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It was hard getting by.
John and his brother, Mike, lived paycheck to paycheck in a small, dingy apartment that always reeked vaguely of takeout and sweat. Their parents cut them off a while ago, and Kate worked outside of the country, leaving them to be all the other had.
Every morning, John woke up with the same lump in his chest, the one that came from knowing he was dragging Mike down with him.
He hated how his brother hid his exhaustion behind crooked smiles and comforting words. He hated how he would say that they were going to be okay despite barely making rent and their cupboards being a ghost town. He hated how he couldn’t hold down a job long enough for it to matter, and Mike would stumble home after a double-shift before leaving for another gig across town that barely made minimum wage. He hated how every effort could never keep pace with their bills.
But above it all, he hated how he was a dead weight on his brother’s back. He was a burden and he knew it. He was causing Mike more pain than he was worth.
But not anymore.
Something broke in him after too long of strain. He swallowed his pride and phoned a friend, Yelena, desperate and ashamed. She’d always been the type of person who seemed to know people, to have a connection that could link John to places he couldn’t even imagine. And, somehow, she came through.
She got him an interview.
Not just an interview, an interview to work closely with the most popular boy band.
Yes, that boy band made teenage girls squeal and dominated MTV. John really couldn’t care for them, he barely remembers the lineup except for one. Bucky. John had followed his brief stint as a solo artist for a while before he joined the band, back when his music was darker and gritterer.
The interview was for a behind the scenes role but undeniably a position that a whole line of people would be chasing to get. How Yelena had the connections and the strings to pull to get him the opportunity was beyond him.
John would have laughed for hours on end if he wasn’t overwhelmed with gratitude.
But that laughter died away the moment the interview started. He found himself seated in front of a foxy eye woman who smiled so sharply it seemed like a personal threat, who introduced herself as their manager Valentina. Beside her stood her assistant who refused to take a seat, moving with the tight precision of someone who couldn’t afford to make a mistake.
“So you’re the one little Yelena recommended?” Valentina starts.
And John wasn't sure if he should feel lucky or very, very afraid.
Valentina went on about the position, finding a smooth but cutting rhythm that made it sound like she was saying too much and too little at the same time. She spoke in corporate abstractions and legalities, which John was sure she was doing on purpose to confuse and lose him.
The job was vague but paid well, from what he picked up. He nods along when he’s supposed to and offers honest answers that seem to satisfy her when prompted.
At last, after what felt like hours, she sighed softly and finally. “What do you say?” She asks, seemingly both perfectly calm and controllingly impatient. "We can sign you right now.”
John blinks, unsure if he heard her correctly.
She leans forward in her seat. “This is an important position.” She says every word with heavy weight “And one we have many people vying for.”
The room’s walls seem to push in on them. Images of their crappy apartment flash in John’s mind– to Mike counting bills and coins with careful precision, to Mike letting John eat over him, to Mike sleeping on the hole-ridden couch. He should talk to his brother, but hesitation wasn't something they could afford when their ticket out of hell was one signature away.
He swallowed hard, burning his throat. “I’m in.” His voice came out more assured and steady then he was expecting or feeling. “I’d be honored."
“Great.” Valentina’s eyes glisten like a predator’s would before pouncing on prey. “Just sign here.” Her manicured hand points to a small line buried underneath walls of legal jargon before sliding over a pen across the table.
John takes it and erratically clicks the pen over and over, revealing his nerves. He carefully picks the thick document. It feels heavier than it should as he rapidly flips through seemingly endless pages, all dense with words that look like traps. “And, just to be a hundred percent clear,” He says slowly. “I’ll be working as their bodyguard?”
“Among other things.” She replies too quickly, as if ambiguity was a perk.
He waits, expecting her to explain even a cent more. Valentina’s smile doesn't falter, but there’s calculation behind it. She glances and nods at the woman beside her, Mel, who’s busy tapping relentlessly at her tablet. When she finally speaks again, her voice carries rehearsed calm and a breezy tone that suggests relentless PR training.
“You’ll also be coordinating with Mel on scheduling.” She gestures to Mel, who doesn’t look back at him, but instead remains focused on whatever is on her screen. “There’ll be some administrative duties, travel logistics, light personal assistant work. Think of yourself as an auxiliary, hybrid role, yes? Cross-functional team member in a dynamic setting.”
John has to control every muscle in his face so as not to frown on instinct. “So, like I’ll be like a catch-all?”
“Exactly!” Valentina beamed. “I know you’d get it. We love initiative here. Your well-balanced qualifications and experience make you a great fit for a catch-all position.”
John nods slowly, calling bullshit in his head for being called ‘well-balanced’. Damn it, he’s already regretting his decision. As he flips, he sees a page about “unforeseen incidents including, but not limited to, excessive bodily harm, irregular distress levels, or death” which, apparently, will not be the fault of the band or any of their associates. He squints.
He reads closer and realizes it spells out practically ownership without needing to use the word. That can’t be legal.
“And I’ll be with them, on the clock twenty-four seven?” John asks, falling back in his chair in defeat.
“Yes, you’ll be part of their core team. So expect mobility, hotels, buses, planes. The tour starts soon, so flexibility is key.”
Mel looks up at last, face and voice neutral. “And only medical insurance, no dental insurance." She flattens her lips into a line as a sort of smile.
Valentina turns to Mel, her smile wavering for a second before returning and looking at John.
John reaches the end page again and stares at the faint line again. He gives her one last hesitant look before scribbling his initial.
It feels like he just sold his soul to the devil.
Her smile changes slightly but enough for John to notice how overtly sinister it is.
“When do I start?”
***
Mike slowly closes the door shut, carefully easing into the rickety doorframe. He’s expecting to be alone, so jolts when he sees John taking clothes and stuffing them into a backpack on the bed. “Oh, you’re home.”
John smiles at him warmly, before counting to fill up an old backpack with clothes.
“So you’re gonna tell me why you're packing up?” Mike says, removing his shoes.
“I got a job.” John mumbles, tentative.
“That’s great!” Mike crosses the room and claps him on the back, proudly. “Where?”
John hesitates. The shirt he was in the middle of folding sags in between his fingers. “I…” He stops and starts sentences multiple times before pursing his lips and straining. “Don’t be mad, or laugh or, I don’t know just–”
“John.” Mike’s town softened. “It’s fine, John, really. Just tell me.”
John sighs, like he’s been holding it the whole day. He scratches the back of his neck, eyes stuck on the old floorboards. “You know the band, the one that’s going on tour soon?”
Mike quirks a curious eyebrow. “The one Kate keeps sending me reels of? Yeah, them.”
“I’m going to work for them.”
The silence that comes after isn’t angry, just heavy. Thick and filled with surprise.
Mike blinks. “Congrats.” He says finally, though it came out more a question than a statement. He isn't sure what to make of it.
“I’ll be gone for months.” He begins carefully, pacing each word slowly as if they’d shift the ground below them. “I don't know what I’ll be doing exactly. Personal assistant, bodyguard– whatever they need. It’s kinda undefined.”
Mike sits down on the bed, stunned. He stares at the half open zipped bag apprehensively. “That’s… a lot.” He murmurs.
“Yeah. It is.” John gulps. “I’ll make enough money to cover all the bills and a little more.” He adds, with a delicate smile.
“That’s fantastic.”
For a moment, neither spoke. The sound of clothes rustling and zipper sliding shut fills the space between them.
Then Mike looks at him. “Can you do something for me then?”
“Sure.” John aims for casualness but he can’t hide the worry in his voice. “Anything.”
Mike lowers his head solemnly. “Can you get me an autograph?” He mutters, faux-tender and eyes glistening.
John chokes on his laugh. “Shut up.”
“And,” Mike mimes whipping a tear from his eye with a flourish, fluttering his eyes. “One for Kate too!”
John snorts. “You’re unbearable.”
“And a video just for me!” Mike laments, clutching his chest. “Or will you be entranced by the handsome Sam? Maybe the cheery Steve? Or the brooding Bucky to,” He sighs dramatically. “To forget about your brother?”
John goes a bit pink at the name Bucky. “Of course you remember all their names!” John says, swatting his shoulder.
“Hey!” Mike grins triumphantly, sticking out a finger and pointing at John. “Don’t think I missed you blushing when I said Bucky!” John slinks off to the slide and ducks, putting on his shoes as an attempt to to cover his face.
“Jesus, Mike, I knew old age was biting your ass but I didn’t think hallucinations were part of the package."
Mike gasps in mock outrage. “You’ll be wrapped in his arms while he croons the chorus to whatever new pop-y love song, leaving me to rot!” He puckers his lips, making exaggerated kissing sounds. “Bet that's why you took the job.”
“You are the worst. Yes, I’m hopelessly in love with Bucky Barnes. Not at all because our water bill hasn’t been paid yet.” John muses drily.
“I’m glad you admit it.” Mike nods.
“Fine, I’ll confess,” John starts, finally leaning into the teasing. “I can’t wait to stare into his dreamy, blue orbs for hours at a time. Who’s to say what happens behind closed doors, behind recording sessions–”
“The scandal!” Mike gasps hard, hand on chest.
“A true whirlwind romance, but one so passionate and tender that even the media can’t break it.”
“Please, let me be the best man at your wedding.”
“Oh you will be,” John fires back, perfectly matching his tone. “Don’t forget to RSVP early for the wedding of John Walker and Bucky Walker.”
John is still smiling with the doorbell blares through their apartment. He quickly ties his one half-tied shoe. A small pool of dread fills his gut as he reaches for the tarnished doorknob, hoping it wasn't their land-lord.
When he cracks open the door to a sliver, what greets him steals the air from his lungs.
Bucky Barnes.
Not on TV. Not on his cracked phone. He knew they would meet eventually, but he’s standing here. Bucky Barnes is standing in the dim, mildew scented of his apartment building.
And for a half-second, John isn’t sure if he’s awake, let alone breathing.
He takes in the sight slowly. A muscular frame wrapped in a leather jacket and practical jeans, paired with a neutral and almost tired expression. The man in front of him can’t be any more disconnected to the glistening idol on stage. The simplicity makes him feel more magnetic. Borderline alluring. John can’t help but stare, mortified at his own gawking.
“I think I prefer John Barnes.” Bucky muses drily, voice much richer and warmer in person. His voice cuts through John’s stunned haze.
He stumbles for a semblance of composure as he swings the door fully open. Mike, who’s been hovering behind him, makes a strangled sound while his eyes go comically wide.
“You have very thin walls.” Bucky adds, the suggestion of a smile pulling at his mouth.
“Oh, God,” John mutters, mortified. “How much did you hear?”
“Enough.” Bucky says plainly. “Maybe we’ll make out too during dance practice."
John’s mind and heart races at a thousand miles an hour. His face warms into a daring crimson, fluster unbearable and undeniable.
“This is already an HR and press nightmare.” John says, attempting to joke.
“I’ve been in enough to know how to handle them.” Bucky adds.“You must be Yelena’s handsome friend John.” He says then after a moment, sticking out a hand like they’ve met at a regular social gathering. “Nice to meet you. She talks a lot about you.”
It takes John a couple of moments to process that Yelena is friends with some of the most popular celebrities, before he shakes the hand automatically.
“Good things, I hope.” John murmurs, almost sheepish.
Bucky’s smile tilts. “Something like that.” John can’t tell if he’s trying to be funny or not.
“Car is downstairs,” Bucky says before awkward silence can fester. “Grab your stuff and let’s go.”
John blinks, thrown by how casual this moment goes on. He turns to Mike, who’s equally stunned and frozen. They don’t need words to understand the other’s disbelief. Mike finally pulls him into a tight hug, holding on longer than usual.
“I’ll miss you. Call me.” Mike says, squeezing him one last time.
“Yeah. Of course. I won’t forget to send you the money either.” John says into his shoulder, muffled against fabric.
When they pull apart, it’s a mix of sentimental teary eyes and confusion on what the hell is happening.
Then John reaches across and grabs his stuffed bag, takes a shaky breath, and looks back at an expectant Bucky. Wordlessly, he follows Bucky outside of the cramped room and into his new, surreal life.