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“Hm, what did Wilson mean by that question?”
Walker was tugging down the hidden zipper on the upper part of his combat suit, a grimace slipping out before he could hide it or pretend he was used to it. He was no stranger to getting hurt, of course, but that didn’t mean it didn’t bother him when what were possibly fractured ribs seemed to pinch from the inside depending on how he moved.
His gloves rested on the small table by the door. The room wasn’t luxurious, but it was all they needed after a truly exhausting day: there was a bathroom, a bed, and silence. That was exactly what Walker wanted. He’d probably want to eat something later too, but he’d deal with that afterward.
Bucky was leaning against the wall, left leg crossed over the right, head resting back, eyes closed, as if still trying to anchor himself in the moment — in the silence broken by his roommate’s voice.
“What’s the difference between sharing a room and actually sharing a room with me?”
The suit was now lying next to the gloves, but he kept on a black shirt, the lower part of the combat uniform, and his boots. He approached the armchair, sat down, and got rid of the shoes, leaving them beside the nightstand that always came with those rented rooms — though they never actually used it.
“He always asks that question.”
Bucky sat down too, at the edge of his bed, near the foot. He ran his hands over his face, rubbing them there before letting them slide up through his hair, pushing it back. “I think he’s always waiting for a different answer — especially since it’s almost always you sharing the room with me.”
“I still don’t get it.”
Walker stood up, his hand finding the belt of his pants and loosening it — though not taking it off yet.
When he went into the bathroom, Bucky was still watching him, noticing the outline of his back beneath that black shirt clinging to him like Walker had been drawn wearing the damn thing.
It felt like a decade — he knew it wasn’t. He’d shared a room with Walker too many times not to know that lunatic’s routine. So it hadn’t even been five full minutes when he came out, a towel wrapped around his waist; skin damp from the shower, hair still being rubbed dry with a smaller towel, and water dripping from his beard down that bare torso.
“All yours.”
Of course, he meant the bathroom, but it always made Bucky huff and turn his face away — to avoid staring too long at Walker’s chest, and everything else.
“Walker,” Bucky walked past him but called out right as he was almost closing the bathroom door. “Sam always asks that stupid question because… you know.”
He pointed at himself, as if that alone could shed some light on Walker’s thoughts and confusion.
Which, to say the least, didn’t help at all.
“What? Because you’re a lone wolf?”
Walker laughed; the joke was good to him.
“No. Because of my sexual preference.”
That’s where the smile died — not for any reason other than sheer shock. His head tilted slightly, neurons probably racing back and forth inside that blond head of his. Then the door shut, and the sound of that thud snapped Walker back to himself.
A wide-eyed Walker, towel still wrapped around his waist — the other one lying on the floor, fallen from his hand when the shock hit him. He just stood there. Could he have gotten dressed? Yes. In fact, he should have.
And just as Bucky had left him there, that’s how he found him when he came out of the bathroom. Unlike John, Bucky came out not with a towel around his waist, but in those sweatpants that were a guaranteed presence whenever they needed to actually stay away from the Tower. Worn out, but extremely comfortable.
“Are you gay?”
“You didn’t know?”
Bucky was staring at him, a towel draped around his neck, hanging over his shoulders to catch the water still dripping from his dark hair. He used the edge of it to dry his face once more, eyes still locked on Walker — on the chest that rose and fell quickly with that nearly chaotic breathing. He looked very much like a man trying to piece together a jigsaw puzzle flipped upside down.
“At what point was I supposed to know that?” His hands were up, gesturing because he genuinely wanted to understand — was there a memo? A meeting where they all sat down for coffee and shared that kind of thing, and he’d missed it?
Bucky dropped down onto the bed, bare-chested, barefoot, propping his arms back to stretch, legs outstretched, only his heels touching the floor. If he was going to have that conversation with Walker, he’d have it sitting comfortably on his own bed. He preferred when he didn’t have to talk about that stuff; at this point in life, you’d think the people close to him would already know.
“Is that a problem?” That was an important question right there. Walker wouldn’t be the first idiot soldier to cross his path — Bucky just would’ve preferred John not be one of those people.
“No. Why would it be?”
Walker walked around to his own bed, sitting down to face Bucky — their feet nearly touching in that mirrored position he’d taken to get comfortable. His hands rested on his thighs, sinking slightly into the towel on his lap. “The thing is, you don’t seem like…” He didn’t want to sound like a jerk.
“I like men, Walker. My looks or the way I act shouldn’t have anything to do with that.”
“No, of course. Sorry. It’s just… does everyone know?”
John was suddenly feeling very left out of the group.
“Yelena?” Walker started, hopeful that maybe Bucky had left someone out. But Bucky only nodded.
“Ava?” Another nod.
“Alexei… BOB?”
Yes, and yes.
Barnes could practically hear the coins clinking in John’s head — the mental tokens finally falling into place like treasures hoarded by a little dragon who had just started his collection. How had he been so, so oblivious?
“Well, I’ll leave you to your thoughts, then…”
Bucky swung his legs up onto the bed, his right arm tucked behind his head, his left hand resting over his sternum after switching off the lamp between the beds. Air escaped his lips in a loud sigh.
Walker was still sitting there.
Looking at him, but also not looking at him. Every possible interaction playing in his head like he was watching a movie, trying to find the moment when it should’ve been obvious to him. But Bucky just didn’t seem gay. Not that he could be blamed — he was blind to most things involving relationships; he’d only had one experience his whole life.
He stayed like that long enough to annoy Bucky — long enough for him to glance over and still find Walker’s face, one eyebrow raised, mouth slightly open, pure confusion painted all over it. That finally made Bucky sit up, switch the lamp back on, and throw a pillow straight at him.
“With you staring at me like that, I’ll never get any sleep. Can you look a little less shocked, or at least turn the other way?”
“Right. Sorry.”
The pillow had hit him square in the face, but he hadn’t even had the reflex to dodge. Now the pillow was on the floor as he stepped over it, heading toward the bathroom with the clothes he should’ve put on while Bucky was in the shower.
When he came back, the room was dark again.
Bucky was turned away from him, lying on his side. Walker sat down, got comfortable, and finally lay back — eyes on the ceiling, one hand on his chest and the other under his head, just like Bucky had been a few minutes earlier.
His mind was chaos at that point. He was still sniffing around for details, like a dog following the trail of a scent it had almost lost.
“Have you always been gay?”
“Walker, go to sleep — or I swear the last thing you’ll feel on your tongue will be my fingers pinching it right out of your mouth.”
Sleeping wasn’t easy… not when Walker had questions.
Not just about Bucky — maybe about himself too.
But he’d have to look into that another day. And surely, it wouldn’t stay out of his mind for long.
And he’d start with Yelena, checking when she’d found out — and why she’d never mentioned it!