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They'd gone to school together; years later met in the wrong part of the city. They'd decided to pretend, to keep the other safe.
Introducing her to Steve had been the hardest thing he'd ever done. Bucky hated lying to him, hated keeping this to himself. The flower he swallowed while clearing his throat agreed.
Carnations, every single one, from the day they'd met. He'd heard of Oscar Wilde. There was only one way to read this. And Bucky wasn't blind, he'd noticed Steve cough and mutter, too.
This was going to get them killed, whichever way they played it.