled. “I wasn’t looking at him seven hours ago.”

Sam pushed Riley back a step, but that didn’t make the heat rolling off of him any less potent. Bucky almost wanted to take a step back himself, but he’d never live it down. “Sam, we need to talk,” he repeated, reaching for Sam’s shoulder. As soon as he made contact, Riley was on him like Sam wasn’t even there.

Yeah, Bucky knew Riley was built like a goddamn barn, but he hadn’t expected him to be able to move so damn fast too. All of a sudden, the air in his lungs had been knocked out and his head was ricocheting off the top of the lockers. He tried to knock away Riley’s hands from the front of his shirt, but that was as futile as trying to get away from him.

“Riley, knock it off,” Sam snapped. He shoved himself between them both, managing to loosen one of Riley’s fists to do so. “Everyone’s staring at you.”

Bucky glanced around but Riley did not. All of his fury was directed right at Bucky. Which lie did he believe? That Bucky had tarnished his best friend’s image? That he’d been using Sam this whole time? Either one would be enough to deserve this if it was true. But it wasn’t true and Bucky didn’t deserve it, thank you very much.

“What the hell is your problem?” Riley snarled. If Sam wasn’t between them, Bucky was sure he would have flinched away. He’d been in plenty of fights in his life, courtesy of his best friend, but he’d never been on the other end of so much anger all focused on him. “You were supposed to protect him.”

“I did!” Bucky snapped back. “Of course I did!” I can’t believe you’d think I’d lie about him. Or ever try to hurt him. I love–”

Sam drew in a sharp breath next to him and pinned him back with wide eyes. Riley took Sam’s distraction as a chance to get his hands in Bucky’s shirt again.

“You’re a fucking liar! You always have been! I never understood what he saw in you.”

“Oh my God,” Sam snapped, smacking a hand down on both of their chests and bodily shoving them apart. “I can’t look at either of you right now. You’re both so stupid. I’m going home. Don’t bother me.”

“You still have math!” Bucky called after him.

Sam didn’t turn around. Riley had backed off a step at least. He was staring after Sam, looking just as confused as Bucky felt.

And, oh. Oh shit. Riley was in love with him too. That explained a lot actually. What the fuck.

“Hey,” Bucky said, like a fool offering an olive branch. “I don’t–”

Riley smacked a hand down against Sam’s locker and stalked away without even glancing at Bucky again.

__________________________

“Have you considered that you are actually just so stupid?” Steve asked once he was done rinsing a handful of half broken seashells off in the tide.

Bucky glared at him, but it was probably lost in the more pressing glare of the sun as it set ahead of them.

Bucky didn’t think doctors actually still gave prescriptions that included ‘sea air’ but the Rogerses had managed to find one who always suggested it with each new medication. It seemed like collusion with the beach. Was there such a thing as ‘big beach’? Whatever. Bucky kicked a piece of tangled seaweed out of the way.

“Yeah, it’s crossed my mind a few times.”

“You thought you could get away with this?”

So he’d come clean and told Steve everything on the drive home. It had actually kind of been killing him not to tell Steve as soon as he’d kissed Sam. The guilt and the anxiety of what all of this entailed was enough to send him spiraling and he had really wanted his best friend in his corner. Even if he was just going to tell Bucky he was stupid and take Sam’s side.

“It wasn’t supposed to mean anything.”

“But?” Steve prompted.

Bucky sighed. “But…it did. To me. I didn’t tell him. I was…I wasn’t even being selfish, honest. I mean, yeah, I knew I had a crush on him, but it wasn’t like I thought I loved him or-or-or that I was trying to trick him. I just thought it would be stupid and funny and give me a little extra time with him.”

“I still don’t understand since when you’ve had a crush on him,” Steve said. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, obviously you two like each other. I guess I was kind of ignoring that because of the way you two snipe at each other at school. But a crush? Normally you can’t keep your mouth shut when you like someone.”

Bucky’s heart twisted and wrenched in his chest. It was true. He was a blabbermouth usually. But Sam… Sam had snuck up on him. All those summer days, all those boat rides (and boat-floating-half-a-mile-from-shore-for-hours-at-a-time) had just built this admiration and adoration in his soul. Soon he couldn’t think about Sam without thinking about being warm and happy. Couldn’t see his smile without smiling. Couldn’t glance out his window to see Sam messing around on his phone in his room without wanting to be over there, listening to him ramble or complain or wax poetic about whatever he was reading.

And he’d wanted to keep that to himself. He wanted that warm bloom in his chest to be his and no one else’s. Who else would understand it? Other people would question him and find ways to drip-drop cold onto his little flame until it was extinguished.

“It’s been a while,” he admitted to the sand. “I guess I didn’t really know what to call it. I just…let it be.”

“And then you thought the best thing to do was throw it to the wolves of faking dating?”

Okay, actually Bucky was tired of being told he was an idiot. If he’d wanted this much of it, he’d have gone to his sister instead of Steve.

“Look, can you just check on him? Don’t mention me. Just see how he’s doing. He’s not answering my texts.”

Steve grunted–as much of an acceptance as Bucky was going to get. Only Steve would act like being asked to talk to one of his best friends was a trial. “What about you?” he asked.

“What about me? I just told you he’s not answering my texts.”

“No, how are you doing? Half the school thinks you’re some evil casanova and the other half is considering making a move on your boyfriend now that he’s single.”

“He’s not single,” Bucky snapped. He only realized his mistake when Steve shot him a grin. “They think I did it on purpose? To hurt him?” he asked. Another knife twist between his ribs and into his heart.

He’d only caught a handful of the rumors and whispers. Actually, he’d been doing his damnedest to ignore them. But it had all been Sam’s name. He hadn’t heard anyone say his name all day. Maybe he’d just been more worried about Sam. Maybe the people in his classes just liked Sam more. That would be understandable.

Steve glanced over at him, looking a little sheepish at bringing up something Bucky clearly hadn’t known. “I mean, kind of. You know, like that scene in movies when the jock bets his buddies he can woo the nerdy girl?”

“People think I’m an asshole?” Bucky asked, voice going a little too quiet for his liking. This shit hurt more than he was expecting. It was one thing for people to think, rightly, that this was fake. It was another thing for them to think he’d taken advantage of Sam. Or that fucking implicit, unsaid part about a rumor like that that Sam wouldn’t be worth wooing unless there was some reward at the end of it. Like Sam wasn’t reward enough. Like those kisses could have been bought and paid for.

“I mean, not usually. I guess they just think you’re hot and goofy and that must mean something here. People are just letting their imaginations run wild, alright? Don’t take it personally.”

Personally? Bucky wasn’t taking it personally. He was getting pissed off for Sam. “I should come clean. Post something about it.”

“Don’t do that!” Steve objected.

Bucky’s eyebrows rose, some of the melancholy lifting from his shoulders for the first time since the fight with Sam. “What? Why not?”

“Sam’s still running right? Why don’t you just keep doing your boyfriends thing? What if you just never tell anyone? What if you talk to Sam, work this out, and make it real ?”

Bucky scoffed and threw a seapod into the wet sand by the tide. “Sam does not want that, trust me. Think he’d rather I just drop out and never see him again.”

“Oh, so I was right. You are just stupid.”

“Stop calling me that,” Bucky snapped. “I’m not stupid. I just like him so much and I ruined this and I want him happy and I ruined that too. He’s going to Stanford, Steve. I’m never going to see him again. He’s going to go on and make something of himself and I’ll still be doing all the same stupid shit I am now. I can’t even picture what ten years down the road looks like. Or five. You know I only applied to two places? I don’t even care about them. I just had to write the essays for English, so I submitted an application. LSU and NYU. I’m never going to get into NYU and I probably can’t afford LSU, so what’s the fucking point of any of it? I just wanted a few extra hours with him before I got left behind. And now he hates me.”

Steve put the seashells in his pocket, wiped off some of the sand on his pants (but not all of it, never all of it), and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders firmly. “Sam doesn’t hate you and you’re not going to be left behind. I mean, I can’t tell you anything at all about the future, but you’re too bright and too charming to get left behind. Even if you don’t end up marrying Sam and raising two and half dogs together, your life won’t be over. And your life isn’t over right now. You just need to talk to him. Be honest. And I’m not gonna lie, it’s gonna be embarrassing and you’re gonna wanna disappear. But you can’t. You have to talk to him. Tell him everything. It’s your life, Buck. Take control of it.”

Bucky stared at his best friend and wondered when he’d become so wise and how come that didn’t show up in other parts of his life, like choosing when to pick fights. Steve was a little miracle sometimes. Mostly he was a pain in the ass though.

Bucky shrugged Steve’s hands off of his shoulders, peeled off his shirt, kicked off his shoes, and then began to walk into the surf.

“No!” Steve called after him. “That’s exactly not what you’re supposed to do!”

__________________________

Sam nearly fell out of the tree when another face popped up beside him.

“What the hell, Myra?!” he asked, pulling his legs closer to himself so she could finish lifting herself to the branch level with his. “Why are you out here?”

“Why are you?” Myra asked. She pulled her bag to her lap and dug out a bag of chips. “Do you want some Takis? They’re the blue ones.”

“No thanks,” Sam said, though his stomach chose right then to growl.

“Have you been up here since lunch?” she asked.

“I’ve been up here since fourth period,” he corrected. “Were you looking for me?”

“No,” she said. “I’ve got Spanish right now, which I hate because I already speak it, but evidently not formally enough for the textbook. So I come out here to smoke instead. Want one?”

She held out a joint and Sam raised his eyebrows. “No,” he said. “I don’t smoke.”

“Yeah, you said you didn’t drink either, but you got sloshed at Dylan’s party. But okay, okay, preacher’s kid,” she teased.

“I don’t think the bible actually says anything about smoking weed in a tree.”

“I think not indulging in a plant is the first thing the bible says, actually.”

“The first thing the bible says is let there be light.”

Myra rolled her eyes and grinned. “Well, if you won’t smoke, I won’t,” she offered and put the joint back in her bag.

“Aren’t you worried about getting caught?” he asked. “What do you do with the random searches?”

“Oh, this bag stays out here,” she said. “There’s a gap in the trunk. If you ever need a blue takis fix, feel free to steal some.”

“I’ll keep it in mind,” Sam said.

The tree they were hiding in, and apparently hiding contraband in, wasn’t technically on school property. For whatever reason, the school hadn’t bothered putting up a fence along the back service road, so it was reasonably easy to cross the service road and be off school property. In theory, the campus security building was back here too, but those guys were never actually there. They were always hanging out in the various school offices wasting time. Besides, the Ag building was close enough that anyone who could blabber out half a lie had to be let off with nothing more than a warning about tardiness.

Sam didn’t come out here very often. He preferred hiding out in the library, but too many people knew to go looking for him there and the librarian had started to side-eye how often he was there instead of in class. Technically, it had only been two days, but five classes and two lunches in that time span seemed to be the breaking point.

“You know, Doggy says Bucky hasn’t caught a pass in practice all week,” she said.

“Huh?” Sam asked, recentering his thought processes on being social. He set aside the pang of hearing Bucky’s name and sorted out all the other words in the sentence. “Y’all really call him that, huh?”

“Are you gonna comment on it every time I say his name?” she shot back. “You’re dating a guy named Bucky.”

“We’re not dating,” Sam grumbled.

“You’re just going through a rough patch,” she tsked. She held out a taki and Sam finally took it. It burned the shit out of his tongue, but at least he had an excuse not to answer. “So, was it really fake?” she asked. “Cause it didn’t seem fake at Dylan’s.”

Sam was not going to get into the intricacies of his plot with her. He silently asked for another taki by holding out his hand.

“Ah, so even if it was fake, it wasn’t really, huh?” she surmised. She gave him three takis for the not-confession. “So what’s up with your other hot friend?” she asked. “I always kind of figured you two were dating. It’s Riley, right?”

Sam buried his face in his knees. “Yeah, his name is Riley. There’s nothing else there. He’s just my best friend.”

Myra hummed. “Are you sure?”

And of course Sam wasn’t sure. He wasn’t sure about anything anymore. “I kissed him once. Just to get the first one over with. I didn’t… I didn’t think it was anything.”

“God, Wilson,” Myra whistled. “Got all the boys tripping over themselves for you. I get it. You’re a cutie. Not my type; I like them a little dumber. But a cutie.”

Sam snorted and shook his head. He wasn’t sure if she’d be able to tell. “I just want everyone to leave me alone. This was a mistake. I wish I could just go back to being the preacher’s kid.”

“You know this school is too small for you to ever really have just been the preacher’s kid, right?” she asked. “People know you’re smart and funny and kind. You probably could’ve gotten a superlative, even without all of this. Most likely to become president or something. Oh, wait, sorry.”

It startled a laugh out of Sam, so sudden and full that he had to sit up to avoid choking on it. Bark flaked off of the branch beneath his fingers and he watched it flutter back to the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Myra repeated. “I just meant you’re charismatic and you’ve got a good head on your shoulders. I voted for you, for what it’s worth.”

Sam nodded his thanks and leaned back against the trunk again. “But be honest,” he said eventually. “You wouldn’t have if I wasn’t dating Bucky and we met each other that way, would you have?”

Myra shrugged, unashamed in her change of heart. “I don’t know. I definitely wouldn’t have voted for Melody. Or Aaron. God, it’s ridiculous how dumb he is, isn’t it? So you probably would’ve stood a good chance of getting my vote even then.”

“Come on,” Sam cajoled, tapping his foot against her leg. “You barely knew me.”

Myra looked up at him, squinting in the sunlight, and gave him an easy smile. “I’m glad I do now. And whatever is going on with you and Bucky, I’d like to keep knowing you. I was actually planning on nominating you for Prom King.”

Sam laughed, ignoring the bloom of warmth in his chest. It was the first time since Saturday morning that he didn’t feel like he was about to compress into a ball of dread and depression and hurt. “If you do that, I’m nominating you for Queen,” he threatened.

“God, don’t do that. I don’t want to pick out an expensive dress. You know Doggy wants to wear a camo suit?”

Myra chattered about nothing much, with Sam interjecting every now and then with his opinion or an emphatic agreement to something he didn’t fully understand, to be honest. There was a lot of drama amongst her friends, but he wasn’t friends with any of the others, so he felt safe in taking Myra’s side.

Eventually, the bell droned, barely audible this far from the buildings. Myra stashed her takis and a box of nerds, and climbed down out of the tree much faster than she’d climbed up it.

“Are you coming to class?” she asked before she dropped from the last limb. “Come on, walk me back. No one’s gonna argue with the preacher’s kid if they catch us out here.”

Sam rolled his eyes. He had not been planning on going back to class. He shared his sixth period with Riley and he’d been trying damn hard to avoid his best friend. He wasn’t even totally sure why. Riley being mad at Bucky was nothing new. He couldn’t stand the guy, that much had been obvious for years. And Sam was mad at Bucky too, so they should be sharing their commiseration. But he just couldn’t deal with the idea of Riley being self satisfied that this had all blown up. And Sam had gotten so angry when he saw Riley on Monday, coming down the hallway like Sam couldn’t take care of himself where Bucky was concerned. He’d just wanted everyone to step the hell away from him and Riley was just there .

Below him, Myra huffed out a sigh. “You’ve gotta go to class, Wilson. How else are you gonna woo all the teachers into voting for you?”

And, unfortunately, that was a good point.

Sam climbed out of the tree.

Myra grinned and started walking towards the school. “By the way, maybe you wouldn’t be named Most Likely to Become President,” she said. “It would probably be Most Likely to Become a Superhero. Or Accidentally Take Over the World.”

“Accidentally?” Sam asked with amusement.

“You could totally accidentally start a cult that spreads worldwide. Sam Wilson: the second coming. Don’t worry, I won’t tell you dad.”

“I appreciate that,” Sam snorted. “I don’t think he’d really understand.”

“He should. That would make him God.”

Sam laughed. “My daddy does not want to be God.”

“It’s a pity,” she said. “You’d make a great Jesus 2.0. But I guess the best people for the job wouldn’t want it.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Now I know you’re playing,” he said.

She didn’t get to retort, other than tossing him a wink, as they split off at the doors. Sam knew Myra was wrong about all of that. Second comings and superheroes and cult leaders did not hide in the bathroom when they thought they saw the swoosh of their fake-ex-boyfriend’s hair coming around the corner of the hallway.

But Sam Wilson absolutely was going to.

__________________________

Walking out of the game last night and not finding Sam waiting for him was kind of brutal in a way that Bucky wasn’t expecting. Worse than not seeing him at school all week. Much worse than the string of unread texts on his phone.

They lost. Because of course they did. Bucky’s lucky charm wasn’t there and neither was Bucky’s focus. He re-jammed his fingers and this time he didn’t even make the completion.

When Saturday morning had come–a possibility that he figured was up in the air at this point because the world really felt like it shouldn’t be turning–he’d woken up sore, heartbroken, and determined.

He was up and out the door in about fifteen minutes, giving no time for anyone to begin quizzing him on his emotional state. He snagged the keys to the sedan and promised to listen to the lecture later. And then he began to drive.

There wasn’t a lot to do in Delacroix. Mostly you could leave and go somewhere else. But there were five distinct mechanic shops and one that would hire a high school kid and pay him under the table. Bucky only knew Riley worked there, and which shop it was, because Sam had to drop him off or pick him up all the time.

It was still early, but Riley was outside the shop, working on a truck that was three different colors and missing the passenger window and all the seats. It was parked off of the crappy pave job of the parking lot and buried to the first axles in mud.

“We’re not open yet,” Riley was saying as Bucky shouldered open the door and climbed out of the sedan. He hadn’t turned around yet, which Bucky figured was just bad manners. “Office starts taking appointments at 9 on Saturday.”

“I’m not here to drop off my car,” Bucky called back.

Riley still didn’t turn right away but his shoulders did tighten. He tightened something in the engine and it seemed like that was too forceful. “Then I don’t really know what I can do for you.”

“I just want to talk,” Bucky said. He held up his hands in peace, not that Riley could see him. “Have you heard from Sam? He hasn’t answered any of my texts all week.”

“Good,” Riley snapped. Then he added, a few seconds later, “No, I haven’t heard from him. But the Wilsons always go to see Darlene’s family over long weekends. It’s why he wasn’t at school on Friday.”

“Oh.” Bucky kicked some loose paving gravel and leaned back against the side of the car. “Figured he was just ditching.”

Riley grunted and Bucky read a thousand different disparagements into it. Why didn’t Bucky know the Wilsons traveled on long weekends? Why did he think Sam would ever cut class for something as stupid as gossip? Had Bucky even noticed Sam wasn’t there? (Of course he had.) This was all Bucky’s fault and he still wanted, expected, Sam’s attention?

Bucky shook himself out of the spiral. As much as he really did figure Riley was thinking those things, he knew it was his own brain judging himself. “Come on,” he said. “Get in the car.”

Now Riley did turn. The wrench in his hand seemed bigger than was necessary for whatever he was doing. He crossed his broad arms over his chest and halfway bared his teeth. “Fuck you all the way to hell and back.”

Bucky held up his hand, keys dangling from one finger. “You can drive, idiot. I’m not trying to kidnap you or drive you into the ocean.”

Riley’s eyes narrowed in irritation and suspicion. “Why? What do you want?”

“Nothing,” Bucky said honestly. “Just figured you didn’t get to drive a lot of things that weren’t Sam’s boat of a truck–though that thing you’re working on is even bigger–so I thought you might like to get some time behind a normal wheel.”

“I can drive,” Riley snapped. “I’ve been driving for years.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Bucky snapped back. “You just can’t take your test ‘cause your dad doesn’t have car insurance.”

Riley’s cheeks blazed a dark red and he took a step towards Bucky that had Bucky scrambling backwards away from him. “Sam didn’t tell me!” he defended quickly. “Mr. Wilson did.”

The blush got impossibly darker, but Riley at least stopped looking like he was about to kill Bucky with that wrench. “Why the fuck would he tell you that?”

“I don’t know, man. I think he really wants us to get along or something. But I checked. I could have my mom go with you to your test, with this car, and you could take your test and get your license with her insurance. At least you’ll have it when you get out of here.”

Riley studied Bucky like he knew this was a trick, he just couldn’t figure out what the endgame was. “Why?” he asked again.

“I dunno. It’d be a nice surprise for Sam or something. It’s better than taking it in his truck. Damn, I don’t think that thing even fits in the parallel parking spot.”

“There’s a parallel parking part of the test?” Riley asked.

“Yeah, unfortunately,” Bucky agreed. “Do you not know how to do that? Come on, I’ll show you. It’s not hard. You’ll pick it up.”

Riley hesitated for a second, spinning the wrench around his finger. “I’m working this morning,” he eventually said, measured and still apprehensive. “But after lunch?”

Bucky let out a long breath and nodded. “Sure, I’ll swing by again then.”

Riley scowled a little but he nodded. Then he forced himself to say, “Thank you,” from between his teeth.

By the time Bucky got back in the driver’s seat, he was shoulder deep in the engine again.

Riley was not a bad driver. Kind of hesitant coming up on stops, but that was better than trusting the sedan’s brakes, as far as Bucky was concerned. He’d been right. Riley had picked up parallel parking as easy as breathing. He had an ease about him in the car that made Bucky figure he’d be fine during his test. He did tell Riley that, begrudgingly, as he told him he’d okayed the whole scheme with his mom before he’d come back into town. Riley would have to make his own appointment, but Winnifred would pick him up whenever he needed.

“Pick some time later in the day,” he suggested. “Mine was at eleven in the morning and she made me go to school for the second half.”

Riley laughed a little and took another bite of his sandwich to avoid answering. They were sitting at a rest stop picnic area that had been built with some parks fund two decades ago and hadn’t been maintained between then and now. The Spanish moss was creeping closer and closer to the tables, which were rusting away with each rainstorm and humid day. But Winnifred didn’t like crumbs in the car, so here they were.

“Sam didn’t tell me about Stanford,” is what Riley said finally. “Not at first. We go up to Montana every summer–my dad and I, not me and Sam–and Sam didn’t mention it when the letter came in. We talk every day when I’m up there. It’s not like he didn’t have the chance. He told me a few days before I was coming back. Hell, he could’ve just waited at that point and shown me the letter himself. I didn’t even know he’d done an early application. When did he tell you?”

Bucky put his fingers through the grating of the table so he didn’t have to look at Riley. “I was here with him,” he mumbled. He didn’t like Riley, but he never wanted to come between him and Sam either. And yet, it seemed like that was all this whole charade had managed to successfully accomplish. “I live next door. It’s not fair to compare that.”

“Was it the day of?” Riley asked.

Bucky shook his head. “I don’t think so. A couple of days later, maybe. He’d had to pick up a few extra afternoons on the boat, and he was complaining about it. He told me then. Said he thought his parents were, like, punishing him for it. Which is ridiculous. He knew it was ridiculous. He was just annoyed and taking it out on whoever was closest.”

Riley grunted and dropped his sandwich down onto its wrapper. It was some unholy cajun construction that Bucky could smell across the table from him, all fish and jalapenos and spice. “We used to talk about going to school together. He played along with the thought that he’d go into politics with me. I kind of figured it was all bullshit. He’s not a politician, y’know.”

Bucky did figure that. Sam was smart as hell and people savvy like no one else Bucky had met, but he wasn’t nearly soulless enough to try politics for real.

“I applied to Georgetown. Already. I wanted to make sure I got it in early enough to know by December. I’ll apply some other places too. But I want Georgetown. Except, I can’t afford Georgetown. Not in a thousand years. Even with their aid packages. My dad makes enough that I’ll be filtered out from consideration, even though he’s not paying for any part of my education. Even if I could convince a judge to let me emancipate, which I wouldn’t be able to, it’s too late for my application.”

Bucky got his fingers out from the grating, but didn’t look up at Riley. “What’s up with your parents? I know Mr. Wilson kind of hates them, which is impressive coming from a preacher, but you don’t seem…”

“Like I get beaten?” Riley filled in. “I don’t. But I haven’t seen my mom in months. She does whatever she wants, wherever she wants. And my dad is around but he’s never there. They just…don’t care. I’m not really their son and they aren’t really my parents, except on paper. There’s no birthday parties or holidays, no parents day or showing me off to their colleagues. In theory, we live in the same house, but we haven’t eaten together in years. Last year, I didn’t even tell my dad I was leaving for the state competition trip. I was gone for four days and he didn’t notice at all. The nurse called my mom when I passed out in gym class sophomore year, and asked her to come get me. Mom went to the wrong high school. She had to call the nurse back and ask her what school it was. And she had to call the nurse because she didn’t have my phone number saved, so she couldn’t text me.”

“Jesus,” Bucky breathed.

“I lived at the Wilson house more than mine in middle school. Over the summers, before the Montana trip, I’d be there five days out of the week. I remember when your family moved in next door. I was there the whole time with Sam. Darlene wanted us to go introduce ourselves, but Sam was shy and I didn’t like that you had a cool bike.”

Bucky laughed at the sudden reminder. “You should’ve introduced yourself,” he said. “I crashed that bike a week later and never rode it again. It wouldn’t have been around for you to be jealous over.”

“I’ve been jealous over you for a long time,” Riley admitted. “Bike or no bike.”

Bucky shifted, embarrassed. “I don’t know why, man,” he said, keeping his eyes on the table below them. “You’re still Sam’s best friend.”

“It didn’t have much to do with Sam. I mean, yeah, I was kind of mad you got the house next door. I was trying so hard to convince my parents to move there. But I didn’t even know you two were friends. Hell, if I went off how often he complained about how you handle yourself on a boat, I’d think he hated you.”

Bucky rolled his eyes. “I handle a boat just fine. It’s not my fault he does everything backwards.”

Riley’s mouth curled in a kind of deprecating, irritated smile. “I guess I was pretty blind to miss you two. The thing I don’t get… If you like him so much, why didn’t you just really ask him out?”

Bucky was still focused on Riley being jealous of him and he was not missing how Riley had pivoted the conversation away from that. Still, he humored the new topic, made a face, and shook his head. “Sam wouldn’t have said yes if I’d just asked him out.”

Now Riley made a face. He glanced from Bucky, to the road behind them, back to Bucky, and back to the road. “Oh,” he said slowly. He dropped his head onto his arms on the table. “Oh my God, you’re both stupid. Oh my God, I’m the one in the middle.”

Yeah, Bucky had felt that way about Riley for a long time. “If it’s any consolation, Steve is in there with you.”

Riley looked up at him with the most plaintive eyes from the table. “I don’t think Steve is where I am right now.”

Whatever that meant. Bucky shrugged. “Listen, man. You can say you’re jealous of me all you want, but I’m kind of jealous of you too. Sam loves you so much. I’ve always wanted him to talk about me the way he talks about you. It’s like you’re part of him. He doesn’t even have to think about it. You’re just always in the same breath.”

Riley’s eyes ducked away now and a blush came to his cheeks. Bucky was willing to call it a heat flush. It was, as always, hot already out here. “Yeah, well, it hasn’t felt like it this year.”

Bucky scowled at the table and felt himself start to blush. “He’s allowed to have other friends, y’know?”

“He has plenty of other friends,” Riley snapped back. “But he’s never… He likes you more than he’s ever liked anyone else. I’ve never had to compete before.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what to say to that, so he just kept tracing the grating, each distorted diamond, each broken piece of rubber-plastic with rust beneath it. He did not want to have this conversation.

“I still don’t like you,” Riley added. He tossed his drink into the trash can behind him. “I appreciate whatever you’re trying to do here, but I think Sam  can do better and I don’t get why he’s so set on you.”

“Thanks,” Bucky drawled with a roll of his eyes. “We still have to keep it together for Sam.”

Riley leveled a bored glare at him, but he tightened his jaw and nodded. “Fine. When Sam’s around, I’ll pretend like you aren’t the most annoying man in the world. And I’ll stop bitching about you to him when you aren’t around.”

“You’re so annoying,” Bucky groaned. 

“Yeah, well, get it out of your system, ‘cause when Sam gets back on Tuesday, you’re gonna have to reign it in.”

“We don’t talk about you as much as you think we do.”

“Liar.”

Yeah, alright, it might be a bit of a lie. But Bucky wasn’t about to admit that. “Come on. I’ll go introduce you to my mom. You guys can work out when to get your test scheduled.”

Riley waved his hand dismissively, because he couldn’t take instruction from anyone. But, as they climbed back into the sedan, he glanced over at Bucky, then at his lap. “Thanks, Barnes,” he said quietly.

Bucky figured this was about as much of an olive branch that was going to get passed between them. Now they just had to avoid smacking each other with it.

He could do that. Probably.

Chapter Text

Sam had been trying to fall asleep on the old deck for half an hour. It wasn’t working. Everything was uncomfortable. The temperature, the humidity, the thin layer of fuzzy algae, the warping wood, the splashing below and the birds calling above. Normally, these things were his favorite sensations in the whole world, but recently he hadn’t liked anything at all. Even the comfort of his grams’s beachside house–with no neighbors within viewing distance–wasn’t enough to shake him from this melancholy. All he’d wanted to do all weekend was sleep. He didn’t want to go out on a boat. He didn’t want to meet up with his friends in the area. He didn’t want to deal with Sarah’s prying questions. He didn’t want to bake while his grams fussed at him about, like, everything.

He’d just pulled himself back into the falling-apart beach chair and tilted his face up towards the sun again when someone took up residence in the other seat. The good wooden one that his pops had carved for his grams out of a whole driftwood tree. They’d been a matching set, but the second one had floated off to sea during a storm years and years ago. Sam barely remembered the two together.

“Your mama wants to know if you put on sunscreen before coming out here,” Paul said around the huff of breath he let out, like all the weight of the world was coming off of his shoulders as he sat down.

“Yeah,” Sam fibbed. He’d put it on his cheekbones and forehead, across his shoulders, and around his nips. He couldn’t really be bothered with the rest. “Did you?” he tossed back with a tired smile.

Paul rolled his eyes good naturedly. “That’s what the shirt is for, don’t y’know?”

“Too hot,” Sam groaned. “How’re you gonna go swimming in that? Bring up half the fish with you when you get back out.”

“Easy fishing,” Paul offered. They both laughed in the same way at the lame joke–they’d had the same laugh since Sam’s voice dropped when he was fourteen–and Sam felt like the world wasn’t ending for the first time since Monday.

They sat in easy quiet for a while. The seagulls overhead were less brash now that there was good company beside him, but they were still annoying.

“When you told us you were dating Bucky, I admit, I was confused,” Paul eventually said without looking over at Sam. “Perhaps confused is not the right word, but I’m failing to find that one.”

In all the time Sam had been able to understand human speech, he had never found his father at a loss for words. Paul Wilson’s sermons were legendary and Sam had always thought his dad gave the most eloquent and moving speeches. There was a reason he was in charge of toasts and blessings.

“I was confused,” he continued. “On a personal and spiritual level. I’ve raised you for eighteen years now, is that right? What was it? A month shy when you’d told us? I’ve felt I knew you, really knew you inside and out. I didn’t understand the idea of you dating a young man. I’ve expected so many things for your future.”

“Dad, I’m still–” Sam started to say, but Paul held up a gentle hand and stopped him.

“It took me a while to unravel my thoughts. Oh, your mama was steaming mad. I don’t know if you noticed, but she wasn’t talking to me for a hot minute there. I was very close to couch duty.”

Sam brought his hands up to his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his stinging eyes. He had hoped this conversation would never have to happen. That he and his dad would just live in a weird anxious new-normal until Sam moved out. And, hey, maybe Sam could fall in love with a girl at college and they’d never think about this kind of conversation again. It wouldn’t feel like it did with Bucky, but nothing was ever going to feel like that. Sam wasn’t sure if he even wanted something else to feel like that. Every moment with Bucky felt like standing in pouring rain with the electric crackle of a lightning storm gearing up. It felt like the adrenaline rush of getting knocked over in a pick up game on hot asphalt and getting back up before the hurt even set in. Every moment was like the moment anger or vindication soared in his veins during a debate. It was exhausting and exhilarating. He was always wound up, always trying to explode outwards, always wearing himself out with want.

But it was also a hand on his shoulder yanking him back into himself. It was the feeling of low lighting and warm air from an open window late at night and quiet company in his safest space. It was waking up at three in the morning with a dvd menu looping and a warm body pressed along his on the couch. Laying on the boat under the sun, even the gulls quiet because nothing could touch him down here.

How was he supposed to recreate any of that? How was it supposed to stand up? This wasn’t even real and it had Sam in an impenetrable snare.

“Bucky said we had to tell you,” Sam mumbled. “We told y’all before we even told our friends.”

“Well, I’m glad you did,” Paul agreed. He pushed the chair back on its hind legs, even though it was really too heavy to be fooling around with like that. “I would’ve hated to hear it from Ms. Evans at church. That woman…”

Sam’s lips twitched a little, but his heart wasn’t in it. He was no stranger to falling victim to the exit procession gossip. There could be no secrets in this town.

“The more I thought about it, though, the less confused I was. Or, I suppose, the less important the confusion was. All I’ve ever wanted was for you to be happy. I’ve prayed for your health and happiness every night for almost nineteen years now. And God’s answered every one of those prayers. You were such a happy baby, and a happy boy. You may not remember it, but my mama called you Sunshine. You started responding to that before you responded to Sam. Why should it matter that it’s Bucky who makes you happy now? As long as you keep smiling and laughing and bringing everyone else’s spirits up with you, I can’t begrudge the reason for it.”

Sam glanced over at his dad in surprise. “That’s all?” he asked.

Paul huffed a little and shrugged. “I suppose I’m still confused about it. I’ve never known anyone who was…”

“Bi?” Sam supplied.

Paul’s nose scrunched slightly and he nodded. “It’s a bit to wrap my head around. I didn’t reckon there was a part of you I’d have to learn so late. I’ve never had to work to know any part of you before. I’m not used to studying.”

Sam snorted, surprising himself. “Well, it’s a short quiz,” he said.

“That doesn’t make it any less important to me. Nothing is too small when it comes to you.” Paul put his hand over Sam’s. “Bucky’s a good boy,” he said. “And he’s gone on you, so I can’t complain about that either.”

“It’s not…that’s not really…” Sam’s mouth screwed to the side and he pulled his hand away from his dad’s. “You don’t understand…”

“Sarah told us what happened at school,” Paul cut in. The world began to end again and Sam tried to shrink into his own skeleton. He wanted to disappear from all of the fallout of this catastrophe, very much including this conversation. He’d lied a few minutes ago. He’d take the sexuality conversation over this one any day. “She said some people think you were lying about it.”

We were, Sam almost said. He was, he might’ve added.

“But I can see you, Sam,” his dad added. “I can see both of you. And all of your friends at school should be able to too. Whoever started that nasty rumor should be ashamed of themselves. It’s wrong to play about people’s emotions like that. You know it happened to your mama and me too?”

“What?” Sam asked. The roiling in his stomach turned gears as quickly as his attention. “You and mama were high school sweethearts,” he objected. 

“We were,” Paul agreed. “We were also very young and there was a whole lot of world out there. When your mama went off to school, and I stayed here for seminary courses, someone tried to convince her I wasn’t as serious about our future as she was. That she should just stay out of state and focus on herself.”

“Did she believe them?” Sam asked.

“I think she gave a pinch too much credence to it, yes,” Paul admitted. “But who could blame her? We’d already talked about it ourselves when she was leaving–whether we should break up and reconnect when we were done with school. We talked a lot after that. And we didn’t talk a bit too. It’s a sore topic, isn’t it? Makes you feel betrayed without any action on their part? I kept wondering why she wouldn’t believe me and trust me when I told her how I felt. Then I wondered what I had done wrong to make her feel like that. We went around and around for a few months. A whole semester maybe. She finally came back home over her spring break and told me she couldn’t go into finals with this weighing on her and distracting her. By the time she left on that Saturday, she had an engagement ring and I had a fiancee.”

“I don’t think I should propose to Bucky,” Sam pointed out. He sighed. “It’s not the same, Dad. You and Mama had all of high school. Bucky and I have only been going together for, like, two months. And…the rumors aren’t total lies.”

Paul hummed and raised an eyebrow. Sam sighed again. “It wasn’t…supposed to be real,” he finally admitted. “We were trying to trick people. He thought if we dated, I’d have a better chance of winning class officer. It would…make me more popular or something.”

Paul hummed again, more contemplative this time. His bushy eyebrows came together above his eyes and he looked at the rippling water and sunlight before them. “Who was your class president dating last year?” he asked.

“What?” Sam asked back, startled. “I don’t know. I don’t even know who the president was.”

“Well, who did you vote for?”

“It wasn’t my class last year. I think I voted for someone named Duke.”

“Who was he dating?” Paul asked again.

“I have no idea. I just knew he was one of the guys who was in the ‘adopt a road’ group with me that year. He was funny and nice.”

Paul hummed, this time affirmatively. “What about Vice President? Or secretary or accountant?”

“I don’t know, Dad. I didn’t really pay attention. They were all seniors and I didn’t really care. The only reason we got to vote was ‘cause class officers deal with prom.”

“But you didn’t vote for any of them because of their boyfriend or girlfriend, right? So why would Bucky think that this would help you any at all?”

Sam knew he walked into that one. By the time he’d seen it coming, his foot was in the snare. So long as he stayed calm and didn’t start thrashing, he could still get out of this.

“It was about getting my name out there. Class officer positions aren’t real. They’re just a popularity contest. Sometimes a smart person wins president just ‘cause they’re smart, but that’s it. And that’s not even really a good metric for president anyway. So Bucky wanted me to get my name out by parading me around in his stupid jersey on Fridays.”

Paul’s eyebrows rose again, but he visibly shook away that branch of conversation. “Do you think maybe he wanted an excuse to spend time with you? To try it out without…I don’t know, damaging your friendship?”

The snare was tightening. “It wouldn’t have damaged anything,” he said softly. “He could’ve just asked.”

“Does he know that?” Paul asked.

And, no, probably not. When all was said and done, Sam hadn’t even known that back in early August.

“It’s not just that,” Sam added, instead of answering. “The rumor had to have come from somewhere. No one but me and him knew.” And Riley, but Sam wasn’t getting into that part right now. “I didn’t tell anyone, so he must’ve. For whatever reason. Dad, I really–” A knot in his throat cut off his words suddenly. He rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes again. “I really liked him. And I thought he liked me. I don’t know why he would’ve done that.”

But that wasn’t really true either, was it? Sam had pushed too far at the party, hadn’t kept checking in. Bucky was so fastidious about moving at Sam’s speed, but Sam had totally lost the plot. It had been too much and Bucky was putting distance between them the only way he could.

“No one else knew?” Paul asked doubtfully. “You didn’t tell a single person? No one could’ve cornered him with a suspicion?”

The thought that it was Riley who’d said something was almost worse. That nagging doubt was part of the reason Sam was pissed off at him too. But, deep down, he believed Riley. Riley didn’t hurt people and he definitely didn’t hurt Sam. And Riley had nothing to gain from breaking up Sam and Bucky, except a few extra hours with Sam a week.

“I don’t know. But I don’t think so. He’d have told me. He tells me everything.”

Paul looked out at the ocean again. “I imagine I already know the answer, but have you talked to him?”

Sam’s jaw tightened and he didn’t answer.

“I don’t know how such a smart, caring young man–a man who’s talked his sister down from the strangest of heights like it was nothing–can avoid his own emotions so thoroughly. You’re going to keep shoving all these feelings down and eventually they’re going to pile up on you and come spilling out when you don’t want them to. You know, as you’re trying to save the world, you’re part of that world. You have to keep yourself safe first.”

“I’m not trynna save the world,” Sam mumbled. It was always different for him, right? It was one thing to work through things with Sarah. It was easy to walk Riley back from an anxious break. It was second nature to reign Steve into actionable anger. But as far as he went? The things he felt and thought? It was different. It was him . There was bound to be something wrong with his feelings. No one would understand why he thought what he did. No one would believe him. It was always overblown because he was overblown. Wanted to be something he wasn’t. Always playing at being grown without any understanding of it or himself.

“What if he just lies?” he asked the ocean.

“Does he do that to you a lot?” Paul asked, taking the new topic in stride.

“No. I don’t think so. About dumb things, I guess. Like music and movies. But we’ve never had to talk about something like this. All of our arguments have been stupid. I’ve never accused him of anything worse than stealing my hoodie.”

“Part of growing up is having more difficult conversations, Sam,” his dad pointed out, just a little bemused. “You’re going to have to have far more serious conversations with a lot more people in your life. If your mama and I hadn’t sat down and talked about rumors and our future, you wouldn’t be here right now having a crisis over the same thing.”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have,” Sam muttered. He didn’t mean it and Paul knew that, so he let it slide. “It’s not about my future. It’s just Bucky.”

“Just Bucky,” Paul scoffed, waved his hand dismissively towards Sam. “Why does it hurt so much then? Just Bucky. Absolutely not, Sam.”

Sam flushed so fiercely it kind of hurt. “Is Titi working on the desserts yet?” he asked.

He ignored the way Paul laughed silently. “She won’t start on the pecan pie until you’re there to tell her all the right measurements,” he assured.

Sam stood anyway, fixing the beach chair back to where it had been, out of danger of getting blown over into the water. “Well, maybe we should go get started on it. I’m getting scorched out here anyway. Are you coming in?”

Paul waved him off and slid down in the seat further, legs kicked out in front of him just how Sam always did. “No, I’m enjoying the vitamin D. You holler when the kitchen is safe to enter again.”

Sam grunted an acknowledgement and turned to leave. He got a few steps before his dad called again. “Hey, Sam? Text Bucky before it gets too late.”

Sam was absolutely not doing that.

__________________________

The Tuesday after an off-Monday was the worst kind of school day. There was the dreary sluggishness of the Monday, coupled with the frenetic workload of the Tuesday. There was a math assignment that Sam literally finished in the hallway, waiting for his teacher to open the door for class. The computers went down during his Dual-Credit sociology class and he missed half the lecture. And the cafeteria had made their gross nachos for lunch even though Tuesday was supposed to be chicken nugget day.

It also just sucked being stuck in school while the taste of freedom was still so fresh. And after this break, it was particularly bitter to come back because Sam had to start playing the avoid game again.

He’d seen Bucky right off the bat, walking past the nurse’s office, where Bucky was fiddling with a new set of bandages on his wrist. These ones were blue this time. His face had lit up when he saw Sam, but then shuttered back down a split second later. Sam had turned into the nearest door that he could, which was a freezing cold science lab, but he didn’t care. He stayed there until it was impossible that Bucky was still outside.

 Riley caught him at lunch. He didn’t say anything. Just sat across from Sam and snuck bites, when the librarian wasn’t staring at them and willing them to leave, of the gross chicken lunchable he was obsessed with. Honestly, as annoying as it was, it was also really nice to have his best friend back. Trying to exist without Riley really felt like trying to breathe without a lung sometimes.

Riley waited for almost the whole lunch break to say, “I got my license yesterday.”

“Seriously?” Sam asked in surprise. He couldn’t keep acting like he was mad to the point of muteness after a statement like that. “Your mom’s in town? And she took you?”

Riley snorted and shoved the other half of his oreo in his mouth. “No. Mrs. Barnes took me.”

Sam almost choked on the other oreo from the lunchable. Waiting on the librarian to finish walking by gave him a chance to finish catching his breath. “You know Bucky’s mom?” he asked. “You mean Bucky’s mom?”

Riley shrugged. “We met over the weekend. The DMV was open yesterday. She was nice enough to let me borrow the car.”

“You drove Bucky’s mom’s car?” Sam clarified additionally.

“Well, I couldn’t take your truck, could I? I can’t parallel park that thing.”

“They made you parallel park?” Sam asked, because he was nothing if not distractible. “I didn’t have to do that. And I practiced for it.”

“Maybe they wanted to leave early yesterday. Or maybe they were tired of going over the curb on every test. Either way, I have it and they can’t take it back.”

“How did you convince Mrs. Barnes– Why did you convince Mrs. Barnes to do that?” The warning bell went off distantly and Sam put away the book he hadn’t even opened.

“I didn’t,” Riley finally admitted as he gathered their trash. “Bucky set it all up.”

“Bucky,” Sam repeated dubiously. “How did he manage that?”

“Well, he tracked me down at the garage on Saturday and didn’t leave me alone until I said yes. He even dragged himself out of his room to go to the test with us. Kept giving me all these hints and tips on the way. Mapped out the whole route beforehand.”

Sam’s eyes narrowed a little. “Why are you telling me all of this?”

“You’re gonna figure it out some way. Figured it might as well be from me instead of him. And don’t think he put me up to this. You know I’d rather have a dog chew off my arm than say something nice about him on purpose.”

The release bell rang and they both looked up at the speaker with a scowl. Riley started to say something, but Sam interrupted with, “Do you want to drive the truck home tonight?”

A slow smile spread over Riley’s face and he nodded. “Yeah. You wanna grab some fries at Judy’s?”

“That’s opposite of where you live,” Sam teased.

Riley shrugged, but didn’t stop grinning. “Yeah, but now I can drive around with you without it being illegal.”

“Yeah, whatever,” Sam laughed. “I’ll meet you out in the parking lot.”

And just a little bit of the world corrected itself on its axis.

__________________________

Bucky was a good friend. He wasn’t vindictive. He wasn’t childish. He could handle things not going his way. He was putting in the work, or whatever. 

“If you glare any harder, you’re going to burn a hole through his skull,” Steve said around half an apple.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Bucky snapped back without looking away from where Riley was leaning against Sam’s side, arm around his shoulder, laughing at something one of their other friends had said.

“Have you even tried to talk to Sam yet?” Steve asked.

Tried, yes. He and Sam had ended up in the office at the same time yesterday morning–Bucky to get a late pass because he’d gotten all the way to the school and realized his backpack was still in his bedroom, and Sam because he was a darling who got to make copies for teachers and needed the key to the copy room. The secretary hadn’t been at the desk, so they’d stood in the foyer, silent and awkward until Bucky had said, stupidly, “Trynna get on Ms. M’s good side for the vote on Monday?” and gestured to the packet in his hand.

Sam had stared at him for a few seconds, thumb tapping out the rhythm to ‘I Heard It Through the Grapevine’ because that was one of his favorite songs and he always tapped out the beat when he was not really focused on anything in particular. Not that there was anything special about the beat of Grapevine. It’s just that he’d hum it under his breath too and he had this way he kind of tossed his head every now and then on certain lines. Sometimes it was ‘How Sweet It Is’ but not today. Sam danced more with ‘How Sweet It Is.’

“Why would I– Oh.” He looked away, jaw tightening, eyes pinching. “Not everything is about the stupid election,” he muttered.

“No, I know. I just–” Bucky bit his tongue, ignored the sting in his eyes. “I didn’t mean…” 

Mrs. Nichols came in again at that moment and Sam stepped back from the desk, not that either of them were standing very close and he had been there first anyway, and gestured for Bucky to go ahead of him.

“Evidently not hard enough,” Bucky said to Steve.

“Not even at home?” Steve asked. “Don’t your families have dinner together once a week?”

“Sarah’s been too busy with volleyball–Sam’s Sarah–and Mom’s doing this project at work that she keeps taking the kitchen over for. We’ve had leftovers four times in five days.”

“Come over,” Steve suggested. “My Sarah would love to cook for you guys. Bring Sam.”

Bucky glared at him. “You’re not funny.”

“If you keep acting like a giant baby, you’re never going to get to talk to him again. And he’s gonna, like, become president or something and you’re gonna be stuck telling people ‘I used to love him.’”

“There’s no ‘used to’ when it comes to Sam.”

“Oh my God.” Steve threw the foil from his sandwich at Bucky’s face. “Get ahold of yourself.”

“He doesn’t want anything to do with me, Steve! I don’t even know how to begin to apologize to him. I don’t know what I did wrong. I don’t know how to apologize for liking him too much.”

Steve rolled his eyes hard enough to get them stuck like that. “Bucky Barnes, you are not such a sad, stupid man. I’m not putting up with this all year. Talk to him.” With that, he got up, collecting the trash he hadn’t used as a projectile, and dumping it in the bin beside them. “Riley!” he called, waving. “You wanna see the sculpture I’ve got going?”

Riley and Sam both looked up–Riley finding Steve first, but Sam’s eyes going straight for Bucky.

“Hell yeah!” Riley hooted, untangling himself from his friends and the bench beneath him. He cuffed the back of Sam’s head gently before he took off with Steve.

Sam opened his mouth, still watching Bucky. Bucky took in a breath, tried to stand but caught up between the table and the bench. The bell rang and Sam sank back before he began to gather his things.

“Wait,” Bucky breathed, but knew Sam couldn’t hear him. Not with the rest of the cafeteria bustling like this. Not with Bucky’s heart in his throat. “Sam, wait,” he tried again, but it wasn’t any louder.

Sam dashed out of the cafeteria and Bucky felt sick to his stomach.

__________________________

Sam hadn’t meant to show up at the football game. The week had felt like agony. Every stolen glance between him and Bucky kept cutting down to the meat of him, searching for bone. A hundred times, he’d started to say something. A hundred times, words had flown from his mind, replaced by a flood of embarrassment and anger and some kind of loitering sorrow. A sorrow for something in the future that he thought he should be able to stop but just kept allowing closer and closer to him. A sorrow that kept him pinned down, took up all the space it would eventually use, carved it out for itself, didn’t let anything else in there.

Then he’d found the note in his locker on Thursday afternoon, right before his last class of the day. The selvage from the spiral edge had been carefully peeled away. Bucky never used the perforation correctly, but he had here. It was folded in a cute series of folds and tucks, like an origami envelope. There was a drawing of a cat curled up in the join of the two folds, like it was sleeping in a hammock. When Sam opened the first fold, that drawing disappeared but another one, a cat jumping down to the bottom of the note, appeared. And when he got the paper fully unfolded, there was another cat, using the margin line as a scratching post. Sam put his fingers to it, like he could actually pet it.

The note itself was short. Sam knew Bucky well enough to know this was not the first attempt. He was God awful about scribbling out mistakes so roughly he tore through the paper, but this one only had a few cross-outs.

Sam,

I don’t think I could look at you while I said this because I hate it when you look disappointed in me. Hell, I hope I’m well gone by the time you find this. Out at practice where you won’t come looking. Please don’t come looking.

I didn’t tell anyone about us. I wouldn’t do that to you. I keep going over our conversations. Or whatever you call what we’ve been doing. Ours, Steve’s, Riley’s. And that’s the only thing I can think of. You think I told someone. I didn’t. I didn’t really think you had either, but… I don’t know. I just knew it wasn’t me.

Sam I wouldn’t do that to you. I couldn’t do that. You are so important to me. I don’t want to lose us.

I’m sorry for whatever I did. And I’m sorry someone found out somehow. I didn’t say it, but I should’ve argued about it. I panicked. I thought you wanted a way out. So I didn’t say anything at all, not even the good things. I should’ve told people it was real but I didn’t and I’m sorry.

Please talk to me later. Next week. Whenever. I don’t want to keep doing this radio silence cold shoulder thing. I miss you so much.

Buck

And, well, here Sam was, at the stupid football game. It was only the second weekend in October, but there’d been an unseasonable early cold snap, so he kept running the truck to use the heater as he bookmarked articles to print for extemp files next week and sent out a few ass kissing emails to teachers that totally had nothing to do with the tie-breaker on Monday.

Between the mindless motion of glancing over an article and saving it, glancing over an article and saving it, glancing over an article and saving it, and the rumble of his old engine pumping the cab full of warm air, Sam was not all that surprised that he’d dozed off. He’d half woken up when the tablet slipped from his fingers and hit the floor, but it wasn’t enough to really rouse him.

No, it took flashing red and white lights to do that.

It took Sam a few seconds to understand what the lights were–the school didn’t do any kind of light show for winning games, so he knew it wasn’t that, but students were another story–but when he realized they were ambulance lights, he nearly broke the lock on the door in his haste to get out. There was a snarling dread deep in his stomach that was so vicious it was blocking out all other thoughts and feelings. He knew down to his bones that that ambulance was for Bucky.

There were a few gawkers by the gate, but they were keeping their distance from the ambulance itself. Sam’s feet took him there without thought. The lights were lazily rolling overhead, but there were no sirens. The back was open, but empty, sterile and blinding in the dark of the parking lot. An EMT sat on the bumper, fiddling with his radio and bouncing his leg as he kept looking around the stadium. Sam actually recognized him. He’d been a senior when Sam was a freshman. He’d been popular. A baseball player, already on varsity, so Sam never practiced with him. Average student, but kind. His name was Adam.

“Hey,” Sam said, then cleared his throat and tried again. “Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.

The guy looked up at him, seemed to half recognize him, but didn’t put all the pieces together. “Uh, one of the kids broke his arm. Open fracture. They’re stabilizing him on the field and then bringin’ him up here for transport.”

“Do– Do you know who it is?” Sam asked.

“Ah, no, man. I’m not down there. They’re not gonna say that over the radio or anything. Hey, were you on the baseball team a few years ago?” he asked.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, I was on the freshman team your last year,” Sam said. Wondered if that was weird.

“Yeah, I knew I recognized you from somewhere. Y’all weren’t too hot last year, huh?”

“It’s this new coach, dude,” Sam said, even though he didn’t really believe it. It gave him something to focus on that wasn’t broken bones. “He puts his own son in to pitch every damn game.”

Adam grunted, a scowl cutting across his handsome face. “That’s stupid. One thing you could never say about Garret was that he favored any of us. He didn’t like any of us.”

Sam snorted, though his stomach felt like it was trying to evacuate along with the noise. His mouth kept watering and he was about one harsh movement away from throwing up. “Yeah. He retired at the end of the season the year after you left. Didn’t tell anyone, I don’t think. Not us anyway. Just wasn’t around come August. We went four rounds deep into the playoffs. He can’t be mad about that.”

“Well, if there was anyone he liked less than students, it was admin, so you’re probably right; he probably didn’t tell anyone. And, trust me, he could be mad with a state championship. Hey, step back,” he said with a nod towards the gurney coming up the walkway. Sam still couldn’t tell who was on it. The seat was elevated a little bit so they didn’t have to lay down, but the lights were too bright and there was an oxygen mask on their face.

“Compound fracture,” the EMT at the side of the gurney called over to Adam. “But our patient here is panicking. I’ve got him on some O2 to even out his breathing. He almost passed out down there. Mostly cognizant. Knew his name, the date, and where he was. Guessed what had happened. Got disoriented in his panic.”

“He doesn’t like blood,” Sam found himself saying, numb all the way through his body. His head felt like it had detached and was floating away towards the moon. “He’s panicking because he doesn’t like blood.”

Because that was Bucky, face ashen, hair soaked through with sweat, eyes wild and unfocused. That was Bucky on an ambulance’s gurney, wearing an oxygen mask because he’d started to have a panic attack because he was in pain. Goddammit, of course it was Bucky.

Both paramedics looked over at him and Sam’s feet finally came unglued from the pavement. He stepped towards Bucky, reached for his hand, and realized with a horrified start that he was on Bucky’s hurt side. The gauze wrapping around his arm wasn’t enough to hide the sharp angle protruding from it.

“Hey, hey, Buck,” Sam said, putting his hand on Bucky’s other shoulder, pressing his thumb against his clavicle. “Come on, man, you’re the one who wanted me to come to the game. This is the thanks I get?” he asked.

Bucky’s eyes settled on Sam, focused, then lit up momentarily. “Fuck, did you see it?” he asked. His voice was muffled and goofy beneath the oxygen mask. “You hate this shit.”

“I do hate this shit. This is why I hate this shit,” Sam agreed. “I didn’t see anything. I was just waiting in the parking lot.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “I guess I’d never hear the end of it.”

“You’re not going to anyway.”

“Hey, what’s going on? Where are you taking him to? What’s his status?” a coach asked, jogging up the walkway behind them.

“Sir, please, we have to transport him to surgery. This is an open wound,” the female EMT said to Sam quickly. Adam tugged him back a step. “We’re going to Baptist.”

“Can– Can I ride with him?” Sam asked quickly, shrugging away from Adam.

The EMT looked at him quizzically. “No. Family only.”

“I am–” he started to say.

“You can meet us at Baptist Memorial. He’ll be in surgery for a few hours. Take your time, kid. We don’t need another call because you drove upset. Adam,” she added, with a nod to the back of the ambulance.

Adam helped her load the gurney up and Sam darted back in front of the doors before they could close them. “Hey, I’ll get Winnie and them, alright? I’ll be there as soon as I can. Buck, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

“Sam. Sam! Hey, wait, I need–” Bucky started to call back, but the doors shut between them. Sam watched the ambulance pull away, everything inside of him being tugged behind it, leaving him empty and hollow.

“Sam!” he heard then, a familiar voice, just pitched differently. He turned and practically had to catch Becca as she tripped into a hug. He squeezed her tightly until she put her feet under herself again. “I wasn’t paying attention! I didn’t know it was Buck! What happened?!”

“Is your mom here?” Sam asked. “Are you by yourself?”

Becca nodded, eyes red and watery. “I came with friends, but we weren’t watching the game. We were just hanging out. Mom’s at home. What happened? Should we follow them?”

“He broke his arm. No one told me anything else. He was kind of out of it. I need to call your mom. I need to call my mom.”

“I’ll call Mom,” Becca said quickly. “Can you take me wherever they went?”

Sam nodded. “Of course I will. But I need to talk to Winnie first.”

“I want to go,” Becca insisted, voice steely.

“I know, I know,” Sam assured, holding up one hand as he pulled up his mama’s contact on his phone. “I’m not saying I’m gonna drag you home or anything. Hey, listen, the coaches may have already called your mom, but maybe not. You may be telling her for the first time, okay? If you get overwhelmed, just give me the phone.”

For a second, the fear and confusion left Becca’s face, replaced by the usual stubborn zeal he was more accustomed to from her. “I can tell my own mom my idiot brother hurt himself, alright?”

Sam held up his hand again. He took a few steps away so their conversations wouldn’t overlap, but not so far away that he couldn’t keep half an ear out on Becca.

“Hey, Mama?” he asked. And then he broke down, a sob wracking its way out of his chest before he could get his hand over his mouth. It was stupid. Bucky had been awake and talking. It was a broken arm, not a life threatening injury. Still, he was pretty sure this was an adrenaline drop and he was not enjoying it. He hadn’t let himself fully realize the fear that had been coursing through him across those five minutes and now it was all hitting him at once.

“Bucky got himself hurt at the game,” he said between hiccupping sobs. “No, he’s alright. But they’re taking him to a hospital for surgery. It’s on his arm. Becca’s here. She wants me– I want to go, Mama. I need to go see him. But it might take all night.”

He wasn’t sure how he got all the information out to his mom. By the time she asked which hospital, he’d managed to get most of the crying under control. When Becca handed him her phone and he had to hang up with his mama so he could talk to Mrs. Barnes, his voice was almost normal. He gave the same information to her, assured her he’d talked to Bucky, however briefly, before they loaded him up, and said he’d take Becca with him to the hospital.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Becca asked when he gave her her phone back. Her voice was still watery, but she had not broken down like he had.

“Everything’s fine. I just…I just… didn’t want… I don’t know, Becca. I’m being stupid.”

“Mom says better out than in,” she comforted with a pat to his shoulder. “Can we go now? And can we get food on the way? Are you good to eat?”

“To eat? Girl, you should be asking if I’m good to drive,” Sam objected.

Becca shrugged. “I’m hungry and I think a milkshake would calm me down.”

Sam rolled his eyes, then wiped them on his sleeve. “Okay. French fries and milkshakes. But I’m not buying you a whole meal.”

“Deal,” Becca agreed before he could change her mind. She grabbed Sam’s hand as she came side-by-side with him. “Let’s go see what damage he did.”

__________________________

The entire Wilson-Barnes clan was in the waiting room. Darlene had been driving home with Sarah from a volleyball game and they’d redirected for the hospital right away. Paul had to bring in blankets and snacks from the house. Winnifred and George had beaten everyone there because they were more savvy drivers than Sam was apparently.

Sam had excused himself after half an hour of anxious waiting. The Barneses had gotten an update when they arrived about Bucky’s surgery, but there’d been no follow up news. Sam didn’t necessarily like getting lost in hospitals, but he did like the thrill of being somewhere strange and no one looking at him twice. People were in lots of places in a hospital.

He was pretty sure this wasn’t any kind of waiting area, except that there were four chairs lined up against a blank wall and a vending machine down the way. He was sitting there because there wasn’t a lot of hustle and bustle and if he caught anyone else giving him big eyes, he was going to start crying again. Bucky was fine. No one needed to use kid gloves. Bucky wasn’t even his.

Someone sat beside him and Sam started to shift over a chair until he realized it was Adam again. “Shouldn’t you be…I don’t know, saving lives or something?” Sam asked.

“We’re restocking,” Adam said. “Well, Jules is restocking. I was offloading some lost-and-found stuff. You’d be amazed what falls out of people’s pockets in an ambulance.”

“Why are you here though?” Sam asked, cutting to the chase. He was too tired and his eyes were too gritty for this.

Adam looked at him. He had blue eyes, but they were nothing like Bucky’s. “I didn’t recognize you from the baseball team,” he admitted eventually. “I mean, I did eventually. But I saw your picture in the newspaper the other week. Homecoming.”

“Oh.” Sam huffed out a bitter laugh. That felt like a lifetime ago. “Were they super pissed off about it?”

“No. Actually, whoever wrote it said it was the best thing to happen in this school in this century.”

“Nothing ever happens at this school,” Sam pointed out. “So…”

Adam breathed something like a laugh. He knew he was supposed to laugh but didn’t want to. “That’s him, right? The guy you walked with? That’s why you were upset. He’s your…boyfriend.”

Sam’s stomach flipped over onto itself, then back around and upside down. “He’s one of my best friends,” he said, instead of getting into the Everything about it right now.

“I’m not… Listen, what you did, you two and those girls and even the other people with you, it took a lot of guts. I didn’t have any kind of courage like that when I was school. I still don’t. You know, I came back to work with this company, in this service area, but I don’t even live in Delacroix anymore? My, uh, my partner and I decided it was best if we settled down somewhere else. Not that I really wanted to come back anyway, but he didn’t want to stay in Baton Rouge either, so we had to find some place.”

Sam didn’t mean to, but his eyes snapped up to Adam beside him, fingers stilling from where he was trying to knot them together between his knees. “Oh, I didn’t know…” he started to say.

Adam waved a hand. “Hardly anyone does. And definitely no one in high school. I didn’t kiss a guy until I got to college. Never even said it out loud. Not to my mirror or into my pillow or anything. I know I don’t really know you. I still can’t remember your name. It’s low in the alphabet, right? But…I don’t know, man. I guess I’m weirdly proud of you. I just…didn’t want you to feel like you were the only ones out here. I know that sucks.

“Listen, your friend is gonna be alright. I’m not gonna tell you it was a clean break, but he’d calmed down by the time we got here and the wound wasn’t contaminated further. I know this place seems small and old, but they’ll take care of him.”

Adam stood and clapped a hand down on Sam’s shoulder. “You’re gonna be okay, kid. You both are.”

Sam waited for Adam to turn a corner, then he dropped his face into his hands and cried for the second time that night.

__________________________

It was after midnight by the time Bucky came out of surgery. The doctors pulled Winnifred and George away from everyone else to talk to them. The only further context they gave everyone else was that the surgery had reset the bone and they’d been able to close the wound. He was on cautionary antibiotics, but there was no current concern of an infection at this time.

With the emergency past them, the Wilsons offered to leave. They’d come back later, or see Bucky when the Barneses got him home. Sam stayed and no one argued with him.

Bucky woke up around three, then fell back asleep, and did that several more times before he finally roused himself fully at five. George had taken Becca home after the first couple of false alarms. She’d fallen asleep against a windowsill in Bucky’s room and woken up with a crick in her neck the size of Texas, deciding then that this was not worth it to watch Bucky sleep so much better.

Winnifred had dozed off in the same seat, though she had the wherewithal to put her cheek in her hand instead of on the window sill. So Sam was the one  Bucky saw when he finally stirred and tried to turn over.

“Hey, take it easy,” Sam said, pushing him back softly. “I don’t know if you’re supposed to move yet.”

“My ass is numb,” Bucky retorted. Perfect first words, Sam thought. “How bad is it?” he asked then. “The sound was bad.”

Sam’s stomach turned over. He didn’t want to think about the sound. “I don’t really know. They were only talking to your parents.” They were talking in whispers and the low light of the room made Sam feel like they were in middle school again, sneaking extra snacks and another movie to watch during a sleepover. “Do you need some water?”

Bucky nodded, shoved himself slightly more upright, and put his hand over Sam’s when Sam held the water cup out to him. Sam let him keep his hand hostage.

“Did you get my letter?” Bucky asked.

“If that’s a letter, it’s a good thing you didn’t have a beau waiting for you while you fought on the frontlines,” Sam snorted.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “But you saw it?”

“Yeah, I saw it.”

Bucky pinned him with a new pair of big, sad eyes. Different than all the rest Sam had been dealing with all night.

“Don’t you have bigger worries right now?” Sam asked.

“I’m pretty blissed out. I don’t know how I know my ass is numb because I can’t really feel anything else. So I’m all focused on you right now. And my tailbone.”

Sam reached over to push Bucky’s hair back from his forehead. “You need a shower.”

“You gonna give me a spongebath?” Bucky teased.

“I’ll dump a bucket of water over you,” Sam threatened.

Bucky grinned. When he blinked, it was slow. “This is enough of an answer, by the way. We’re totally gonna make up.”

“You’re so going under again,” Sam sighed. “We can talk more when you stay awake longer than three minutes at a time.”

Bucky nodded. His eyes closed once more, opened halfway, then fell shut. Sam took Bucky’s hand in his again and waited.

Chapter Text

Becca dropped herself down on the massive beanbag chair Bucky was laying across and practically catapulted him off of it in the process. “What’re we looking at?” she asked, resting her chin on her hands on the window sill, exactly how Bucky had been.

He pinned an annoyed stare on her for a few breaths before turning over again to look out the window. “Sam’s curtains are open.”

“Oooh, see anything interesting?” she asked, snarky and rude. “Any burlesque practices? Weight lifting sessions? Why are you creeping on Sam?”

Bucky elbowed her. “He hasn’t even walked by it. Ms. Darlene probably had the windows open earlier or something. But the curtains haven’t been open since the dance.”

“When you made out with him but also broke up with him but also were never even dating him?” Becca clarified.

He elbowed her again. He’d been home for almost twelve hours–eight of them, he’d been unconscious for–but it seemed there was no time limit on little sisters being annoying. Though, honestly, he’d take his annoying little sister over the dread and anxiety and hope curling in his stomach when he thought about Sam. Surely that kind of stuff took a break when he had pain medications and broken bones.

His mom had said Sam had come to see him in the hospital. That Sam had stayed with them all night. That Sam had told them Bucky had woken up long enough to talk a little, and he sounded good. That Sam was worried about him.

Bucky didn’t remember waking up and talking, but he did remember the way Sam had held onto his hand beside the ambulance, and he remembered Sam saying he was Bucky’s family. And people didn’t say that about people they hated.

Well, okay, they did. But not when they were choosing to be someone’s family. For the first time in two weeks, Bucky felt like the world might not be ending. Then his arm would rage in pain and he remembered some parts of the world were ending.

“Are you gonna tell me the truth or not?” Becca asked, drawing him back to the present. She turned over onto her back and yanked half of the curtain shut.

“Truth about what?” he asked, shoving the curtain back into the corner.

“You and Sam. I mean, why would anyone even say you two weren’t together if there wasn’t some kind of truth to it? Mom says I can’t ask, but I’m going to.”

“Who are you, Sherlock Holmes?” Bucky muttered.

“You and Sam seemed happy. Me and Sarah’ve been waiting for it for ages, y’know. It’s good you made a move before the end of the year. You know, he’s going to California and he’s gonna become, like, a lawyer or something.”

“He’s not going to California to become a lawyer or something,” Bucky sighed with a roll of his eyes. Actually, come to think of it, why had Sam chosen Stanford? Poli-Sci? English? The beach? Just to get away? Away from what? His family? Hardly.

But Sam had wings bigger than the whole state. He needed some place to spread them. If California is what he wanted, then that’s what he deserved.

“Oh, he just walked in,” Becca gasped.

And Bucky should’ve known better because he was the one facing the window and Becca wasn’t even looking. Still, he jolted back to attention like a hounddog upon the snap of a stick. Becca cackled next to him.

“You suck so much,” he groaned. He’d jarred his left elbow on the firm pack of the bean bag and it made stars dance behind his eyes. He wasn’t supposed to be moving around too much, and he definitely wasn’t supposed to be putting weight or pressure on his arm, but that was really hard to do when there was stuff to get done.

“Tell me what wasn’t true about you macking on Sam all the time. Huh, huh, huh.” She nudged her elbow into his ribs until he pushed her away.

That was the question, wasn’t it? And it was impossible for Bucky to answer because he wasn’t sure what was and wasn’t true. He’d been toeing the line since the beginning. He’d gone into the lie as a lie. A truth by way of lie. How was he supposed to untangle that? Every kiss had been true. All of the butterflies had been real.

And if the lie of it had actually been a truth, the truth that Sam thought he’d agreed to–that this was a lie–had been a lie in itself. He was a terrible friend, convincing Sam to go along with this without telling him.

“It was never not real for me,” he muttered. He might as well tell Becca. They’d used to do this all the time, before they got older and secrets got more important. They’d lay awake together on a stack of blankets on the floor in the living room, a movie rolling softly on the TV while they shared secrets back and forth. “I liked him the whole time. I wanted to be macking on him and taking him to the dance and letting him fuss over me after the games.”

Becca pretended to gag, but gestured for him to go on.

“It was… It wasn’t supposed to get serious.” He wasn’t explaining the whole entire scheme to her. She’d try to pull it off herself. Hell, she would pull it off herself. “It was just supposed to get him a little more attention while he was running. We were having fun with it.”

“You should go to drama school,” Becca said.

“What? Why?”

“Because the best actors know how to lie even to themselves.”

Bucky groaned and turned over on the bean bag, careful not to land on his arm. “What HBO show did you hear that in?”

“And you’re just really dramatic. You’re sooooo dramatic. You’re the most dramatic boy I’ve ever met. You’re more dramatic than all my girl friends combined,” Becca continued, voice pitching up and getting louder and louder.

“Okay, okay,” Bucky surrendered. “I get it. Stop.”

“So someone is just lying about you and Sam?” she asked, back to normal. “Why don’t you and Sam just say that? People like you two. They’d listen. Having a storming-off fight in the middle of the hallway didn’t help you.”

“I didn’t storm off,” Bucky pointed out. “So I guess I can’t be the most dramatic boy you know.”

“Sam’s less annoying than you, so he gets a pass. What are you going to do about it?”

“About Sam being less annoying than me?” Bucky asked in confusion.

“No, dummy. About apologizing.”

Bucky ground his teeth together and turned over again. Outside, the tree leaves fluttered and rustled in the breeze, as if this was a normal, beautiful day. As beautiful as 95 degrees in October got.

“You need a big, romantic gesture. Can you make lasagne?”

“Sam doesn’t like ricotta cheese,” he answered automatically.

“So make it with cottage and cream cheese instead.” The ‘duh’ went unsaid, which was nice. It had been a while since the ‘duh’ went unsaid between them.

“I’m not making a lasagne.”

“Well, you better figure out something. Else someone else is gonna make a move now that everyone knows he seems like a good kisser.”

“What?!” Bucky half screeched.

“Dude, you made out with him for, like, half an hour. Everyone’s talking about it. It’s gross.”

Bucky curled up into a ball on the bean bag and covered his face. “Then why does everyone think we were faking it?” he half wailed.

“I dunno,” Becca said, sounding disinterested. “There’s no explaining the teenage mind,” she said, like she was not also fifteen years old. She patted his shoulder. “I’m taking Mr. Sunglasses as payment for this therapy session. You can have him back if you do the dishes this weekend.”

Bucky was too far away to rescue the toy rhino that got stolen from room to room in this house. It was the kind of hideous that was endearing. It was cartoony in shape, with a pink parachute material body and yellow horns. It wore a yellow and green vacation shirt and felt sunglasses, hence his name. Some great aunt of theirs had convinced three different generations that he was good luck. The thing was, he really did seem to be good luck. How Bucky’s dad had ended up with it was beyond Bucky, but they had to hide it every time other Barneses came over because they always went snooping for it. Usually, he went to the Wilsons’ house in that case. 

He had been living in Bucky’s room since Riley’s driving test (he’d been in the backseat during it) and Bucky kind of wanted him to keep living there as he worked up the courage to talk to Sam again. But Becca did have the results of her basketball tryouts coming up this week, so he wouldn’t be such an asshole that he kept the gaudy thing away from her.

“Don’t use up all the luck,” he called after her. A standard goodbye upon losing the rhino.

Bucky laid back against the bean bag and stared up at the shadows that his fan cast as it spun lazily overhead. Music started up in Becca’s room. And suddenly Bucky knew what his gesture should be.

__________________________

Sam had gotten home a little later than he was expecting. He’d barely slept, managing a couple of hours when he’d first gotten home, but waking up before the sunrise. So he’d gone out to the boat and met up with his dad a few minutes later. They’d worked in understanding silence all morning, taking a break to have tuna sandwiches in the middle of the water.

The work was good and mind numbing, which is all Sam wanted. Still, every time he got half a second to himself, his thoughts were immediately on Bucky again. Becca had texted him early that morning when Bucky got home from the hospital, but they were well out into the water at that point, so he didn’t want to ask his dad to turn around just so he could go home.

By the time they did get back, he was so tired and literally worried sick that he fell straight into his bed. He had meant to knock on the Barneses’ door, but his body was working on auto-pilot. Before he realized what he was doing, he was pulling his blanket over his head and falling asleep.

Weekend naps were a rarity in the Wilson household. There was always something to be done. Dinner to start, homework to finish, an extra turn on the boat. But it was a good two hours before Sarah smacked a pillow over his head to wake him up.

Sam mumbled curses at her, blindly reaching for the extra pillow to stop the assault. “What do you want?” he groaned. “Get out of my room.”

“Bucky’s being weird outside,” she said, like this was Sam’s problem.

It was probably Sam’s problem.

“Bucky’s always weird. Close the curtains,” he mumbled. He yanked his comforter over his head again. He was not surprised when she yanked it back down. “Leave me alone, Sarah,” he snapped. Even in his own ears, his voice was whiny and annoying.

Sarah picked up on it too and nettled in. “He’s holding up a cd-player, Sam. He’s playing music out loud.” She crossed his room and, before he could holler at her to knock it off, she pulled open his window. “Hiya, Buck!” she called down. “Sam’s indecent right now. Wanna come up?”

“Sarah!” Sam shouted, springing from his bed and stalking over to the window–half to shove her away and half to prove he wasn’t indecent . He hadn’t even taken off his jeans when he’d gotten home. “Go away,” he ground out, pushing her back by the shoulder and then yanking one of her braids meanly.

She fully socked him in the arm for it, scowling, but she did leave after one more wave at Bucky down below.

Sam and Bucky’s rooms were on the second stories of their houses, directly across from each other. Sam could see a sliver into Bucky’s room, where the curtains parted a little at the bottom, but they were mostly closed. Bucky was down on the lawn below, indeed holding up a crappy portable cd-player. The kind with radio capacity that never worked, even though the antennae was, like, ten feet tall.

“What are you doing?” Sam asked. He had to kneel down to see through the open part of the window. The frame only went up halfway. It seemed unbecoming for some reason, having to kneel. He could barely keep his arms crossed like this. The whole vibe was wrong. “If you start playing ‘In Your Eyes,’ I’m gonna move to a whole new state and never talk to you again.”

Bucky blinked at him, like he hadn’t thought he’d actually get this far. “I don’t even know what that is.”

Sam rolled his eyes, unable to help himself. Even the cast on Bucky’s arm couldn’t save him from that. “How does a guy who knows all the old crooners not know anything about the 80s?”

Bucky shrugged. “Are you gonna come down or are you gonna be difficult?”

Pointedly, Sam crossed his arms tighter. Bucky sighed on the lawn. He pushed the play button on the machine–they were all the same, it was always the big one in the middle–and a few seconds later, a familiar song began to play.

“Where did you get a George Strait CD?” Sam asked with a confused frown, which was trying not to become a surprised little grin.

“There are people other than me in that house, y’know,” Bucky pointed out. “You gonna come down and dance or do I have to suffer through this for nothing?” He turned up the volume like he was making a point.

Sam glanced at his open door, then sighed. “Hang on, hang on, I have to put my shoes back on.”

Pleased, Bucky paused the music.

A few seconds later, Sam was in their connecting yard. Most of the houses in the neighborhood had fences between them, but the Wilsons were more pleasant than everyone else and wanted to meet the neighbors who were moving in before they decided to divide a decent piece of property up.

“What are you doing?” he asked again as Bucky set the player down on the ground. The music kicked on again, looping back to the beginning of the song, and Bucky held out his hand.

I don’t wanna be the kind to hesitate. Be too shy, wait too late. I don’t care what they say other lovers do. I just wanna dance with you.

Sam let Bucky spin him around in an easy slow dance. Was it still a slow dance if it was a little jaunty? He could only use one arm, the other held against his side in the sling, but it was still nice. Nicer than not even looking at each, for sure. Bucky’s hand was shaking in his–maybe Sam’s was a little sweat slick too–and he kept kicking Sam’s foot, unsure on his feet. They hadn’t danced so awkwardly together since they were kids. Since the feeling of eyes on them was uncomfortable and challenging. Since the first time someone told them to dance with other kids at the party.

Sam had been so aware of the eyes on him all his life. Growing up in a small town was like that. Growing up the preacher’s kid made it worse. But, with Bucky, those fears had always taken a backseat to the fun they were having, the exasperation they were pulling out of each other, and their own company. It did feel impossible that no one had realized how good of friends they were until this year, because they didn’t hide it outside of school.

Right now, though, there was a different kind of creeping surveillance. One that Sam felt from within his own ribs. The kind that criticized how he touched Bucky’s waist or kissed him or danced with him. The kind that had been repeatedly reminding him that none of this was real and he was ruining the friendship he did have with the other young man.

“Buck, I–” he started to say when Bucky kicked his foot again and he stepped on Bucky’s toes in turn.

“I didn’t tell anyone, Sam,” Bucky cut in quickly. They stumbled to a stop, Bucky’s fingers tightening around Sam’s wrists to slow him down too. His casted and slinged arm went out to curl his fingers in Sam’s shirt. “I swear I didn’t. Of course I didn’t. I don’t know why you think I would have. I wouldn’t do that. I wouldn’t hurt you.”

Sam’s cheeks flared instantly, hot and painful, stinging his eyes until they tried to water. “I– I– I broke too many boundaries,” he said, throat tight. “I backed you into a corner and maybe you felt like you didn’t have another way out.”

He didn’t mean to say that. He’d told his dad and Riley. Who else needed to know? Why would he ever tell Bucky that? Bucky was going to figure it out, figure out that Sam loved him, and he’d lose him forever.

“What?” Bucky asked. Sam could practically see whatever he was gearing up to say die out on his face. Their reconciliation was dying too. “What do you mean? What boundaries do you think you crossed?”

“At the party,” Sam said. No point stopping now, apparently. His mouth was just moving without his permission. “I– I– We were kissing. So much. And I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t stop.”

“The party where I was kissing you back?” Bucky clarified. “Sam, I thought I pushed you too far. You’ve told me over and over that you didn’t want to do the kissing thing. And then I said that I loved you.”

“I kissed you first,” Sam insisted.

“No, I kissed you. I mean, you were practically trapped against the wall.”

“No, I wasn’t. I wanted to be there. Wait, what did you say?” he breathed. 

“I trapped you against the wall,” Bucky started to repeat, but Sam shook his head.

“No, before. What do you think you said at the party?”

Bucky’s blush intensified. If it wasn’t for the fact that Sam knew exactly how red he could get, and this wasn’t close, he’d be worried. “At the party. You ignored me. And…and it kind of pissed me off, but I was glad too. ‘Cause I thought it’d be normal. But then at school…”

“You didn’t tell me anything at the party, Bucky!” Sam interrupted.

“I said I was in love with you!” Bucky insisted. “In the middle of everything. But you didn’t say anything back, so I thought…”

“I didn’t hear you! Oh my God,” Sam groaned and brought his hands up to his face. “If I wasn’t upset at you and you weren’t upset at me, what are we doing here?”

Bucky let out a hysterical sounding chuckle. “But…someone told everyone at school. Who would’ve done that?”

“I don’t know! Who did you tell?”

“I didn’t tell anyone! Even Becca doesn’t know. I mean, Steve knows but–”

“But Steve would probably choose me over you half the time, so he isn’t likely to ruin both of our lives,” Sam finished. “I told Riley,” he admitted as well. A best friend for a best friend.

“But Riley wouldn’t hurt you either. Me, yeah. But not you.”

“Not you either,” Sam insisted, rolling his eyes. He sighed and let go of Bucky so he could sit on a small bench in the yard. “I don’t get it. No one else knew. We didn’t talk about it.”

Bucky sat beside him with a huff, staring across the street. “And we’ve gotten caught by, like, everyone who could catch us, making out or talk or sitting on each other’s laps.”

Sam snorted and glanced at Bucky from the corner of his eye. Slowly, the frustration and pain eased away as a new thought took over. “Hey. Does this mean you really like me?” he asked, jostling his shoulder against Bucky’s.

Bucky’s face flushed. “Yeah, after all of this, we can have a real conversation and a bunch of confessions.” He paused for a second before looking at Sam too. “You like me?”

Sam laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah. I do. I don’t know when it happened. I just looked at you one day and it all made sense. Scared the shit out of me.”

“Imagine how I felt? I’ve been gone on you for a long time.”

Sam groaned and put his face in his hands. “Ugh, Dad is gonna be so awful when he hears that.”

“Your dad knew?” Bucky asked in surprise. “He told you?”

“No, not really. But he said it would be weird for you to suggest faking a relationship if you hadn’t thought about it before.”

Bucky hummed in acknowledgement. Despite everything, he sounded kind of pleased. “And we were worried about our sisters.”

“Well, they’re nosy,” Sam pointed out.

“Don’t know what personal boundaries are,” Bucky agreed. “Becca told me to come talk to you.”

“Yeah, Sarah told me you were out here. I was asleep.”

“Oh. Sorry. To be fair, if you’d been answering my texts, I wouldn’t have had to go old school.”

“Old school,” Sam snorted. He leaned against Bucky’s side and let out a breath. “Who found out? I don’t get it.”

“Does it even matter? The election’s done. The damage is already there. I’m sorry, Sam. This is all my fault.”

“Hey, if there’s any blame to go around, we should share it,” Sam said softly. “It was a pretty stupid plan to begin with. When my dad said it back to me, it did seem pretty dumb.”

“It was my plan,” Bucky insisted. “None of this would’ve happened to you if I hadn’t suggested it.”

“Or if I hadn’t had said yes,” Sam pointed out. “And a lot of other, better things wouldn’t’ve happened either. You and Riley are, like, cordial now. Plus all the kisses.”

“I haven’t kissed Riley,” Bucky joked on instinct. His heart wasn’t really in it. But his face colored a little more as he leaned into Sam’s shoulder again. “You liked the kisses, huh?”

“I really liked the kisses,” Sam admitted

“Do you think I could…kiss you again? For real this time?”

“Like the first time all over?” Sam asked.

“Yeah. For the first time again.”

They grinned at each other for a few seconds. Sam’s heart felt like it was about to beat right out of his mouth. He was giddy with the anticipation of something he’d already had. To be fair, though, he’d been giddy every time they’d kissed.

“Yeah, I think you can kiss me. You can kiss me a lot, actually.”

Bucky put his hand against Sam’s cheek gently, leaned in slowly. Sam couldn’t wait that long. He met Bucky halfway there and kissed him for the first time, for real. It was even better than the other kisses. Because now he got to lean into Bucky and grab the hem of his shirt to keep him close. It didn’t matter if Bucky could tell how much he wanted this. Bucky knew Sam liked him. It wasn’t a secret anymore. He didn’t have to hide it.

And Bucky wasn’t hiding anything either. He was holding Sam’s face like something holy. Any plastic-y, fake edge Sam had found in the kisses before was entirely gone. He was soft beneath Sam’s mouth, open and needy, always pressing closer until he had to sag back so they could breathe.

At first, Sam couldn’t bear to look at Bucky’s face, but when he did manage to, Bucky had just looked at him too. They stared for just a second before dissolving into quiet laughter.

“Alright, alright,” Bucky said, holding up his free hand in surrender. “I really liked the kisses too.”

“What’re we gonna do at school on Monday?” Sam groaned as he dropped his forehead to Bucky’s shoulder. “No one is ever gonna believe us about anything again.”

“I don’t really care what anyone else thinks,” Bucky said with a shrug. It didn’t dislodge Sam. “I just care about the two of us being on the same page. I missed this feeling.”

Sam had too. It felt like slipping back into a warm spot on the couch. Fit just for him. “Do you wanna have dinner with us? I mean, I’m still grounded until I’m thirty, but my parents won’t say no to you.”

Bucky laughed softly and nodded. “Yeah, sure. I just need to ask my mom when I should take my meds.”

“Are you feeling alright?”

“Don’t ask me things I’ll have to answer at dinner too.”

Sam laughed and held up his hand. “Alright, alright. How about one for the road, huh?”

“One what?” Bucky asked with a cute confused little look.

Sam grinned and leaned over to kiss him for real again. Maybe the world wasn’t ending after all.

__________________________

“You’re messy,” Riley decided, tossing a tennis ball up in the air instead of paying attention to Sam. He had his legs kicked up on the desk beside him and he seemed to be testing how far back he could lean and still catch the ball.

It was Monday again. Those things kept coming around. There’d been a debate tournament the weekend before, but Sam hadn’t gone, on account of Bucky being in the hospital, so Riley hadn’t either, on account of them being partners. Which meant neither president was there to tell the underclassmen to actually put up the tubs and laptops properly. So Sam was technically doing that before the bell rang and Riley was supposed to be helping, but he’d brought breakfast so he wasn’t. Really, though, they were debriefing about everything that had happened since class on Friday. Sam had texted Riley about Bucky getting hurt, and that he’d survived, but not much else.

Nothing about the fact that apparently he and Bucky were vying for dumbest people in a relationship of the century. That was all happening that morning. Mondays were for crappy things like that.

“But it doesn’t make sense, does it? Neither of us was the one who told anyone. Who would’ve told?”

“I didn’t,” Riley said. More in a confirmation kind of way than a real defense. Like it was so outlandish that anyone would think he’d tell.

“Yeah, I know. So who did? Who else knew?”

“Honestly? Who wouldn’t know?” a third voice said. Sam almost dropped a box full of pocket dictionaries. Riley’s tennis ball bounced off an adjacent desk and rolled away. Sitting in the back corner of the room again was the same freshman who’d been coming in to the debate room most mornings that year.

“How long have you been sitting there?” Riley asked.

“ That’s why anyone could know,” she said, pointing the corner of her book at him, holding her place with a finger between the pages. “You two are always in here, hollering at each other like no one else walks through the building. You never close the door, but even if you did everyone would still hear.”

Sam opened his mouth to argue, but closed it again. Maybe that was true. “We don’t holler,” he said.

“We have boisterous voices,” Riley added. He’d used that line on Darlene once and been chased out of the kitchen for it.

“And, not to speculate without proof,” the girl continued, “but Melody’s locker is literally right outside.”

Sam and Riley both turned to look out the door. The lockers weren’t labeled, so it’s not like they’d be able to tell, but still.

“But,” she added, “I don’t know why anyone would believe it. Even if it was true, it wasn’t real.”

“Do you argue like this in rounds?” Sam asked.

“Ugh, you do LD, don’t you?” Riley guessed. “ Philosophy .”

“For what it’s worth, I made my brother vote for you. He was gonna draw a dick on the ballot otherwise.”

“Thanks,” Sam said. It was a little dry, but he was honestly touched at her loyalty to either him or the democratic process.

“Do you think our teachers are any better at this kind of thing?” she asked after a few seconds of quiet. “Because I heard Melody brought in a bunch of giftcards last week. She said it was just teacher appreciation but…”

“Campaign finance law violation,” Riley huffed. It was definitely a joke, but neither he nor the freshmen looked entertained. Actually, they both had a similar scowl on their faces. 

“You better get used to it,” Sam said, kicking the leg of the chair Riley was lounging in. “You’re gonna need to learn the ins-and-outs of bribery if you’re gonna get your cougar senator.”

“I don’t need bribes for that.”

“Nah, but maybe you can manage all of hers.”

Riley made like he was going to throw the tennis ball at Sam, but it had not magically reappeared in his hand, so he just mimed it. Sam mimed getting hit in the shoulder.

“You two are so weird,” the freshman sighed, and opened her book again.

__________________________

“You think it was Melody?” Bucky asked under his breath as he hurried to keep up with Sam between classes. His stomach was in knots because the announcement about the runoff was supposed to have happened after the lunch periods, but it had been pushed back to the end of the day. He wasn’t even the one running and he felt like he was going to pass out.

“If not her, one of her friends, maybe,” Sam said with a shrug. “Who else would care? Who else would be around?”

“There’s a lot of lockers in that hall,” Bucky pointed out. “What are you gonna do?”

“Nothing,” Sam said with another shrug. “What is there to do? We’re gonna have to work together anyway and all the teachers should have already sent in their ballots. She can’t undo it, even if she wanted to.”

“I hate people who cheat,” Bucky grumbled.

There were quite a few things he’d like to do, but they felt wrong beside Sam, who was walking with purpose and keeping his head up. Always the regal one in the crowd. Always a class above the rest. It made Bucky want to walk straighter too, banish a few thoughts of retribution. (Though not all of them) He was not expecting to come around the corner and find Melody leaning against the doorframe of one of the English classes.

For a second, he could see her surprise and some guilt on her face when she looked at Sam. And then some confusion when she found Bucky beside him. If it had been up to him, he would have ignored her, or thrown some insult that would’ve gotten him reamed by his mama for three years. But it was up to Sam and he just put a hand on her elbow as he skirted around her, apologized with that smile that always made Bucky’s chest light up like a sun. 

“Hey, I feel like we haven’t seen each other all year,” he said, taking one half step forward to let someone behind him, then one step back to let someone between them.

“Uh, yeah!” Melody agreed, plastering on a smile too. There’d been a time Bucky had thought she was pretty and sweet. They’d had a middle school science block together and he sat behind her and counted the plaits in her braid for the whole time usually.

Then they’d gotten older and she’d gotten…more dogged. Maybe it was because Bucky didn't plan for the next two days ahead of him, but doggedness felt like mean selfishness to him. And he really hated mean people.

“But I guess we’ll be seeing plenty of each other with Student Government work!” she added. “I was so surprised you ran. I mean, not that you aren’t super smart and kind. But you always do things just, like, in the background.”

Bucky’s teeth came together almost audibly. But Sam remained cool somehow. There was just a little widening of his eyes. “I wanted to do more,” he said easily. “Get ready for real life too.”

“In our last year!” she chirped, voice tight.

Bucky had to switch sides so he could drop his arm around Sam’s shoulder, lean together so they were pressed side to side. “Hey, thanks for telling us something about ourselves,” he said. “If you hadn’t felt like you needed to cheat to win, we probably wouldn’t have finally been honest with each other.”

Sam elbowed him, but when he argued, what he said was, “That had more to do with you breaking your arm.”

Melody’s pretty smile fell into a frown. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m the one who wanted a fair election. The truth always outs itself. No help needed.”

“Sometimes it’s needed,” Sam hedged. “Or given freely without need. And sometimes it’s couched in a prettier lie. And sometimes the lie becomes a truth. It’s complicated. Especially when the truth is in people.”

“Sure,” Melody agreed. “People are complicated. I still don’t know what you’re–”

“And, like the truth, sometimes they’re ugly too,” Bucky added. Sam elbowed him again.

“We’ll have to remember that when we get around to decision making together. Good luck with the vote.”

Melody managed to keep from scowling. “You too, Sam. Hey, regardless, I’m glad it’s you and not Aaron. I don’t know why he keeps running.”

“Have you ever asked?” Sam asked.

When it seemed like Melody wasn’t going to answer, Bucky pulled Sam away. Then Sam turned those sparkling eyes on him. Bucky really liked that, even if it terrified him sometimes. “What was that?” he asked. “Why did you say that?”

“What? It was true. She should know you know. She tried to ruin your life.”

“It was a rumor about who I was dating. Not a fake SAT test.”

“That’s what you think about first when I say ruin your life?” Bucky asked dubiously. “You were hot, being all intelligent and noble. It inspired me. You should be happy.”

“It did not inspire you,” Sam scoffed. “You just wanted your two cents in.”

“Someone hurt you, Sam.” Bucky insisted solemnly. He was as serious as he’d been about anything. “You should be defended.”

Sam covered his face with one hand. The other had slipped into Bucky’s, freeing Bucky’s fingers from his wrist. Bucky realized they hadn’t held hands a lot during the charade. Every now and then, sure, but not consistently. Not absently, the way they had evidently both been stealing kisses. The way Sam was holding him now. Bucky liked this a lot too. He squeezed Sam’s hand and followed him over to his locker.

“Do you wanna skip math and wait in the library for the announcement?” he offered as Sam put the books from his last three classes back into his locker and put his history textbook back in his bag.

“Defend my honor and then convince me to skip class. I don’t know if you’re a regular regency hero or an 80s movie bad influence,” Sam teased.

Bucky was busy erasing a Kilroy doodle someone had scribbled on the small dry erase board that sat on the inside of Sam’s door. He hadn’t put it there–it’d been there when Sam was assigned the locker at the beginning of the year–but everyone used it like it was theirs anyway. “Are those my only two options?” he asked absently. “I think I’d be a better old Hollywood type. Like a Jimmy Stewart character or something.”

Sam shut his locker before Bucky could draw something in place of the face. “I wouldn’t mind skipping math,” he admitted. 

Bucky preened. Sam was eventually going to go back to normal and stop skipping class, so Bucky was absolutely taking this moment of rebellion for all it would give him. “Good, we can go get ice cream to celebrate after.”

He took Sam’s hand again and pulled him down the hall.

__________________________

Sam’s stomach had been turning over on itself all day. But when he and Bucky came into the library–and the librarian wasn’t at the front desk to tsk at them–some of the anxiety faded. Because, at his usual table, Riley was already there, scribbling in his art class book.

“Oh come on,” Bucky grumbled. But Sam beamed and sat across from his best friend.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” he asked.

Riley grinned at him too, closing his sketchbook and focusing on Sam. “I kind of figured you’d come here. And I was right. Barnes,” he added with a nod to Bucky.

Bucky sat beside Sam and moved his chair closer than was necessary. So much for them being friends, Sam thought.

“How’re you feeling?” Riley asked, looking at Sam again.

“How’s there to feel?” Sam asked. “It’s all done. I just wish they’d announce it. What are they waiting on?”

“Maybe they gave the teachers until the end of day?” Bucky suggested. “Maybe they’ll announce it tomorrow.”

Without meaning to, Sam groaned and dropped his head to the table. Both of his friends laughed at him. So they could agree on something.

“Did I miss something?” Steve asked from behind Sam.

Sam’s head snapped up and more of the anxiety was replaced by the warm, loved feeling he’d somehow lost in the last week or two. “Just Bucky making worst case scenarios.”

“Oh. Yeah, he does that,” Steve agreed. He took the seat beside Riley and reached for his sketchbook without asking. Riley didn’t argue, but Steve didn’t really look at the pages anyway. “We should all go get food after this.”

“That’s what I said!” Bucky agreed. “Let’s go to the beach.”

“Do you have any fishing poles in the truck?” Riley asked.

“Uh…maybe some crappy ones?” Sam offered. “We took the good ones to my grams’s house and I haven’t taken them out since.”

“Who cares? Let’s just get in the water and leave land behind,” Bucky said. Always the water baby.

“I’m telling Mama you’re skipping,” another familiar voice said. Chair legs scraped over the floor and Sarah and Becca both sat at the open end of the table.

“So are you,” Sam pointed out drily. But he couldn’t stop himself from leaning over and hugging her from the side. She allowed it for a few seconds before poking his ribs until he let go.

“No I’m not. I have independent study. I’m independently studying.”

“Not me. I’m skipping,” Becca assured, pleased about this. “Sarah and I were using the same bathroom and we thought we’d go look for you. But you weren’t in class.”

“Neither was Bucky,” Sarah added. “So we figured you were either in a closet together or here.”

“How do you even know I come here?” Sam asked.

“Don’t worry about it. And don’t forget it, ‘cause I can always tell Mama and Daddy.”

Sam only believed her about twenty percent. He checked his watch. Ten minutes into class. Still no announcement.

“Do you two wanna go to the beach?” Riley asked. Sam was pretty sure he’d never spoken to Becca before, but she was sitting at the table now.

“We’ve got practice,” Becca said with a shrug. “Don’t you?” she asked Bucky, then grimaced. “Well, I guess not.”

“Are you gonna go to the game on Friday?” Sam interjected before they could get into it together. “Like Hunter did last season when he messed up his knee?”

“Yeah,” Bucky said, glaring half heartedly at his sister. “But I’m not going to practices. I can’t even go to the weight room workouts.”

The intercom cackled at that moment. Everyone at the table stiffened. Bucky’s hand went to Sam’s between their thighs. Sam squeezed his hand tightly. He felt nausea rip through him, but there wasn’t a bathroom close enough to dart to. And he was not getting sick in front of his friends. Riley and Sam both reached over to hold his forearm. Sarah and Becca were both squirming in their seats, grinning at each other.

“Good afternoon, Delacroix Islanders!” the staff sponsor–Sam had learned her name was Ms. Rayland and she was only in her third year at the school–greeted the school. “We’ve tallied off our runoff votes. Everyone thank your favorite teachers for participating in our democratic process. With 72% of the vote, your new class president is…” She drummed on the desk again. It was about as audible this time as the last. “Sam Wilson!”

Sam could’ve fallen out of the chair, except all his friends were tugging on his arms and pulling him into hugs like he’d won the World Series and not just managed to get thirty teachers to vote for him.

“All new class officers will receive an email on their student account about the first meeting of the year. Thank you all again for running and voting. Don’t forget, there are voter registration cards for real world elections in the library and in Mrs. Jasper’s room.”

Sam knew all of that. He let himself get lost in the jumping and the, quiet, hooting. He wrapped his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and Riley’s shoulders, leaning forward against Steve. Sarah and Becca were behind Steve, hugging their arms around the guys too.

The jumping around eventually dissolved. Someone tripped on a chair. Sarah and Becca got knocked away. When Riley sat down, it was just Sam and Bucky standing there. Bucky was grinning at him, broad and lovely. Sam had to imagine he looked similar.

“I absolutely cannot believe your plan worked,” Sam laughed.

“Yeah, without any problems,” Bucky agreed sarcastically. But it absolutely didn’t take away from the proud glee on his face.

“We got there in the end,” Sam excused.

“Nah, you did it,” Bucky said softly. He leaned his forehead against Sam’s and hugged him tightly. “I knew you’d win. You deserve it.”

Sam didn’t know about that. He wouldn’t have even thought to run without Bucky’s nonsense plan and his encouragement. And the kisses. The kisses were definitely necessary.

So Sam leaned in to steal a little more encouragement.