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You’re back. You really came back.
He stares at you from across the room. You’re so caught up in your conversation with Steve that you don’t notice him and he can’t help but feel hurt that you didn’t come searching for him first. But of course you wouldn’t. Why would you? He didn’t give you a reason to come back to him.
You throw your head back in laughter, your hand reaching out to touch Steve’s arm to steady yourself. He can’t see Steve’s expression, but if it’s anything like his, it must be tender and soft, so in love and—
“Why don’t you go on over there, hon?” His mom’s voice breaks his thoughts.
“I can’t interrupt them.”
She wraps her hand around his arm gingerly. “Sure you can.”
“Maybe later. They’re catching up.”
She sighs. “Don’t let this one slip from your fingers again, James.” James. God, how he hates that name. James. Yet, he loved the way it sounded when it fell from your lips, so melodious and grand. “I like this one. Always have.”
His fingers twitch at the sight of you reaching for Steve’s hand, and he knows he’s too late.
You were holding his hand like you usually did when it was cold out. He never did understand why you didn’t just wear gloves like every other human being. He knew they were lumpy and sometimes uncomfortable when you wanted to do things, but they kept you warm and from freezing your fingers off.
But he guessed he shouldn’t really complain when he didn’t wear gloves either and liked when you held his hands.
You tugged him along with you, towards the fountain in the park.
“Again?”
“Come on! It’s fun.”
“It’s childish.”
“We’re nineteen, James. We’re in that awkward stage of not really kids, not really adults. They took away my kid’s menu and I can’t even buy alcohol, let me at least have this.”
He rolled his eyes, but followed you anyway over to the fountain. You briefly let go of his hand to dig through your pockets, your face in utter concentration before brightening as you pulled out two coins. You handed him one and he took it reluctantly. He watched you kiss your coin with mild disgust and waited for you to throw your coin in before throwing his in, sans wish.
You both stood there for a while, your hand finding his again and intertwining your fingers together. You pulled him away from the fountain and towards the meeting spot where your friends were most likely already waiting.
“What do you wish for anyway?” He asked, this time walking by your side so you wouldn’t be lugging him along.
“This and that.”
His eyebrow furrowed. “Do they even come true?”
You shrugged nonchalantly. “Sometimes.”
He snorted in disbelief. “You mean mostly never.”
“Oh, leave me alone.” You squeezed his hand. “I just like the idea of it.”
“Of what? Of wishing?”
“Yeah. You know, asking for something you want but can’t have? It’s fun. Makes you look forward to something when there might be nothing.”
“Even if it doesn’t come true?”
“Yeah. And if it does, you get this sense of accomplishment because you wished for that, ya’ know? You worked for it and it makes it all worthwhile.”
He didn’t understand your logic, but you always did seem happier after making a wish. Just for that, maybe he should be less judgemental on your habit.
“Come on, spoil sport. I see Nat.”
If it’s supposed to be so simple, why is it so hard?
The music is loud in the venue, but people are enjoying it as a group has gathered in the middle of the room. He spots Steve dancing with Natasha, the two looking absolutely ridiculous with every shimmy and shake. Sam is somewhere in there, too, he can feel the cockiness that drifts from him any time he gets the chance to show off his (subpar) dance moves.
He hardly notices Rebecca sneaking up on him until she’s wrapping her arms around his waist. A laugh that sounds like his mother’s bubbles out of her lips when he jumps in surprise. He scowls down at her playfully and she only bats her lashes like the brat she is.
“Let’s go dance, Bucky! You promised me a dance, ‘member?” He doesn’t remember making any promise. This is most likely one of her ploys to embarrass him in front of their friends and family. She used to do it a lot when they were kids, always managing to trick him with her innocent eyes and sweet smile. With a shake of his head, he tries to pry her off of him. “Come on! Just one dance! Please?”
“No.”
“Please?”
He relents after an exaggerated wobble of the lip and wide, watery eyes—the same look that used to entrap him when they were just children trying to survive the playground. They make their way over to the dancing group, ignoring the sly and teasing smirks Natasha and Steve send his way. Rebecca grabs his arms and swings them around, trying to get his stiff body to move.
He chortles at her huff and finally decides to humor the beautiful bride on her wedding.
It’s hard to believe that the youngest of his sisters has gotten married. She looks beautiful in her wedding gown, her brown hair curled to perfection and pulled back into a loose low bun. She’s ditched her veil somewhere, most likely on her maid of honor, but she’s still wearing those heels he was sure she would trip on at some point during the party.
But he can’t deny the small bout of jealousy he feels that it’s not him getting married, that he might never be able to get married. All because he thought he was doing the right thing.
“(Y/N) is staring.”
At the mention of your name, his heart does a weird somersault. He resists the urge to follow Rebecca’s line of vision, knowing that the moment your eyes meet he’ll become undone. “So?”
“So you two should talk!” she hisses. “It’s been ages since you’ve last seen each other hasn’t it?”
“I will, later.”
“Later usually means never with you, Bucky! Come on, don’t you want to fix what happened between the two of you? You loved each other, didn’t you?” He did—he does. You did—you probably don’t, not anymore. “Want me to step in? I can step in if you want.”
“Bex, no. Don’t.” Knowing his little sister, she’d mostly try to intimidate you into talking to him which would only make you believe he was taking the whole thing as a joke. And that’s the last thing he wants. “Just give me time.”
Rebecca eyes him, her eyes bright under the ever changing strobe lights. “Okay,” she relents after a moment of searching. “All right. Do what you have to do. I’m here for you bro.”
He leans forward and plans a kiss on her forehead. “Thanks, Bex.”
“When you wish, do you ever ask for more out of life?” Bucky asked you as the sky turned into a mess of colors—purples and pinks and oranges. Why so many different colors? Why not just one?
“More out of life? Or a better life?” You asked him, completely undisturbed by the changing winds—unlike him.
He knew of the opportunity you received from that university in Italy you had looked into a while back. You had said a professor recommended it to you and you checked it out only because she was one of the better professors on campus, but after that quick search, you never talked about it again and he didn’t bring it up believing it wasn’t important.
Steve told him otherwise.
Italy could be a huge opportunity for you, something that could’ve kickstarted your career if you so chose to attend for the year. “Yeah,” he breathed out, gaze on a flock of birds flying farther and farther away and towards the sun.
There was a beat of silence between the two of you—the sounds of your friends’ laughter grew louder. “Not really,” you told him truthfully, pulling his attention away from the birds and onto you. You’re perched on the picnic blanket Natasha had brought, hands plucking out strings of grass and throwing them away. “I’m content.”
“But what if it’s a once in a lifetime thing? Don’t you want to take it?”
“I’ll just ask for another,” was your simple reply.
He hated how it warmed his chest when you turned to look at him with a bright smile that suddenly didn’t make the sky look so messy anymore.
“You want to talk about it?” Wanda has always had the power to be attuned with other people’s emotions. She always seems to know how people are feeling without having to ask. But this time around he can’t give her too much credit. Even the children know something is wrong with him. They keep bringing him candies from the dessert table thinking it’ll cheer him up. “I know it’s difficult with—“
“Don’t,” he snaps, tired of being asked or talking about you over and over again. Why can’t people leave him alone? Why can’t they let let him keep his distance?
She flinches. “Sorry.”
He sighs. “No. I’m sorry, I’m just—“
“I get it. Don’t worry.” Wanda flashes him a reassuring smile before returning her gaze to the lively party. “But (Y/N) did ask about you.” She shakes her head as if correcting herself. “Always asks about you.”
His mouth dries, eyes lowering to the ground. “Why?”
She shuffles her feet. “You’re still best-friends.” Once upon a time you might’ve considered him more, a voice in his head adds. “That hasn’t changed.”
“I don’t deserve—“
“Stop it. Everyone knows why you did what you did. (Y/N) knows, too, you know? Took longer to realize than the rest of us. You really did—“ She stops herself from finishing her sentence, but he knows what she was about to say. He did a number on you. “Was hurt too much to think reasonably.”
He smiles wryly.
“Talk,” she says sternly. “(Y/N) might understand why you said what you said, but it’s best to hear it from you.”
He looks up and the first thing he sees is you and Steve, the two of you in each other’s arms and dancing to the slow crooning playing in the background. His heart drops to his stomach knowing that that could’ve been him in his place if he’d just talkto you. “No. It’s better this way.” He doesn’t deserve you anyway.
Wanda sighs loudly, pushing herself away from the wall they were leaning against. “You’re unbelievable.”
He stared at the unmoving water of the fountain, his eyes catching the glimmer of distorted coins—many of which he knew were yours. He clutched his own coin tightly, nails digging into his flesh as his mind drifted to the conversation he overheard between you and Steve—How beautiful and new Florence seemed and your fears and worries about leaving New York, about leaving him. He had been right to assume he was holding you back. Had he always held you back?
“James?”
He froze, hoping he had more time to gather his nerves before he talked to you. But of course you wouldn’t give him space, you always knew when something was on his mind. Wanda might be empathetic towards everyone, but you understood him better than anyone.
“You okay?”
“‘M fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Well, I am.”
You took a sharp intake of breath. You might’ve understood him better than anyone, but that didn’t mean you took his bullshit either. “James, seriously, what’s—“
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Your sweet face contorted into confusion. “Why didn’t you tell me how important Italy was?”
Confusion gave way to a deep set frown. “Because it’s not.”
He scoffed. Because it’s not? Because it’s not? “A year at the Florence Academy of Fine Arts and an internship at The Uffizi, is nothing? Do you even know how many people wish they could get the opportunity that you’ve been given? That’s been handed to you?” You flinched under his cold gaze. “Wasn’t this your dream? Working with precious pieces of art, taking care of them, researching them? And it’s not important?”
“I don’t care—“
“Stop lying!”
“I’m not lying!”
“You are! I heard you and Steve, okay? I heard you tell him how tempted you were to take the offer but how afraid you were to leave everyone and everything behind. To leave me.”
“What would you do without me?” you tried to joke, the corner of your lips quirked into a mediocre half smile. “What would I do without you, huh? We need each other, James.”
“What do you know?” His words hung heavily between the two of you and he immediately regreted saying them. This wasn’t how—why was he like this when it came to you? So over emotional? So stupid? “I’m perfectly fine without you.”
You blinked rapidly, lashes kissed your skin to will the tears away, but it was too late. “Do you want me to leave?”
No. No. He wanted you to stay! He neededyou to stay. “Yes.”
“James—“
“We’re not dating.” Your eyebrows crinkled and you sucked your bottom lip under your teeth. His heart shattered at the thought of causing you distress—pain. But what else was he to do? “You have no obligation to stay for me.”
But you were stubborn and you wouldn’t give, no matter what hateful or spiteful words he threw your way. “I have no obligation to leave for you either, James.”
“Why are you so damn stubborn?”
“Because it’s mylife! Not yours. I get to choose what I want to do it with it. Not you! If I want to stay, I’ll stay! If I want to love—“
Stop! Stop! Don’t do it! Don’t! But he had to. He had to. He couldn’t let you say it. If you said it, if he said it, then he’d never let you leave. You’d never do better, be better than him.
He turned his back on you, fist opening to reveal the coin and eyes focused completely on the fountain. “What if I don’t want to be part of your life, anymore, huh? I am so sick and tired of having to humor you! Of having to be with you! I can’t do or go anywhere without you clinging to me!” You sobbed, the sound muffled and wet against your skin. “You can’t use me as an excuse because you’re scared to fail, sweetheart. Stop being a coward and go! For fucksakes, I just want you gone. I just want to breathe again!”
Your voice cracked with every syllable, “You don’t mean that.”
He wished he could take it all back. He wished he could hold you in his arms. He wished he didn’t have to do this. But he had to. He had to. “I do.” He threw the coin into the fountain and with all of his might made his first wish. “I wish it.”
Most of the guests are gone, and so are Rebecca and her husband, the two having retired for the night earlier than planned to be able to catch their morning flight tomorrow. He spots a few stray family members about enjoying the open bar, and a few friends milling about eating leftover cake and swapping stories.
He should probably head out soon, too. Not much reason to stay anymore. He had seen you disappear with Steve and Natasha earlier, and he knew he had missed his chance to talk to you. Just like Rebecca had said, “later meant never,” when it came to him.
When did he become such a coward?
Something pokes at the back his skin, digging into the soft flesh below his rib cage. “Hi.”
He freezes at the familiar warmth of your voice, having not expected it all. He had thought you left with the others, why— “Hey.”
You motion to the empty dance floor, the DJ still around and playing ballads and RnBs. “Do you want to dance?”
“I—“
“I asked the DJ to play a slow song next, I promise. I know how bad you are at dancing,” you tease him, eyes crinkling with amusement.
He chuckles, for a moment believing you had never left at all, that he hadn’t hurt you. As if you have been by his side just like you have been since day one. It fills his heart with joy. “Like you’re any better.”
You roll your eyes goodnaturedly. “I’ll have you know I’ve gotten better. Taken a bunch of dance classes back in Florence over the years.”
He smile drops. “Right.” There's a whole life he’s missed out on. How could he have let himself forget?
You wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug gently. “Come on. Who knows when we’ll get this chance, again.” He wants to say no, he wants to pull away, but the way your fingers dance down to his palm, fingers intertwining so easily—he can’t say no.
“Okay.”
You squeeze his hand and lead him to the dance floor. You place your hand in his shoulder and bring your interlaced hands up to his chest. He hesitantly wraps an arm around your waist, unsure of how close to hold you or how far—you decide for him.
Tugging him forward, you smile up at him, eyes shining brighter than ever when your bodies meet. He turns his head away from you; your pretty eyes too much to bare.
“How have you been?” you ask, voice just barely above a whisper.
“Okay. And you?”
You pull back, trying to catch his eye as you sway back and forth. “I’ve been better.”
He frowns, his hold on you tightening. “Did something happen while you were away?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, looking away from him briefly before meeting his gaze head on. Your words dripping with palpable sincerity and throwing him off guard. “I missed you. A lot.”
His heart drops. “I’m sorry—“
“You’re an idiot, you know that?” you tell him softly.
He’s called himself worse. “I know.”
You rest your head against his chest, your nose nuzzling against the fabric of his shirt. “I don’t think you do.”
He lets go of your hand to wrap them around your waist—your swaying coming to a complete stop. Your body against him is just as he remembers—you've always fit so perfectly even when you two were awkward heights during puberty. “I didn’t mean any of it.”
He hooks a finger under your chin to make him look at him and he sees the glimmer of unshed tears in your eyes as you whisper, “I know.”
There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to apologize for, but he can’t find the words. He feels so stupid and useless. He was able to find the words to push you away, why can’t he find the words to bring you back? “I wish we could go back to the way we used to be,” he admits, pressing his forehead against yours.
“But we can’t,” you whisper tightly, your fingers lacing together to cradle the back of his neck. “This is us now.” He closes his eyes, savoring this moment of closeness with you if only for one more second, one more moment. But you pull away from him too soon. “I should—I should go. Thanks for the dance, James.”
“Yeah. Take care.”
And although there’s still so much he wants to say, he lets you go and watches you walk away, his heart trailing behind you and clinging to the true wish he made all those years ago—that’d you’d come back for him.