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Steve knows.
He’s not stupid. No matter how much Tony teases him about his supposed naivety or says he’s incapable of seeing the "true" nature of people, Steve isn’t stupid. Maybe a bit clueless when it comes to other people’s feelings, sure—but not with Bucky. He knows Bucky better than anyone, because they basically grew up and were raised together.
And Steve notices. He notices because he’s seen that same lovesick look reflected in his own mirror every morning. Tony, bless him, always makes fun of him for those “heart-eyes” every time Bucky is around. And yes, Bucky is his best friend, and he shouldn’t feel anything beyond sincere friendship or maybe even something brotherly—but those feelings are there. A small, persistent flame that doesn’t go out no matter how far he tries to run from it. Tony may say Steve is oblivious, but that’s only because he’s never dealt with Bucky the way Steve has. Because if Steve is a little oblivious, James Buchanan Barnes is absolutely blind.
And that’s what hurts the most. Every subtle attempt Steve has made to get closer has been mistaken for simple friendship. And, partly, it’s his own fault—he’s been so close to Bucky his whole life that the only thing that could make the black haired realize Steve’s true intentions would be a kiss. And Steve would never do that without knowing it was mutual. He wouldn’t risk it. Not with Bucky. Not with the most precious bond he has.
So when Bucky starts behaving differently, Steve notices. He’s more playful than usual, less eager to hang out with the team because he always has “things” to do—but he doesn’t seem tired. No bags under his eyes, no yawning, no complaints. Everyone assumes he’s seeing someone, which wouldn’t be weird. Bucky always looks like he’s in love... until he gets bored.
Blonde girls, redheads, brunettes—with curves, dreamy smiles, a little ditzy. Some jealous, others controlling. Most gave up once they realized Bucky wasn’t going to change, but a few made a lasting impression—not only on Bucky, but on the whole team. Still, everyone knew that whatever he had with them wouldn’t last. Steve thought the same. It was his usual pattern.
But this time was different. Months passed and Bucky stayed the same—eerily so. Still acting like a lovesick fool. He started dressing better, which was a real shock. That had been so damn strange, because beautiful women had tried before and failed. Bucky always dressed like a felon preferring “comfortable” over “presentable,” and the whole group noticed the change. Natasha even looked impressed. And when they asked him about it, Bucky had the nerve to blush. Tony looked at him with sympathy: someone had done what Steve never could.
Watching Bucky trying to impress someone felt like a punch to the gut. He’d always said he didn’t chase girls—that they came to him even if he acted like an idiot. And now he was putting in effort. That hurt. Even more so because he wouldn’t say who it was. In other cases, Bucky would introduce the girl right away. But not this time. No clues. Just the change. Steve felt betrayed. Like an invisible wall had gone up between them.
And he tried. Before giving up entirely, Steve even invited Bucky personally to the last group hangout. He’d been direct—something he rarely did. He suggested they play at his place afterward, just the two of them, like they used to. A part of him wanted to believe he’d said it naturally, but his sweaty palms and the way he avoided direct eye contact gave him away.
Bucky looked at him with that kind smile Steve hated—the one he always used when he was being condescending and didn’t want to hurt Steve’s feelings.
“I can’t, I’ve got something to do tonight,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal.
Steve tried not to show his disappointment, but the sting was sharp and familiar. He didn’t ask anything else. He didn’t want to come off as pushy. He just nodded and pretended it didn’t matter.
Everything started to unravel weeks later. The guys usually went out every two weeks to relax before games or between classes. Bucky had already missed a few times due to his “commitments.” Everyone expected him to come this time—they even sent Nat as a last resort. But when Natasha showed up alone, they knew. They always arrived together. There had even been rumors they were a couple, but the looks of disgust on their faces when someone joked about it made it clear that would never happen.
When they asked what his excuse was this time, Natasha answered flatly:
“He said he had a tutoring session or something.”
No one believed her. They all looked at her, unimpressed, as if it were a joke. But she just shrugged it off. She clearly understood less than they did, so it probably wasn’t worth asking more questions.
“Well, folks, Bucky’s really outdoing himself,” Sam said, stepping forward. Natasha patted Steve on the shoulder. No one was going to believe that. It was just another excuse.
Except it wasn’t.
Bucky really was getting tutoring.
Steve found out three months later. He was hurt. That was the kind of thing friends tell each other, he thought. Not just out of politeness—but because those things matter.
Next day at lunch, Sam couldn’t help but tease:
“Bucky, man, you really gotta work on your excuses, huh? It’s fine if you want to spend time with your girl, but that tutoring thing sounds like a bad joke.”
Everyone expected a vague answer, but Bucky said:
“It’s not an excuse.”
“Haha, sure... you’re like the last person at this table who would need tutoring,” Sam began—then paused, reconsidering his own words. Tony and Bruce? Untouchable—practically geniuses. Steve? Maybe not the smartest in the group, but his grades were excellent. Natasha? Same deal. Clint? Good enough to pass without trouble. Thor? Well, Thor is Thor. And Sam… well, Sam was realistic about himself.
“Forget that, maybe you do need them. So what? Your grades never seemed to be a problem before.”
Bucky shrugged.
“I needed to raise my grades to stay on the team,” he said quietly. “My grades aren’t the best, you know? And it’s our final year. My teacher thought the team was taking too much of my time. So if I don’t improve… no more soccer.”
Tony looked at him curiously.
“And you didn’t tell us because...?” Tony asked, and again Bucky just shrugged. He had drawn the line. Steve imagined he didn’t say anything out of fear of looking foolish in front of his friends, who were all excelling. But that didn’t make sense—Bucky had confided in him about far worse things before. And when their eyes finally met, Steve knew the look of disappointment on his face had come through clearly—if Bucky’s guilty expression meant anything.
“Well, now it all makes sense,” Sam said with a nervous laugh. “So how’s tutoring going? Someone we know?”
“No,” Bucky replied. “He’s not a senior.”
“Younger?” Sam asked. “Well, I hope he’s not giving you a hard time.”
Bucky shook his head.
“He’s...” he paused for a few seconds, “fun.”
That was strange. Weirdly intimate.
When the bell rang, Bucky got up to leave, but a hand rested on his shoulder.
“Steve...”
Their eyes met again, and Steve was weak—because when his best friend’s cool gaze locked onto his, he felt the urge to believe whatever he was going to say.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Bucky sighed. “I know it’s dumb, but… well, everyone on the team is so good at everything, and I didn’t want to feel like I didn’t belong.”
Steve smiled, a bit weakly, but still convincingly.
“It’s okay, Buck,” he said gently. “You’re not any less because of it. The guys probably would’ve helped you. That’s what friends are for, right?”
His smile faltered slightly at the last words—because he wasn’t sure if he still counted as that kind of friend.
The day they meet Bucky’s tutor is… strange.
Usually, practice was on Mondays and Wednesdays, but since a championship was coming up, they added more training days. It was a sunny Thursday, not too hot—perfect for practicing without worrying about sweat or heat exhaustion. Practice had just begun, and everyone was in high spirits. You could tell by the way they moved across the field, how they hyped each other up and joked around.
In the closest bleachers, Natasha and Pepper were chatting as they watched the training. A bit further up, in a more discreet area, sat Wanda, a friend of Clint’s. Her brother played in one of the junior divisions of the team, so it wasn’t unusual to see her around, even if she didn’t talk much. Normally, not many people stuck around to watch practices—after all, they weren’t real matches, and most people didn’t enjoy staying after class. But that day, the atmosphere felt different.
Just as Steve was about to rejoin the team after a water break, he noticed someone. A silhouette appearing at the entrance to the stands—a guy he didn’t recognize at all. And that was strange, because even if someone new showed up, they were usually connected to one of the players, and Steve—being the social butterfly he was—knew everyone. But this guy, with his expensive-looking appearance, elegant and relaxed posture, didn’t ring any bells. And if they’d met before, Steve would remember him. He had that kind of presence. Kind of like when he first met Tony—arrogant, always drawing attention.
Their eyes met, and even though Steve couldn’t make out his expression from that distance, the guy’s posture leaned forward with curiosity. Steve stood still for a few seconds, uncomfortable, unsure why he suddenly felt so… watched. If it weren’t for Bucky approaching the guy enthusiastically, Steve might not have noticed he’d frozen mid-field. He caught Natasha’s eye up in the stands, and her face had that critical look that said she was also wondering who this new guy was. When he turned back toward Bucky, he saw him leaning on a small wall, facing the stranger.
He had that smug smile—the one he only wore when he felt totally in control. But the stranger didn’t seem impressed. He looked amused—teasing, even. They looked too comfortable. Bucky looked too comfortable. And that was saying something, coming from a guy who hated getting close to new people. The exchange seemed so natural—quick gestures, small smiles, teasing remarks tossed like they’d known each other forever. A nasty feeling settled in Steve’s stomach.
“Break’s over—get your ass back on the field, Barnes!” barked Coach Fury, snapping Steve out of his momentary confusion.
Steve watched as Bucky said a quick goodbye to the stranger, throwing out a comment that made the guy laugh and shake his head. Before heading back to the field, Steve noticed the stranger walking over to the stands where Wanda was sitting. She greeted him with raised eyebrows—not like he was a total stranger, but like someone who didn’t quite fit in. Maybe he wasn’t so unfamiliar after all.
Throughout the entire practice, the stranger’s gaze stayed locked on Bucky. It was an intense attention—but not uncomfortable. More like someone observing something he already understood. Bucky kept glancing toward the stands whenever he could, and each time, a self-satisfied smile spread across his face. He was clearly motivated, more fired up than usual, and it showed in every move. It was the best practice he’d had in a long time.
Steve couldn’t help looking too, trying to understand what was happening without having to ask directly. The stranger remained there for the whole session—unmoving, arms crossed, a small smile on his face. Like he knew something no one else did. And maybe he did. He just watched, wearing that confident smirk, like he was evaluating everyone from an invisible throne in the bleachers.
At the end of practice, the team gathered in a circle to cool down before heading to the locker rooms. Idle chatter flowed—play tips and inside jokes. Steve felt fairly relaxed among his friends… or so he thought, until he heard murmurs behind him.
“I don’t think this is necessary, James.”
Hearing his friend’s full name sent a chill through Steve; it sounded too intimate—Steve himself rarely used it.
“Oooh, the young master is embarrassed,” the older voice teased, putting exaggerated emphasis on the title.
“You’re an idiot, you know that?”
“Don’t worry, it’s just my friends. It won’t kill you to mingle with the middle class,” James laughed carefreely.
Steve heard an indignant gasp beside him. Before he could turn around, a cough sounded behind him, and suddenly all the chatter stopped. Everyone’s eyes turned to the pair of newcomers.
Up close, the stranger looked smaller. Definitely shorter than James; Steve estimated at least a four-inch difference. But his stature didn’t diminish the strong presence he gave off. There was something in his posture, the way he held eye contact, the aura of elegance around him, that demanded respect. And if Steve could feel it from yards away, having him right in front of him was… intimidating—even if he had a head of height on him.
He looked like an ordinary guy—brown hair, honey-colored eyes. But his clothes screamed wealth—in that subtle, impossible-to-ignore kind of way. Not like Tony, who dressed ostentatiously. This guy looked like he walked out of a royal painting—simple garments, perfectly tailored, and definitely expensive. Steve felt out of place just looking at him.
“This is Zemo, my tutor,” James announced proudly, slinging an arm over the smaller guy’s shoulders.
Steve expected the boy—Zemo—to flinch at the sweaty arm wrapped around him. But he just sighed, resigned, like being dragged into awkward situations by James was an everyday thing.
“Pleasure to meet you. James talks a lot about you,” he greeted with a calm voice and a noticeable foreign accent.
“The pleasure’s ours, Zemo,” Tony jumped in immediately, wearing the analytical look he usually reserved for dissecting something new. His tone was more curious than friendly. “You’re not American, are you?”
The boy frowned at the comment, his gaze quickly turning to James. James gave him a relaxed look, as if saying it wasn’t a big deal.
“No.”
“Your accent gives you away,” Tony chuckled, proud of his observation. “So where are you from, then? Russia? Germany? Austria? God knows America has history with those Europeans.”
The comment was off-putting. Sam and Pepper looked surprised at his nerve—saying that to someone he’d just met. Bruce shifted uncomfortably. Natasha and Clint visibly scowled. Zemo, for his part, didn’t even try to hide his displeasure. Tony’s grin only widened. Bucky looked indignant; Tony could be a bastard, sure, but saying that to a younger guy, just for fun, just to put him down? That was too much. Steve now understood why James had never introduced them before.
Pepper tried to cut in, annoyed.
“Tony, that was rud—”
“Sokovia,” Zemo finally snapped, his expression hard. “You probably don’t know it, but America has a lot of history with my country too.”
His voice dripped with venom. He straightened slightly and subtly pulled away from Bucky’s arm, marking distance.
“Wait—Zemo?” Bruce cut in suddenly. Everyone turned to look at him, and he stepped back a little, adjusting his glasses awkwardly. “Like, the Zemo family from Sokovia?”
The boy just nodded slightly.
“They’re like Sokovian royalty,” Bruce explained, now with awe in his voice. “Though I didn’t expect any of them to still be around after the capital was destroyed in the bombings… I guess the assets survived. I mean, your family is one of the richest families in Central Europe. It doesn’t even make sense for someone like you to study here...”
Bruce started rambling, drawing resigned looks from the group. It wasn’t unusual for him to lose himself in his thoughts.
“Oh, sorry,” he apologized quickly, looking embarrassed. “I’m really interested in the history of your nation. I hope I wasn’t rude.”
“It’s fine. If you have questions, I can answer them for you,” Zemo replied with forced politeness. The previous tension gave way to distant courtesy. It was obvious the only thing the young man wanted was to leave. Tony had completely ruined the first impression.
Bruce, however, lit up like a lightbulb. The pair stepped away a bit, starting a more private conversation. No one else in the group shared Bruce Banner’s passion for knowledge. And certainly, no one was going to try now.
Once they were far enough from the group, Bucky finally snapped, visibly annoyed:
“What the hell is wrong with you, Stark?”
“Woah, woah, calm down, buddy,” Tony said, dramatically raising his hands. “It was just a comment. No one gets humor these days.”
“Well, I don’t remember you saying anything like that when you met Nat,” Clint pointed out, not bothering to hide his disapproval.
“So now everyone’s against me?” Tony replied, glancing around. No one said a word in his defense, which made him visibly more uncomfortable.
“Oh, Nat, darling, I’m sorry, it was a joke, I won’t do it again, okay?” he said with syrupy sarcasm. Natasha just rolled her eyes, clearly tired of him.
“And besides, the difference is obvious—Natasha is, well, Natasha.” He made a gesture with his hands to emphasize his point. God, Pepper must have the patience of a saint. “And that little European brat just seems like an idiot,” he finished, as if that were the most logical conclusion.
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to act like one yourself,” Bucky grumbled, arms crossed. “God, this is exactly why I didn’t want you to meet him.”
He muttered that last part under his breath, rubbing his hands over his face in frustration.
Steve stayed quiet, but inside, he was torn between speaking up or staying silent.
“Yeah, well, you’ve been awfully quiet, Rogers,” Tony said, deflecting attention toward him—maybe hoping for backup.
Steve met his eyes directly, voice low but firm:
“You acted like a jerk to that kid, Tony.”
“Language!” Tony snapped instinctively, like always.
“But I’m glad you’re making new friends,” Steve added, this time looking at Bucky with a sincere smile.
Bucky returned a small, grateful smile.
“Well, now that we’ve all aired our grievances, can we please go get changed?” Tony clapped his hands in an attempt to clear the tension. “We’re not impressing anyone in these sweaty clothes.”
“Not even Pepper would want you after a shower,” Clint muttered, though no one picked up the jab. Natasha let out a light chuckle.
Bucky walked away from the group and headed back to the boy. He threw his arm over Zemo’s shoulders, and Steve swore he heard him apologize softly for Tony’s behavior. The boy looked uncomfortable but seemed to accept the apology.
Steve watched them as they walked back toward the lockers. In that moment, he noticed something different in how Bucky laughed with him, how relaxed his posture was. It was like a weight had been lifted. Yeah, Steve was happy he was making new friends. Truly happy.
Once everyone had scattered and the locker room had mostly emptied, Steve was the last one out, his hair still damp and emotions tangled. He paused when he saw a familiar figure waiting outside, leaning casually against one of the hallway columns.
Zemo stood there, arms crossed, looking at his phone like he had all the time in the world—completely at ease among the fading echoes of laughter and footsteps.
"Are you waiting for Bucky?” Steve asked, his voice neutral but his jaw slightly tense, eyes fixed, not daring to blink.
Zemo looked up with that same serene expression Steve found irritatingly unbothered—almost defiant in its calm.
“Yes. He said he’d be out in a moment,” he replied, then pocketed his phone deliberately and looked Steve straight in the eyes. “Good practice, by the way. Though I’m afraid Stark doesn’t have much of a future as a diplomat.”
Steve let out a dry, humorless laugh. He didn’t feel like talking, but he wasn’t ready to walk away either. Something in the air held him there.
“I’m sorry about what he said back there. He doesn’t usually have a filter,” Steve admitted, shrugging, like that could make everything better—like it could avoid all the things he didn’t want to confront.
“Don’t worry. I’m used to comments like that.”
A brief silence fell between them—not merely awkward, but heavy, like the tense pause before a discordant note in a symphony. Zemo was the one to break it.
“You don’t need to worry about me, Rogers.”
Steve frowned, the muscles in his neck visibly tightening.
“Excuse me?”
“Bucky.” Zemo lowered his voice—there was no sarcasm or mockery in it, just a blunt honesty that stung more than any insult. “I know you feel something more for him. It’s not hard to see. The way you look at him… I’ve been told I’m a good observer.”
Steve’s heart skipped a beat—like he’d suddenly lost his balance—but he said nothing. Zemo continued, calm as ever, though there was a strange compassion in his voice.
“I don’t intend to get involved with him. But… it’s clear he behaves differently with me.”
He paused, as if carefully choosing his next words.
“And from what I’ve heard from him, he sees you as a good friend—almost like a brother. You should talk to him about it.”
Steve swallowed hard. He wanted to say something—to deny it, to defend himself, to joke even—but there was nothing to deny. Nothing to defend. Because deep down, he knew Zemo was right.
Zemo watched him for a few seconds longer with that piercing gaze, like he could see past everything Steve didn’t say. Then, as if closing the conversation, he gave a slight nod—almost respectfully.
“I just thought you should know. For his sake. And yours.”
At that moment, the locker room door opened and Bucky stepped out, adjusting his jacket with automatic movements, still unaware of the charged atmosphere between the two men. He saw Steve and Zemo together and frowned slightly, confused by the scene.
“Everything okay?” he asked, approaching them slowly, as if feeling out the tension with every step.
“Yeah,” Zemo replied quickly, turning to him with a brief smile. “Ready to go?”
Bucky looked at Steve one last time—waiting for a reaction, a sign, anything that would explain the knot forming in his stomach. But Steve only nodded with a forced smile—one of those smiles he used when pretending everything was fine. The kind that lately fooled Bucky anymore.
And then he watched them walk away together, side by side, not speaking, but with a silent kind of ease that stung. They didn’t say goodbye. They didn’t look back.
And that’s when he knew.
The weight in his chest. The sharp stab of something like jealousy. The frustration of never having said anything. Of pretending it was nothing. Of ignoring the signs… it all crashed down on him at once. Like a silent tide that had been building for a long time.
Steve stood alone in the empty hallway, the echo of his own feelings bouncing off the silence—amplified by the sudden loneliness and the certainty that he’d been too late for something he never dared to name.
Yes, Steve wasn’t stupid.
And he wasn’t blind either.