Chapter Text
Bucky is vaguely aware of people passing him as he stands next to his mailbox. Little old Mrs Flannagan from apartment 103 totters past on her way to her five o'clock bingo session, chirping hello as she goes. Bucky can barely look up from the letter to smile back at her.
To James Barnes, from Steven Rogers.
A particularly loud car horn has Bucky jerking out of his terror-ridden stupor, and he manages to shakily tuck the letter into his jacket pocket along with the envelope from the bank and a flyer from a local animal's rights group. His clothes are stained with various paints and crayons from work - Tuesdays are first-grader days, and he always comes home with his clothes inevitably ruined - and he tries to not wipe his suddenly sweaty palm on his jeans in fear of getting his hands dirty.
The stairs creak under his shoes as Bucky hurries up the three flights to his apartment, his hands shaking as he fumbles with his keys and somehow manages to open the door without putting his metal fist through it. The envelope is burning a hole through his jacket, so he throws the stack onto the coffee table as he passes. The room is a little bit blurry around the corners, and Bucky suddenly has to sit down very abruptly, his head spinning and his breath coming short. The arm is whirring and creaking like it's a living being, and Bucky holds it tight to his side to keep it from doing any damage. That goddamned letter is just sitting in front of him, the familiar chicken scratch burning a hole through Bucky's brain.
Deciding that he'd better get it over with instead of sitting and stewing, Bucky reaches for the letter with shaky hands and slides his metal thumb through the envelope's slip, the paper ripping softly.
Bucky was expecting a letter. A postcard. Maybe even a certificate of some kind. He certainly wasn't expecting his fingers to graze thick, expensive paper, gold cursive curling across the card.
You are cordially invited to the wedding of Steven Grant Rogers and Margaret Elizabeth Carter at the Wythe Hotel in Williamsburg, Brooklyn on the 31st May 2020.
It takes a second for the realisation to sink in.
Then Bucky bursts into tears.
------
Bucky's always been a crier. He cried when he left the army, he cried when Becca had her daughter, he cried when Tony had attached his arm, he cried that one time Riley complimented his hair. True, he was pretty wasted for that last one, but the truth still stood.
So, when Bucky learns that his ex-boyfriend, ex-best friend, ex-everything, has decided to contact him after ten years of nothing, and it's for his wedding? Yeah, he's going to cry.
He's still crying half an hour later, swaddled in a blanket like a newborn and miserably eating Ben and Jerry's as Sam reads over the invitation.
"And this is Steve."
"Yes," Bucky says miserably.
"The Steve you've been in love with since you were thirteen."
"Yes."
"Who left you when you were 24."
Instead of answering, Bucky just shoves another spoonful of ice cream into his mouth. Sam sighs, tossing the envelope back onto the coffee table as he sits. "You're going to go, right?"
Bucky swallowed his mouthful of ice cream mournfully. "I don't know."
"He was your best friend," Sam reminds him gently.
"Sam, he's marrying Peggy Carter."
"I don't know who that is."
"She worked with Steve for a little while we were still dating. He always looked at her like she was the goddamned sun." Bucky wipes at his eyes again. "And I was always scared that he'd leave me for her. And now I find out he's marrying her? I don't know if I can watch that."
"You think he was seeing you both at the same time."
Bucky shrugs, avoiding Sam's eyes. That's a yes. Sam sighs again. "Are you saying that because of your own insecurities, or because you actually think Steve would cheat on you?"
"You're not my therapist," Bucky snaps, setting down the ice cream. "I didn't think Steve would leave me, either. I didn't know him as well as I thought I did." Sam's quiet, but he wraps an arm around Bucky's shoulders and pulls him into a hug. Bucky, because he's secretly a house cat, snuggles up and buries his face in Sam's chest.
"I don't want to influence your decision," Sam finally says. "If you don't wanna go, you don't have to. But you've told me how close you two used to be, even when you weren't together. He obviously wants you there. And who knows; you might get closure."
"I have closure," Bucky mumbles.
"When was the last time you dated someone for more than three months, huh?" Sam asks without heat. "Come on, Barnes, I know you. You've always wanted a steady relationship, a family, a husband. Ever since I met you, you've never tried to get that."
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut, the lump in his throat growing. "I'm over him."
"I'm not saying you're not. But it might do you some good to get closure."
After a couple of minutes, Bucky shuffles up into a sitting position. He probably looks like a complete mess - his hair's sticking up like a bird made its nest in it, his face is probably looking like he's been stung by a swarm of bees, and there are ice cream stains all over his shirt. In comparison, with his jeans and button-up, Sam looks very put-together, minus the large wet patch on his chest.
"If I do go," Bucky croaks out. "And I'm not saying I will. But if I do, will you come with me?"
Sam's eyes widen. "You'd want that?"
"You don't have to come," Bucky says quickly. "But it would be nice to have a familiar face."
"No, I'll definitely come. I just... I didn't know if you'd want me to meet Steve. He's important to you."
Bucky bumps Sam's shoulder. "You're my best friend, idiot. I love you, and if anyone isn't good enough to meet someone, it's Steve and his bullshit."
Sam barks out a laugh. "Alright, fine. But you're gonna be the one to tell Riley you're kidnapping me and taking me to Brooklyn."
------
The weeks leading up to the wedding have Bucky almost as on edge as he was when he came back from Afghanistan. He and Sam had decided, after much consideration and some help from Riley who, unlike them, was not a complete disaster, that they would be going up to Brooklyn two weeks early as a little holiday (Sam's words). When Bucky had RSVP'd, he'd received an email from an Angela Martinelli, who'd introduced herself as the wedding planner, and had told Bucky that all accommodation for guests travelling to Brooklyn had been paid for by the Carters. Apparently, hosting over a hundred people in a five-star hotel was no problem for the Carters. The thought made Bucky feel slightly sick.
"I just don't get it," Bucky rants, gesticulating so wildly the cocktail he's holding in his right hand sloshes over. He may be slightly drunk. "He's marrying Peggy Carter. Peggy Carter! She's the complete opposite of him! There is no way their marriage will work out!"
"Yeah! She's not good enough for him!" Tony yells, slurring his words. He's a lot more drunk than Bucky.
"It's not that at all, Stark," Bucky presses. "She's amazing. She's real smart, her family's loaded, she's beautiful, but there is no way she can give Stevie what he needs."
"What do you mean?" Riley asks curiously. He's the only one who isn't drunk - Sam's half asleep on his shoulder.
"I mean, Stevie's real tactile, y'know?" Bucky slurs, taking a large slurp of his cocktail. It was a nice colour. "He needs affection, like, constantly. It's like living with a Golden Retriever. Carter doesn't have the time or the patience to deal with that! She needs someone low-maintenance, who doesn't show their affection through cuddles and kisses and fuckin' awesome sex and a huge dick."
"Big dick Rogers!" Tony shouts, making quite a few people turn and glare.
"But I don't know how the hell she could turn down a Steve hug," Bucky continues, his words jumbling together. "Stevie gives the best hugs. He's so big, y'know? He just kinda envelopes ya, an' he's so soft an' warm, and he kisses like a champ, and..." Bucky sniffs, and Riley gives him a sympathetic look.
"Maybe it's time to go home," he says. "I gotta get this idiot to bed, and Barnes, you have classes to plan. Stark, you want a lift?"
"I'm good, I'm good." Tony waves him off and signals the bartender again. "Give me your best whiskey, kind sir."
"That's our cue," Riley mutters, taking the breaks off his wheelchair. "Come on, Barnes, I need you to help carry my husband. Let's get you home."
Bucky wipes at his eyes, drains his glass, and follows Riley out of the bar.
The next day Bucky wakes up on Sam and Riley's couch with a pounding headache and a sympathetic Riley making eggs and bacon in the kitchen.
It's only a week after that Sam's pulling up to Bucky's apartment in his shitty little VW bug at one in the afternoon on Friday, a Tupperware of Riley's special hotpot and a thermos of coffee each in the centre console. Bucky throws his suitcase in the trunk and collapses into the passenger seat, instantly grabbing one of the thermoses and bringing it to his lips.
"Your husband is a gem," Bucky groans at the taste of sweet coffee on his tongue. "You're so lucky you managed to snatch him up before I met him."
"My husband would never settle for you," Sam sniffs, flicking on the indicator and pulling out into the street.
"You say that, but what you don't know is that I have an ass to die for."
"Have you seen my ass, Barnes?"
Bucky chooses to ignore that, instead taking another blissful sip of his coffee.
The trip from DC to Brooklyn takes about four hours, which means that Sam and Bucky arrive at the Wythe Hotel at five in the evening. It's a nice space, with two bedrooms holding queen beds, a small kitchenette with an island in the middle, and a living area. The little green couch that's planted right in front of the TV is one of the ugliest things Bucky's ever seen, but Sam seems delighted by it.
"Can we go out tonight?" Sam asks, flopping onto Bucky's bed as he's unpacking. "I wanna see your old neighbourhood."
"I haven't been here in ten years, Sam," Bucky reminds him, carefully folding a pair of jeans. "Things have changed." Sam pouts and blinks his big brown eyes mournfully, and Bucky sighs. "Okay, fine. But we're taking the subway."
"No!"
"We are not wasting all our money on Ubers and taxis, Wilson! And that death-trap car of yours won't survive a day!"
"The subway is a shithole!"
"It's cheap!"
The argument continues throughout the next three hours, getting changed, grabbing their wallets and walking down to the station, and Sam spends the entire ride trying not to touch anything.
"Never took you for a germaphobe, Wilson," Bucky teases, relaxing back into the seat of the subway car like the native rat that he is.
"You New Yorkers are disgusting. Every one of you. You live in filth and call it paradise," Sam mutters mutinously. A man sitting opposite them glares. Bucky glares back.
"You live in DC, you have no leg to stand on."
"You live in DC too!"
The other passengers seem relieved when Sam and Bucky finally leave the carriage.
The bar looks almost exactly the same as it did ten years ago, Bucky marvels as he and Sam step through the door. The décor is still chic going on trashy, his shoes stick to the floor as he walks - hell, even the old guy with the moustache that literally never left is in his usual spot near the back. Bucky's surprised he's still alive.
"Out of all the bars in New York to go to, you chose this dump?" Sam asks, wrinkling his nose.
"I used to come here every week when I was younger," Bucky defends, ignoring Sam's protests and taking a seat at the bar. "This place was our favourite."
"You mean you and Steve?" Sam asks gently. Bucky signals for the bartender, ignoring the tight feeling in his throat.
"We always used to talk about how we'd have our wedding reception here," he finally responds.
"You were gonna come here for your wedding reception?" Sam asks incredulously.
"We weren't planning on inviting many people," Bucky says, barely hearing his voice. He remembers the first time Steve asked him to marry him when they were sixteen and reckless, and Bucky had laughed and replied, "Ask me again when we're done with school, and I might say yes." How Bucky had said the same thing at their graduation, but that time talking about college. Midway through their last year of college and Steve's showing him the ring he bought with the money he made working at the supermarket, almost vibrating out of his skin with excitement. How it was only a couple of months later that Bucky came home to a pacing Steve and half the stuff in the apartment in moving boxes.
He's brought back by the dull thump of their drinks on top of the bar, and shakily reaches for his cocktail. Sam must have ordered while he was lost in his head, but he ordered it just how Bucky likes it - fruity and bright pink and ridiculous.
"This is not a time for mourning," Sam says, a little too loudly. "Are you getting far too sentimental about a bar and your ex-boyfriend who's getting married in two weeks? Absolutely."
"Gee, Sam, thanks," Bucky mumbles, sipping at his drink.
"But!" Sam continues, speaking over him, "I, as your absolute bestest friend in the whole wide world, am determined to make these weeks some of the best of your life!"
"And how do you plan to do that?" Bucky asks, half sarcastically and half actually curious. And by curious, he means terrified, because Sam is a force to be reckoned with when he got some hair-brained scheme into his head.
"First, I am going to reinstall Grindr on your phone," Sam says, snatching Bucky's phone out of his pocket and ignoring his protests. "You haven't gotten laid in months and when you go for a long period of time without someone touching your dick or your ass you get cranky."
"I don't get cranky," Bucky mumbles crankily. Sam rolls his eyes.
"Second, we are going to order mozzarella sticks and you can get something gross and neon to drink and we'll get blackout drunk and maybe get kicked out for indecent exposure."
"That doesn't sound like something Riley would approve of," Bucky mutters.
"You are not telling Riley about any of this," Sam warns. "He'll give me that disappointed look when we get home and won't let me fuck him for a month and I'll sleep on the couch."
"You're not dissuading me," Bucky says candidly. Sam points a finger at him menacingly.
Bucky, surprisingly, ends up having a good time. The mozzarella sticks and fries are still the same as they were when he used to come here, greasy and drowning in diabetes and perfect, and Sam manages to rope him into a game of darts. They're both tipsy, and Sam almost pokes his own eye out with a dart. Bucky wins.
It's when Bucky's on his second cocktail and Sam's nursing a beer when Bucky hears a familiar voice behind him.
"Bucky Barnes, you son of a bitch!"
Bucky turns around in surprise and feels his face split into a grin when he catches sight of the person who spoke. "Gabe!"
Gabe Jones is leaning up against the bar, his eyes warm and playful and his collared shirt pushed up to his elbows. He grabs Bucky by the shoulders and ropes him into a hug, clapping him on the back hard enough that Bucky's wincing as he pulls back.
"Out of all the bars in New York City," Bucky teases. "You show your ugly mug here?"
"Hey now, don't give me that shit!" Gabe shoots back, crossing his arms dramatically. "I haven't seen you in what, ten years?"
"I live in DC now. Came up for the wedding."
Gabe raises his eyebrows. "Holy hell. I didn't think Rogers would have the guts to invite you. He's been skittish about it ever since they sent the invitations out."
Bucky frowns and is about to respond when Sam wraps an arm around his shoulders. "Barnes, you're leaving me out here. Who's this handsome fella?"
"Get off, asshole." Bucky pushes Sam off, but he's grinning. "Gabe, this is Sam. He came up with me as my plus-one."
"You're the one keeping this guy in line these days, huh?" Gabe asks cheekily as he grasps Sam's hand, and Sam sighs dramatically.
"It's gonna send me into an early grave, I'mma tell you that."
Gabe laughs and loops his arm over Bucky's shoulders. "Come sit with us. The whole gang's here - we even managed to get Dum Dum away from the missus for the night."
"He still seeing Mary?" Bucky asks, allowing Gabe to lead him away from the bar, Sam trailing just behind them with an amused look on his face.
"Yeah, man, they got hitched a few years ago up in the Poconos - small wedding, just their families. They got a daughter, too."
"Yeah? How's Dum Dum going with fatherhood?"
"I'm dreading the teen years, dude," Gabe replies, waving at someone Bucky couldn't see near the back of the bar. "He's already overprotective; that poor kid's gonna be in hell." Then he yells at the top of his lungs, "Hey fellas, guess what I found in the dumpster outside!"
The bar is so dark that Bucky doesn't even know which table Gabe's talking to until several people stand up from one of the booths and he's suddenly engulfed in several pairs of arms, with several voices excitedly screaming in his ears.
"Jesus Christ, get off me, you degenerates!" Bucky laughs, pushing Dum Dum away by the face an immediately retracting his hand. "Jesus, Dugan, you've still got that mop on your face?"
"We've given up on convincing him to shave it," Monty grumbles from where he's attached himself to Bucky's side.
"Fuck you, I look great," Dum Dum shouts in Bucky's ear, making him wince.
"Even Mary doesn't like it, man, just let it go," Morita sighs. "And quit your yellin' - I doubt Barnes here came all the way up here just to get hearing damage." A hand comes up to ruffle Bucky's hair, and he pushes it away indignantly.
"Okay, okay, let me go, assholes," he snaps, but the grin on his face probably didn't help his case. "Haven't seen you guys for years - ya gotta fill me in on things."
As the numerous arms that are gripping him retreat with grumbling, Bucky realises there's still someone sitting at the booth with their back to him. Then they stand up and turn around, and Bucky's lungs seize up.
Steve looks good. He's bigger than Bucky remembered, but Bucky doesn't know if that's because he'd forgotten or if Steve's been spending a lot of time at the gym. His hair is longer than Bucky's ever seen it, with strands falling into his eyes, and he has a beard - it's thick and shines gold in the dim light.
"Steve." Bucky would be embarrassed at how faint his voice is, but he's too busy drinking in the sight of his best friend after ten years. After Bucky came home from work in 2010 to find Steve pacing the living room, bags already sitting in a neat pile by the door.
Steve smiles hesitantly and ducks his head, hunching his shoulders in the same way he always used to whenever he was sheepish or nervous. He scuffs his feet and looks back up at Bucky through his eyelashes, looking almost afraid. "Hey, Buck."
"I, uh, didn't know you'd be here tonight."
Steve wilts slightly, but smiles again. "I didn't know you'd come up so soon. I wasn't expecting you for another week or so."
"Sam and I decided to come up early. As a holiday," Bucky says weakly, and almost sighs in relief as he feels Sam's hand on the small of his back, keeping him upright.
"It's good to meet you," Sam says cheerfully, holding out the hand that isn't stopping Bucky from keeling over backwards. "Bucky's told me a lot about you."
Steve's eyes travel between Bucky and Sam a couple of times, a crease in his brow, but he eventually takes Sam's hand and smiles, although it looks strained. His eyes almost immediately flick back to Bucky as soon as he lets go of Sam's hand.
There was a couple of seconds of awkward silence until Gabe speaks up. "So, you gonna tell us what you got up to since you left NYC, or are we gonna have'ta guess?"
Bucky tears his eyes away from Steve's and laughs, allowing Dernier to grab him by the shoulders and push him down into the booth. "I guess I can be persuaded."
"You'd better start off with what the hell's going on with your arm," Dum Dum says cheerfully, pushing a large stein in front of Bucky.
"Jesus Dugan, you can't just ask that!" Gabe looks slightly horrified, and Bucky chuckles.
"It's fine." He takes a sip of the beer. It's nice. "After I left, I joined the army. Did a couple of tours there and on my last one the RV I was riding in went over a landmine. I was stuck in the rubble for, what, a day?"
"Bout that," Sam says casually, stealing Bucky's beer and taking a swig.
"You were there too?" Dernier asks curiously.
"Nah, I got there later. I was pararescue, my partner and I were sent in to get Buck out."
"And something happened to your arm?" Monty asks.
"Lost it. This is a prosthetic." To demonstrate, Bucky takes off the glove on his left hand and wiggles the metal fingers.
Steve, who so far has been quiet, lets out a little pained sound. "Bucky..."
"It's alright, Steve," Bucky says in amusement. "It was years ago."
"And the arm is badass," Morita chimes in. "Where'd you get it?"
"Stark Industries. I'm part of an experimental prosthetics program - I get check-ups from Tony every few months or so."
"Tony Stark?" Monty asks incredulously.
Sam lets out a chuckle and leans back in his seat. "We're gonna need a lot more booze to have this conversation."
"I'll get us another round," Steve says, and Bucky can't help but watch the way his muscles tense and ripple as he slides out of the booth and makes his way back over to the bar.
"So did you two meet when Sammy here pulled you out of the fire, or earlier?" Dum Dum asks.
"We don't count our first meeting, since I was technically unconscious for the entire time," Bucky retorts. "Our proper first meeting, I was high on morphine and thought that Sam was a holy angel because he gave me a peanut butter cup."
"And as soon as you met Riley you abandoned me," Sam sniffs, and Bucky punches his shoulder.
"Have you ever made me dinner, Wilson?"
"I bought you peanut butter cups!"
"Who's Riley?" Gabe asks curiously.
"My partner in crime and life," Sam pretends to swoon onto Bucky's lap, and Bucky pushes him off with a roll of his eyes.
"Sam's husband. Who is so much better than Sam. Who I should have brought up here instead." He emphasises the statement with a poke to Sam's ribs, making the other man yelp.
"Wait," Dernier butts in, leaning forward towards them, "You two aren't dating?"
Bucky blinks, then looks over at an equally perplexed Sam, who bursts into giggles. "Definitely not."
Sam's still chuckling away like the thought of dating Bucky is the funniest thing he's ever heard, and just to shut him up Bucky says to Monty, "So Sammy here thinks himself the best drinker in DC," and Monty starts cackling like a Bond villain. Sam immediately stops laughing and looks affronted, like insulting his drinking abilities is equivalent to spitting at his mother's feet.
"Oh, you think you can beat me?" Sam challenges, leaning forward and glaring at Monty.
Bucky catches Morita's eye and winks, and Morita immediately jumps in and says, "Of course he does. Monty here is pure English - he'd be able to drink your DC ass under the table."
Steve slides back into the booth, a tray of assorted beer and liquor in his hands. "What'd I miss?"
"Oh Stevie, we should not have sent you away," Bucky chuckles as Sam and Monty split the shots between the two of them. "We're gonna need the emergency room on speed dial."
"I'm gonna get more shots," Dum Dum chirps, clapping Sam and Monty on the shoulders and bouncing off. Steve watches him go and looks over at Bucky resignedly.
"Drinking contest?"
Bucky smiles sympathetically and nudges Steve's foot under the table. "You'll help with the clean-up, right?"
"I don't even know why I bother," Steve grumbles, but he curls his foot around Buckys. Bucky tries to forget that it's the first time in ten years that he's touching Steve.
By midnight Sam's plastered himself to Bucky's side, completely shitfaced. Monty's got a smug look on his face, his flushed cheeks the only indication that he's just downed ten shots of bourbon. Bucky, having several years of experience of Drunk Sam, just lets his best friend snuggle up to him like an oversized buff teddy bear.
Steve keeps looking over at them strangely, his lips pursed and his eyebrows furrowed like he's confused about something, but every time Bucky catches him doing it he looks away quickly.
"I think Sammy's had a bit too much," Dum Dum sings, leaning into Bucky's other side. He's been downing beers all night, and Bucky's surprised he can still stand up without falling over.
"I totally won," Sam slurs, and Bucky sighs, petting his head.
"Of course, dear." Sam leans up to press a sloppy and very disgusting kiss to Bucky's cheek, then buries his face back in Bucky's neck. Bucky rolls his eyes and wipes his cheek off while trying not to jostle the half-asleep lump hanging off him like a limpet.
Dum Dum groans and stretches his arms over his head, almost knocking his stein off the table. "I should head off. Mary says I gotta be back before one."
"Aww, you got a curfew!" Morita simpers, and Gabe elbows him in the ribs.
"I'm the married one out of the two of us, Jimmy, you ain't got a leg to stand on." He claps Bucky and Sam on the back on his way past. "Good to see you again, Buck. Make sure Sammy there drinks some raw egg yolks tomorrow morning."
"I think I'll take you up on that," Bucky muses, looking down at a happily oblivious Sam.
Dum Dum winks and saunters out of the bar, only bumping into one doorframe on the way.
"I think we should head off too," Bucky sighs, looping one of Sam's arms around his shoulders. "Gotta get this big lug to bed."
"I'll walk you out," Steve volunteers, and Bucky feels a warm glow in his stomach and can't help but smile at Steve.
"Don't you be a stranger, Barnes!" Dernier slurs, smacking a kiss to Bucky's cheek. "I expect a follow request on Facebook by tomorrow morning."
"Sure thing, Frenchie," Bucky chuckles, pulling Sam out of the booth. "Steve, little help?"
Steve immediately loops one of Sam's arms around his shoulders and lifts him out of the booth with ease, and Bucky tries not to watch the way his biceps tense. Instead, Bucky focuses on making sure Sam doesn't face-plant on the ground, and leads them out of the bar. When they get onto the street Bucky involuntarily shivers and takes his phone out, calling an Uber. The app says that the driver would be there in five minutes.
"We got a few minutes until the car comes," Bucky mumbles, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Sam leans into his side and mumbles something indecipherable, but Bucky ignores him. Apart from Sam, who doesn't count because he's blackout drunk and probably won't remember this in the morning, this is the first time he's been alone with Steve all night. It makes him feel a little vulnerable.
"You guys are staying at the Wythe, right?" Steve asks as they stand on the curb, waiting for the car.
"Yeah. Your wedding planner's got everyone there. Said the Carters were paying."
Steve huffs a laugh, but he doesn't sound particularly happy. "Yeah. They insisted on paying for everything."
Bucky doesn't know how to respond to that, so he doesn't. It's a bit awkward, standing there with a now-unconscious Sam propped up between them as a makeshift wall, and Bucky's relieved when the Uber finally pulls up on the curb. Steve helps him bustle Sam into the back seat, and after a split-second decision, Bucky motions for the driver to wait and gets back out of the car to stand in front of Steve.
"It was nice seeing you tonight," Bucky murmurs. It's barely audible over the noise of the street, but Steve's face lights up like he'd just been told Christmas was coming early.
"It was nice to see you too, Buck."
"Can I have your phone?" At Steve's confused look, Bucky explains, "I got the other's numbers earlier, when you were in the bathroom. Let me give you mine."
Steve takes his phone out of his pocket so fast he almost drops it, and Bucky has to suppress a smile as he keys in his number. Steve starts rocking backwards and forwards on his heels nervously, and when Bucky raises an eyebrow at him he blushes and rubs the back of his neck.
"Since you're in the city early, I was wondering... you don't have'ta do it or anything, it's just a suggestion, but if you maybe wanna get coffee with me sometime? To catch up?" Steve stammers. Bucky blinks a couple of times, and he must take too long to respond because Steve's babbling about how there's no pressure and that it was a stupid idea anyway, and "I shouldn't have asked, I'm sorry Buck, I just-"
"Steve." Bucky rests his hand lightly on Steve's arm. Steve promptly shuts his mouth, his face bright red, and Bucky can't help but laugh quietly. "Yeah, I'll get coffee with you sometime."
Steve immediately brightens up, his cheeks still red but a goofy grin on his face. "Really?"
"Yes, you idiot. You were my best friend."
Steve smiles and ducks his head, then looks up nervously. "Buck, can I... Can I hug you?"
Bucky lets out a soft breath and nods, not trusting himself to answer. Steve hesitantly steps forward and envelops Bucky in his arms, pulling their bodies flush together and resting his head on Bucky's shoulder. Bucky's body completely betrays him and melts against Steve, his arms winding around Steve's shoulders and fingers curling into his hair. It's longer than Bucky's ever seen it, and he twirls some of the silky blonde strands between his fingers. Steve hums happily and snuffles at Bucky's neck, his lips brushing the soft skin in an almost-kiss that makes Bucky shiver.
"I should-" Bucky starts, and Steve immediately lets go, backing away a little with a flush on his cheeks.
"Right."
"Text me?"
Steve grins. "Definitely."
Bucky smiles back, and opens the door of the Uber, just managing to avoid hitting his head on the doorway and making a fool of himself. Steve gives a little dorky wave as the car starts moving, and Bucky can't help but wave back. Sam gives a little grunt and falls on Bucky's shoulder, snoring loud enough to wake the dead, and Bucky sends an apologetic glance to the driver.
They manage to go the whole drive without Sam puking, but the same can't be said for getting out, when Sam keels over and throws up into the gutter. Bucky winces and makes a mental note to never tell Riley about this, otherwise they'd both be grounded like little kids. When they get up to their room, it doesn't take long for Bucky to undress Sam and tuck him into bed, which gave him plenty of time to overanalyse the night throughout brushing his teeth and getting changed. The conclusion Bucky comes to as he's finally turning off the light is that he is definitely not over Steve Rogers.