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It’s 1 in the morning and the two of you are in a parking lot, illuminated only by a street light, when you realize you’re in love with your best friend.
Bucky has had a little more than a few drinks and he’s dancing like a doof, being loud enough that you’re sure he’ll wake the whole neighborhood. The party was fun, but the best part of those kinds of parties is when you and Bucky walk through the city together at ungodly hours, getting into all sorts of trouble before the sun comes up. Then, the party never really ends.
His words are slurred and you think he’s just challenged you to a dance battle, but you really have no idea. You’re too busy grinning like an idiot at your epiphany. You love him, and it’s scary and thrilling and a small part of you says that it’s a bad thing. But damn if he doesn’t look good right now in the dimly lit parking lot, dancing and laughing with you, so how could this be anything but the best? You take his hand and start the journey to your shared apartment, singing and yelling just as loud as he is.
You’re out with friends when Bucky tells you he loves you.
The club is crowded and the music is pounding in your ears. You thrive in this atmosphere, the music fills you and the thrill of the crowd makes you feel alive. Steve is sitting to your left, laughing at some joke you told, and you can see Sam sauntering up to a pretty blonde. Bucky is in the bar stool to your right, already drunk as hell. He’s good at drinking too much before he realizes it.
Bucky taps your shoulder and you turn around, taking in his stupid grin as he puts his hands on your shoulders. “I love you!” He slurs over the thrumming music.
You laugh. He really is a sight to see, tie crooked and hair every which way. “Yeah, I love you too, Buck.”
He shakes his head, grin widening. “You don’t understand. I’m in love with you!” He tries again and looks at you expectantly, nodding as he sees you realize what he means.
You have no idea what to say. You sit there, staring for a moment as you try to stutter out some kind of response.
“Ah, but I can’t have you, doll,” he finally says with a light punch to your arm. It’s quieter, and his smile dissipates the tiniest bit. The pet name still makes you blush. “You—” he pokes a finger at your nose—"are just too good. For me, anyways.“ He states it so matter-of-factly.
Your brow furrows. You’re about to ask him what in the world he means, but then he slumps over into your lap, already out cold. Steve, who was watching this exchange from behind you, lifts Bucky off with ease. He carries your friend out to the car bridal style. Any other day you would have laughed at the sight, but you sat stock still at the bar, dumbfounded.
You finally have enough sense to follow Steve outside, Bucky’s confusing words still echoing in your head.
It’s 3:00am when you hear a knock at your door. You grumble something that sounds vaguely like “Come in,” and Bucky stumbles wordlessly into your room. He doesn’t even have to ask—you know why he came as soon as you glance up at him through half lidded eyes. But he still waits for an invitation. You can’t help the sleepy smile that spreads across your face as you scoot over, giving him plenty of room on the bed. You’re too drowsy to complain when his arms snake around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Not that you would, anyways.
It’s quiet for a while. You think Bucky’s fallen asleep, and you’re already drifting off. Then he shifts, his arms tightening around you ever so slightly. “I meant what I said,” he mumbles into your hair.
A soft smile finds its way to your face. You lean into him, just the tiniest bit, and murmur in response, “I know.”
Not long after, his breathing slows and you’re nodding off too, sleeping comfortably in Bucky’s embrace.
You’re worried. It’s been hours and Bucky still hasn’t been home. He hasn’t responded to your calls, either, or even told you where he’s gone. No one’s heard anything from him. You’re tempted to go out and search for him—but you try to tell yourself that it isn’t your responsibility. He might have just forgotten to tell you or lost his phone. It’s still very uncharacteristic.
You pace back and forth, tidy up the apartment, listen to music—but still, in the back of your mind, you can’t stop the constant worrying about your friend. Or whatever the relationship between the two of you was.
You’d fallen asleep on the couch and the noise woke you. The door was being unlocked. You jumped to your feet, rushing over to see Bucky flinging the door open. His hair was a mess and his eyes were full of some emotion you couldn’t read. They locked onto yours, surprised to see you stomping his way.
“James Barnes, it’s been hours!” You almost yelled as you stormed over to him, relief and frustration overwhelming you. “You disappeared! Where in the hell have you—” You were interrupted by his lips on yours, kissing you desperately while spinning you around and pressing you against the door. You were shocked, to say the least, and he pulled away to read your expression, looking for any sign to doubt himself. His eyes were wide, unsure.
Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what just happened. You tried to think of something intelligent to say, but all you managed to growl out was, “Fucking finally,” pulling him into a rough kiss once again. His hands were roaming everywhere and he smelled amazing and not like alcohol, for a change. Just the thought that you were kissing Bucky was strange and terrifying and somewhat perfect, and you wondered why the hell you hadn’t done this so much sooner.
You pulled away, both of you gasping for air. Already, you missed the feel of his lips on yours. “God, I love you,” you breathed, and saying those words gave you butterflies. You couldn’t help the dreamy smile spreading across your face. Bucky grinned back at you, still breathless. He laced his fingers with yours, squeezing slightly as he echoed your words from before. “I know.”