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Sam has come to find out that, in a way, dating Bucky is very freeing for his conscience.
Where beforehand he would lean against the counter and watch Bucky with conflicting emotions telling him that staring so obviously at his roommate was very rude and weird while crushing on him- now he can admire all he wants.
When Bucky offers a shy or smug or content smile- well Sam can appreciate it without worrying if he's being 'too obvious'. He can reach over and kiss that smile, one spreading across his own face as he pulls back and watches Bucky squint at him, nearly confused, the hold he has on his phone going limp.
Sam laughs a little, backing up on the couch they've draped their limbs across indiscriminately. "Sorry, Bucky, you had this little thing called a smile on your face."
Bucky shakes his head ever so slightly, a faint movement as he rolls his eyes lightheartedly.
"Clearly, I'm not the only one," He says, putting his phone down to the side and leaning towards Sam. Based on the messy way their splayed about, Bucky has to fit himself between his own thigh as well as Sam's. A tangle of arms and legs and whatever else the human body carries, Sam isn't bothered to know. He's too busy watching Bucky reach an arm around him, nearly laying on top of him, and give him this squeeze of a hug he gives with a hum.
If there is another thing that Sam has come to learn since dating Bucky, it's that the man loves to touch. In no way is Sam upset when he says that he can't stand by the counter without the risk of Bucky closing in on him and wrapping his arms around him, Sam's back pressed against his chest before Sam turns around with smirk or a flustered expression- depending on the degree of it all.
Sam soaks it all in like a sponge in a lazy river, it's all so smooth the way Bucky holds him, bare arms sneaking around Sam's back and lifting him slightly of the couch because yeah, Bucky is handomsely strong and his arms make Sam drool (he isn't bad himself, but seeing the muscles on Bucky- Sam has a crush on that guy, not himself, so duh, it's different when Bucky is the strong one). Bucky's leg is pressed against his own chest, his other being trapped as Sam throws his own leg over it, pulling Bucky in with a hand on the back of his neck.
By God, if it's the physical touch that Bucky wants, then he shall receive. Sam has absolutely no problem indulging in however Bucky likes to show his affection.
Bucky kisses his jawline, leaning back a bit and Sam watches his frame move around, muscles flexing, and he lets his head hit the couch with a cheeky smile as he slaps a hand against Bucky's bicep. "See this? Ridiculous," Sam claims sarcastically, watching Bucky's eyes flicker to his arm for a moment before he huffs. Sam raises his hand, tucking a bit of Bucky's hair behind his ear in the way they do in a whole lot of romance movies. But normally it's some blonde women with the wind making her hair unruly. Here, though, Bucky's face just gets a little pink, no wind, and his brown beautiful hair and broad shoulders with his chest on display. "You're unfairly attractive- dude- do not look at me like that."
Bucky blinks like he doesn't look like the most perfect man in the world has gotten somebody just as perfect to share life with. He's glancing at Sam like perhaps Sam was all he ever really needed in life, maybe it was written in the books- in stone, in sand- that Bucky would make it this far to meet Sam. He loves the look, it makes him melt, his fingers sliding against Bucky's neck like lava down the slope, heat rising to the surface of his cheeks as his heart leaps, daring to rocket out of his chest all for Bucky.
It feels like a lot, it feels a little much, but it feels like it's just right when Bucky's palm flattens against the middle of his back and blushes with his forehead bumping Sam's shoulder.
"I'm not looking at you like anything," He defends, words mumbled into Sam's shirt, the slow tread of the day ahead leaving them to take their time here with tender movements and hazy, unguided, and lingering touches.
"Oh but you are."
Bucky hums, very low commitment and not convinced which makes Sam groan, meeting Bucky's still so gorgeous blue eyes as he continues.
"You're staring at me like I've- like I'm the winning lottery ticket a broke man's been needin."
Bucky pauses, brows furrowing as he tries to solve Sam's attempt at explaining it, at explaining what it means to him, and he doesn't blame how Bucky cocks his head to the side, confused for moment.
"And this is bad?"
Sam shuts his eyes for a moment as he sighs, then cuffs Bucky's face in both of his hands. "No, man. No."
"Good," Bucky says calmly, pulling himself back, a steady release of the knot they've tied their bodies into, easing back into his original spot on the couch before they dismissed any sense of formal behavior and just got as close as possible. "Cus maybe you are, man."
Sam coughs, a quick action, but it happens nonetheless as he takes in Bucky's response, face searing, burning terribly as he shoots up to sit on the couch properly. Obviously Sam wasn't prepared for Bucky to actually engage in this excuse of verbal flirtation- mostly it's in the body language with this man- but Sam takes it joyfully as he raises a brow, sending a quizzical look over at his boyfriend.
He's about to say something- what? He doesn't know. But then Bucky is nodding his head towards the wall behind Sam with a casual expression, his bashfulness exiting as he squints.
"Should we put something there?" He asks.
Sam whips his head around, finding exactly what Bucky is referring to because heck, even he's thought about the same question before. There was an empty wall left after they got fully settled, one that has yet to be filled unlike the others that display old family photos or are occupied by shelves and potted plants, anything really to make it more homey and personalized.
"How much do you read, Bucky?"
"Not enough for what you're suggesting."
"Yeah, I don't want a buncha books anyway," Sam resigns, facing away from the vacant area quietly waiting to be subjected to a bit of decorating. Not today, probably. He thinks back on it for a brief moment and comes to the conclusion that a bookshelf would be a bit too bulky for the space anyways.
Before they can throw out any other ideas, Sam's phone goes off from where it sits on tv stand. He makes a noise of exaggerated exhaustion, patting Bucky's shoulder twice before he parts, sliding off the couch and walking up the ringing sound of his alarm.
Unfortunately, the day ahead is starting, and Sam has to get ready for work. He turns the obnoxious loop of an alarm off and pockets his phone.
"Work?" Bucky asks, peeking up at him from behind the arm he's thrown over his face, hair a mess.
"Yeah," Sam says with a sigh, then starts trudging to his room. "Guess I can't sit around and stare at some shirtless prince charmin' all day, huh?"
Bucky opens his mouth with a comment, stumbling for a split second as Sam raises his brows teasingly. Bucky brings his arm down, revealing his full face, and tries to act disappointed all the while his face flushes just the tiniest bit. It always amuses Sam how easy it is to make Bucky fluster about just because of his words. He smiles, fond of the sight as Bucky crosses his arms across his bare chest.
"God, Sam, get outta here with that."
"With what?"
"It's corny, yknow," He declares, tipping a thumb towards Sam dismissively before leaning back in the couch and throwing his legs over the edge.
"Right, right," Sam starts, waving away Bucky. "I'll consider that when you stop blushing."
"I'm not-"
"Sorry, what was that?" He calls, holding a hand to his ear and watching Bucky craft a dramatic grumpy expression before Sam dips around the corner. "I think my ears struggle to hear lies."
And Sam likes to think morning's have never been this easy until Bucky came along.
"Are you done staring?"
Sam Wilson blinks because no, he wasn't staring at her. Well, her hair. Maybe that's a yes then. He shakes his head, attempting a chill movement as he reclines in his chair.
"Course not." He tries, then his eyes shift back over to Natasha crosses her arms. "But uh, something looks different- a new lipstick? Did ya get your nails done?"
Natasha smiles, skipping over the whole acting annoyed bit as she uncrosses her arms and places them on her hips. "It's not bad, is it?"
And the truth is no, it's just very, very different. Natasha has always had long and beautiful hair since they day they met. Just like she did last week. But Sam came into work today to be met with a short haired Natasha, hair bleached a platinum blonde that doesn't even manage to touch her shoulders- possible graze over.
"It's new," He says and Natasha frowns for a moment, disappointed, before Sam holds up a pointer finger. "But it's not bad. At all."
"I'm trying to figure out if I should believe you or not," She tells him, walking forward to take her spot in front of him, leaning a hand on the desk and sending a short glare at him, hoping it will somehow will an honest answer out of him.
He wouldn't lie, of course, about Natasha's hair. He attempts to prove such, holding up his hands in a way to ask for mercy as he shrugs. "Honest, it's a good different. The red was iconic-"
Natasha raises a brow.
"But," Sam adds in, placing his hands on his knees. "You're rockin the blonde. Honest."
Natasha rolls her eyes, sliding away with a nonchalant sigh. "It's not real, but fine, I'll trust you."
"It's not r-" He pauses, squinting intently at her new hairstyle as he searches for a sign. "It's a wig?"
She smiles simply. "Didn't know if I'd like it, truth be told. Thought I'd test it out before I make any big decisions," She explains and Sam nods, it's a fair reason. Then she shrugs, looking elsewhere. "Plus, I've got a ton of wigs that haven't been worn in a while. Thought'd it be fun."
Sam brings his head back in a short and quick movement, his glance averting from his friend to the side with a look of suspicion. But in the end, he guesses it's nothing really to look into, let the women wear her wigs, he declares, and holds up his hands in surrender at his own confusion as he twirls the chair back around. "To each their own."
"For now I think I'll stick to to natural- you're not the only one who seems hesitant, yknow. Myself included."
"Okay, wait- wait-" Sam begins, shaking his head for his own personal defense as he sends her a look. "I was not hesitant. It was just different. Whatever you wanna do is up to you, but I wasn't hesitant."
Natasha barely considers any of his rantings before she taps on his desk. "Fine, well, moving on from this," She says, bobbling her head so her hair sways around for a moment. "How are things going with you and that guy? Bucky?" She confirms the name with a nod from Sam before she carries on. "Yeah, how are you two?"
"We're good," He says, raising a shoulder that he tilts his head down towards in a poor attempt at a shrug, a smile threatening to pull at his lips as he clasps his hands together. "Uh, yeah, nah, it's real good. Bucky, he's fun. I think you'd like him."
Natasha hums, curiosity simmering behind her eyes as she squints, memory trialing back to her, and she tips a finger towards him in acknowledgement. "Oh, right, have you taken him on a real date yet?" She asks, an all kind and genuine question but Sam feels a sense of fatigue climb behind his eyes and make them dry as he sighs, pushing off the ground slightly, chair tilting. "Cus, yknow, you said that the other one didn't count."
"Because it didn't," He says and Natasha knocks her foot against the pole part of the chair, causing Sam to stumble a bit due to him leaning about in it. He centers himself before putting his elbows on his desk and scooting in. She backs up, watching closely as he shakes his head. "But no, I haven't yet. I've been trying to, though," He confesses, eyes darting over to the lined paper sitting at the edge of his desk filled with various ideas crossed out, the occasional 'too expensive' or 'no spots left' written about in blue ink.
"What, do you need some ideas?" She questions, pursing her lips as she thinks for moment, then bends her knees a little to reach his level as she starts to count them off on her hand. "Fancy rsvp-"
"Too broke or too full," Sam states with a slight laugh, watching as Natasha spares a small smile in return before pursuing her little brainstorm session.
"The movies?"
"There aren't really any good films that have come out that we haven't already seen," He says truthfully and Natasha's brows furrow, trying to possibly salvage a solution.
"Well, sometimes it's okay if the movie is bad, right?"
Sam scoffs, looking over at her with a hand held up to shield his mouth like he's telling a secret despite nobody else listening. "That man is surprisingly picky when it comes to film. I thought he would watch just about anything, but Bucky just bores himself with the majority of it."
Natasha huffs, this substitute of a laugh, and offers a smile with knotted brows. "He does like some movies, though, right?"
Sam nods, settling into his chair. "Of course, just mostly watching the same ones- oh except those educational children shows- don't tell anyone but I have caught him fuckin engrossed in them a few times."
Natasha has an entertained expression on her face as she laughs, standing back up straight and firmly nodding. "I won't tell anyone, I don't think anyone cares, anyway, Sam."
"He does," Sam says, sliding the paper of ideas to the middle of his desk and sliding it under his arm to keep it there before looking back at her. "He quoted a fact from one of them channels and when I told him where I think he saw it from he said 'oh, no, it was the internet'."
"Okay, first official date idea: learn things about the solar system together!" She cheers, playfully suggesting the thought as Sam puts on a mock offended face. "Sounds real cute, don't it?"
"I'll ask Bucky, for sure." Sam shakes his head in contradiction to his words as he glances down at the paper again, reviewing all the possibilities of a first date he's recorded.
Discovering and reviewing scientific facts found on a public education channel directed towards children isn't on there, but oh for sure, he'll definitely ask.
If it wasn't made apparent enough, Sam does indeed not ask Bucky.
Instead he spends the evening sitting on his bed surrounded by two- no three crumpled papers laying on his blankets, one of the three fallen to the floor in his flash of frustration.
This time, each paper is written in red ink, but the content he's writing down basically all but remains the same.
Date ideas.
Sam doesn't know why all of a sudden he's like a fish out of water, all touch and thoughts lost at sea where he is left here to shrivel up, all dried out.
He doesn't think even half of these ideas are good enough for Bucky. A museum? Maybe it'd appeal to the part of Bucky eager to learn a bunch of stuff but really- what if there's actually nothing interesting there? He crosses that off, excessive strides of ink blocking the proposal out.
He groans, frustrated and his head starting to gain the most faint but still approaching ache. He rubs at it, wondering where all that creativity went from back when he was forced to do projects for school. He bombed those, absolutely. No here he is with not even so much as a fuse to light, no good ideas sparking in his brain.
It's been a week and he still hasn't asked Bucky out on an official date. Sam tries to reason with himself that maybe it's okay because Bucky hasn't asked either.
But also Sam had been so oblivious and basically sorta led to leaving Bucky to make the first move, so maybe it was Sam's turn to take the initiative here and ask- maybe Bucky is waiting.
Clearly Bucky is thinking of something, Sam has seen it. Sam will be reading some article about what they could possible do in this urban city that they find themselves in, living a life, and just trying to find a bit of romance and companionship within each other. And then when Sam has found nothing good or that they haven't maybe already at least partially done as 'just friends'- Sam clicks out of the article with exasperation towards the absence of an answer. Soon after Bucky would try to pry into him like there's something he knows, or has to, at least. Sam has been noticing it the more that he's been trying to put together a date. It shouldn't be this hard, something about overthinking blocking his supposedly clear pathway to success.
But he wants it to be just right.
However, Bucky keeps eyeing him throughout it, trying to figure out a puzzle of his own, and it sorta makes Sam put on extra pressure to just get over himself and pick one thing.
"Dammit," He curses, realizing that apparently pens from junior high do in fact have their day marked on a calendar, a moment bound to happen eventually as red ink starts to become sparse and thin before disappearing all together. His furious and invisible scribble on the paper comes to a halt when there's a knock on the door.
"You all good in there, Sam?" Bucky asks and Sam can hear the concern shift as he carries on, morphing into something so lovingly but eye-roll worthy sarcastic. "Coulda sworn it was a party over here just a moment ago."
"Ha, ha." Sam deadpans, recalling how he snuck into his room and has been sitting here all silent and focused ever since. So there wasn't even a smidge of partying, but Bucky is terrible at jokes like that, loves it all, and Sam just sighs. "I guess you can come in, then."
Bucky opens the door, peeking his head in through first as he scans the room, finding Sam shoving his papers and notebook off the bed, letting it tumble to the floor unceremoniously. He snaps his gaze at Sam in a quizzing manner, raising a brow, then blinking back down at the notebook.
"Whatcha need?" Sam asks, legs crossed as he flexes his hands, settling them on his knees and cocking his head to the side in an attempt to redirect Bucky's attention. Admittedly, it might be embarrassing should Bucky pick up the notebook and look all over Sam's attempts to find something suitable for a first date.
"Well, I guess-" Bucky rolls his shoulders, this little movement Sam has begun to notice Bucky does when he's just a little on the edge, possibly nervous, trying to find the right way to say things because apparently this beautiful man in front of him doesn't consider words to be a strong suit of his own. So Sam waits, meeting Bucky's gaze when he seems to regain his confidence, patting down the sides of his legs before shrugging. "I could use a little insight on how you're doing? Lately you seem..." Bucky huffs, eyes drifting above Sam to the wall behind before he frowns. "Like there's an extra thing you got to carry."
Sam stops the slow tapping of his fingers on his knees, quickly looking up at Bucky before his shoulders raise, and he lets out a puff of air.
"I mean-" He cuts himself off, deciding not to skip around the whole thing in an attempt to fish out a believable excuse as he looks away. "I dunno. Maybe I have been? But I shouldn't. I'm just chronically overthinking it all."
"Overthinking what?"
"Nothing," He says then internally winces because that's a big lie, and he instantly shakes his head, holding his hands out as he takes it back. "Not nothing! Actually, it's something, I just-"
But then Bucky is moving towards him, a soft look in his eyes that kinda melts Sam so much it takes him a second to comprehend that Bucky has also bent over and picked up a messily rolled up piece of notebook paper before joining him on the bed.
"Does it have anything to do with all these tossed papers?" He questions and Sam knows he's never been all that good at keeping a secret, not one like this where the whole point was for it to matter- to tell somebody- to invite Bucky.
"Maybe," he says at a last attempt to ditch the subject, but Bucky is unphased, holding steady until Sam crumbles into the gingerness that shows beneath the blue of his eyes and he waves a hand. "Yeah- yes. Sure."
Bucky hums, opening it up a bit all while watching Sam closely. Sam lets him, of course, he has a good guess that if it was something he really didn't want Bucky to see, Bucky would respect that (but not without being a little suspicious, of course).
When Sam urges him to get along with it, Bucky's eyes switch towards the paper, finding red letters scrambled together in Sam's efforts at collecting information from the internet. Most words are crossed out. Sam squeezes his thumbs as he watches Bucky's eyes trace over red possibilities meant to involve the two of them together.
He feels his face flush, warmth suffocating him as he reads over it too and cringes when he is met with 'jazz club. romantic type tho fr' written hastily.
"Uhm." Sam clears his throat, reaching for the paper. Bucky lets him have it before glancing at him curiously. "So, yeah, that's what that is, Buck. I-"
"You've been stressed about this?" Bucky asks him and it doesn't sound like he's judging him, so Sam finds it in himself to ease up a little, if anything Bucky sounds both concerned and amused, once again something he knows as Sam nods slowly.
"Yeah dude."
Bucky then chuckles, this genuine thing that leaves him with a smile on his face and rosy cheeks.
Sam, however, is at a loss. He frowns. "What?"
Bucky just smiles wider, so Sam crosses his arms. "Seriously, Bucky, what?"
"I've been preparing a date for us, yknow," Bucky says simply, like oh yeah, Sam totally knew- even the reason Bucky is laughing is because Sam didn't. It makes Sam choke on his own words before he can even register the tint of irony in this situation.
"Please."
"I'm serious." Bucky promises, a bit of his hair falling in front of his face, slightly disrupting Sam's clear shot of blue eyes but it's alright because his hair, despite how it might not have been brushed at all today, is one small jewel of the whole treasure that Bucky truly is. Sam feels his chest blossom with a multitude of feelings, mostly ones that end with him hiding a smile as his stomach pleasantly erupts with butterflies.
"I- what?"
Bucky laughs lightly, a breathless noise as he shrinks into himself with a proud but shy smile, how he can still manage to be both at the same time is a mystery to Sam.
"I may not be a professional chef, but I still wanna ask-"
"Yes." Sam agrees, cutting him off. Bucky shakes his head, putting a hand on his chest as he leans forward.
"I wanna ask if you'll go on a picnic date with me? For dinner?"
Sam's head is spun in a joyous way, his heart thumping in excitement against his bones, a grin widening across is face as he wraps a hand around Bucky's wrist, a gentle hold, as his other rests on Bucky's thigh.
Sam kisses Bucky, of course.
"Let me get some bug spray," Sam says, watching a shimmer of pride flash in Bucky's eyes, something that's mixed in with happiness and desire-
And a hungry stomach as their packing up, Sam glancing over at Bucky who just shrugs the grumble of it away as something for the future to deal with.
Finally, it seems Bucky knows a place that Sam doesn't, when they finally get there.
There are hills beyond hills ahead of them, a dark blue pond decorated with cattails and all the other natural sort that sits a couple feet ahead of them. The sky stretches wide, an infinite thing that looks so vast and beautiful, very dark but yet, blues and purples find their way to wiggle in and create a nice view. They're positioned under a weeping tree that makes romance movies look not so far fetched (in this specific category).
Sam's knees are bent to his side, leaning on his hands an twirling a loose thread of the picnic blanket underneath them. The sky if full with dull little specks of light, stars to distant with a few share of planets. He admires the way it all looks, the summer night granting them to forget any worries about it being to cold.
"This is really nice," He blurts out, a confession of the heart, his eyes finding Bucky in his line of sight. He's unwrapping the food, the thrumming of base and drums playing from the phone muffled underneath his thrown jacket. He pauses though, glancing up at Sam with a calmness that sends itself out in waves, washing over Sam until he matches him, sighing as he picks at random blades of grass. "Thanks."
Bucky hums, the still air of the night crisp until he cuts through it with a hand sneaking around Sam, pulling him closer. "No worries."
Then he gestures in front of them, down at their food. "Hopefully it doesn't taste terrible, huh?"
Sam looks down and marvels at the choices, from pinwheels to chicken wings to the good ol classic picnic sandwich. "Dude, do not even stress about that." He shakes his head, glancing over at Bucky who's already watching him, expectant for a taste test reaction. Sam presses his lips into Bucky's first, kissing him slowly.
Bucky is in his element here, clearly, as the way his hands reposition Sam constitutes as this full and smooth movement, one that makes his stomach flip, Sam's hands pushing and pulling at Bucky until the two tumble backwards, Bucky on his back. Sam gazes down at him, in love with the sight, and his eyes try to take in every existing detail of it all, from the very pink color spreading across Bucky's face to the sprawl of his hair, blue eyes examining Sam's face as Bucky breathes in.
"You're a very distracting person," Bucky blurts, a spray of weathered roughness in his voice that has Sam's head and heart reeling. It takes a bit of will-power to remember they both have yet to eat dinner, and that he can't start kissing Bucky senseless just yet.
He sits back, Bucky following him quickly, and Sam shoves the container towards him. "Eat up and I'll let you continue you with that," He offers and Bucky shrugs, an easy thing to accomplish considering he was hungry anyways.
Sam and Bucky take a bit of the pinwheels at the same time, and Sam watches as Bucky's shoulders sag a little bit, satisfaction of his demanding appetite finally starting to be met. He can't help but chuckle at how quickly he finishes it, placing his hands between his legs with a low sound.
"It's good," Sam clarifies after he realizes Bucky is waiting for his opinion in order to take any more food. "You did good, Buck."
Bucky beams, pleasantly accepting Sam's praise and indulging in the chicken wings he made.
All the food does look good, honestly, Sam thinks, and his heart is swelling up when he thinks about how Bucky has in fact been spending more time in the kitchen, muttering things to himself and such- and to think, Bucky has been wringing out that elbow grease just to fix up this?
Sam is still forever swooning, bless his soul, he may never recover from the gift that Bucky is.
Minutes later, they've really dug into the picnic food and Bucky is soon laying his head on Sam's lap, squinting up at him as he holds his phone to the side, his flashlight on, brightening the area where Sam has his eyes set, hands twisting around as he fixes up an oval shape made from leaves and twigs.
"What're you making?" Bucky asks curiously, lifting his head for a moment to peer over Sam's thigh, Sam's leg slightly hitched up so he can put his feet flat against the ground for stability.
"Crowns, I guess. Unless you wanna call it a headband." Sam snorts, sneaking a glance down at Bucky to see the way his face wrinkles up with a smile before he tilts his head as best as he can in his position.
"You want bugs in your hair?"
Sam shrugs. "You won't get any in your hair, mkay?"
Bucky hums, his hand drooping, wrist growing tired. So Sam lets his phone slip from Bucky's hand to his own, setting it down on the blanket so the light isn't shining in their eyes but still providing Sam with a working station of sorts.
"That's a relief," Bucky says and whether it's about the bugs, his hand, or both, Sam nods in return.
Then he's made two crowns, all finished in their leafy green and pale twig glory, all bendy and awkward on the head but they work. Sam can't stop giggling like a dummy at how it sits lopsided on Bucky who placed it on haphazardly when Sam jokingly lied about flicking an ant off of his.
The night feels endless and Sam finds that a good thing, a floating feeling of bliss hovering around the blanket as Sam tugs Bucky in close for a photo, the flash nearly blinding them but it's more than alright as Sam looks back at it while Bucky relishes in the shrinked distance between them, his arms tangling around Sam with shut eyes.
Sam favorites the photo before he's sent toppling over with Bucky once more, a shriek of laughter spilling out of his lips before it's swallowed when Bucky kisses him, drinking in the giddy sensation and leaving Sam's lungs chasing out for oxygen.
To think he was worried about finding the perfect first date idea, all the meanwhile, here it was, waiting with Bucky's charming smile.
When they get home, energy stretched out and drunk on life, Sam teases the idea of printing the photo of them and their dumb leaf crowns on the empty wall as a start to fill up the space. Bucky calls it corny, of course, falling into bed next to Sam.
But like many things Bucky calls corny, it means he probably likes the idea as well.
It might just be the perfect thing.