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“If it was just one time, he would’ve taken you back. Written it off as just a stupid mistake. A moment of weakness, or some other bullshit that I would never believe.” Bruce licked his lips. “He loves you. So much that it makes him stupid.”
Bucky ran his fingers through his hair. “Oh my god, you’re right,” he breathed out. “I’ve been sleeping with someone else for a month now. Seeing them for longer,” he admitted.
“Oh?” Bruce’s eyebrows raised. “You’re lucky Sam is such a great guy. If a guy cheated on me, I’d kill him and whoever he cheated on me with. But if he dared to do what you did, I’d cut off his dick. Killing him would be too nice.”
“Thanks for the kindness and support,” Bucky mumbled sarcastically.
“Don’t tell me you were stupid enough to think I would have even a lick of sympathy for you, after finding out what you did. You took all the love, all the trust that Sam gave you, and stomped it into the ground. Don’t tell me that you’re hurting over what you did. You don’t know what hurt is.”
Bucky shouldn’t feel like he got the short end of a stick he’d cut. He had no right to.
Everything that had happened to lead up to how he currently felt was his own damn fault. He had done it for himself and to himself.
Bucky looked over at Sam, who was across the room for him, a bright smile on his face as he talked to T’Challa on his laptop.
Sam used to look at him like that. His dark eyes used to shine whenever Bucky entered the room and he used to look at Bucky like he was his entire world. Steve didn’t look at Bucky like that. Steve told Bucky he loved him every day, but that didn’t cancel out the fact that Steve was extremely selfish. He knew Steve didn’t mean to, but he had trouble thinking about anyone other than himself. Now that it was just the two of them, without the sneaking around or showing off that Steve had liked to do in front of Sam, their relationship was beginning to feel strangely hollow.
Bucky couldn’t help but think about how, in all the years he and Sam had been together, their relationship had never made Bucky feel empty inside.
Bucky looked down at his phone when it chimed loudly next to him. Steve. Again. “Hello?” Bucky’s voice was full of barely concealed irritation. He was getting tired of Steve calling him every five minutes when he was in his dorm.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come over?”
Bucky sighed. “Yes, I’m sure. I have a test tomorrow. I need to study.” He looked down at his notes, which were scattered around him. “I have to get back to studying, Steve.”
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it. I love you.”
“Love you too.” Bucky ended the call, briefly glancing at Sam as he laughed at something T’Challa said to him before turning his attention back to studying.
He knew the signs. Steve thought Bucky was cheating on him, which was funny in a demented way. Steve, who had pursued Bucky while knowing that he was with someone else, was now afraid someone would do exactly what he’d already done. Bucky wasn’t used to being in a relationship where someone was so suspicious of him. He didn’t like it, even though he knew he kind of deserved it. When he decided to hook up with Steve the very first time, he’d had a large label slapped onto his chest in clunky, black letters.
CHEATER.
That’s what he was, now. With Sam, he had been the Bucky who had been admired. One-half of the school’s power couple, proof that true love existed. He had been Bucky, who loved science and astronomy, who was working toward a degree in Engineering.
Now? He was just a cheater in a loveless relationship. It was no use trying to deny it now. Sam had been the best thing to happen to Bucky. All that had been good about him was because he’d had Sam’s unwavering love and support.
Sam , who had someone else. Someone better for him. Someone who realized how lucky he was to have Sam, and worked tirelessly to prove that he was worthy of him.
“Hm?” Bucky looked up at the sound of Sam’s voice. He had taken out one of his earbuds and was looking at Bucky expectantly. “You called my name.”
Bucky hadn’t realized he’d said anything at all, but maybe his slip-up was fate. Maybe he could still have Sam in his life as a friend, even if he’d ruined his chances at Sam ever loving him again. He cleared his throat. “I want us to be friends.”
Sam’s eyes hardened. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said to T’Challa, ending the video call. A hint of a smile appeared on his face, but it was bitter. “You want to know something about friendship, Bucky?”
Bucky swallowed. Every fiber of his being screamed at him that he didn’t, but he nodded anyway.
Sam licked his lips. “Good. I’ll tell you, then. Friends can count on each other. Friends? They trust each other. I cannot count on you and I sure as hell don’t trust you after what you’ve done.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to force himself to calm down. “I used to love you. But now, I don’t even like you. I don’t know who the hell you are.”
“I know I don’t deserve it...” Bucky looked down at his lap. “But I miss having you in my life. I don’t want to ruin what you and T’Challa have. I just—I’d like to have the sun in my sky again,” he tried, his voice small. He surely didn’t deserve sympathy, and when he looked up at Sam, whose lips had quirked up into a more genuine smile, he was surprised. Maybe he could have Sam in his life again, after all. Maybe there was hope for him.
“Oh, Bucky, sweetie.” Sam set his laptop aside, walking over to Bucky’s bed. He placed his hand on Bucky’s chin, making him look at him. “After the way you and your delightful boyfriend treated me, you don’t get to have me in your life anymore. Dress warm, it gets cold without sunlight.”
Bucky’s heart plummeted down to his stomach at Sam’s words. “I’m sorry, Sam,” he tried. “Please, just give me a chance.”
Sam shook his head, his mouth set in a thin line. “No.” He grabbed his backpack off of the floor and headed toward the door.
“Wait, where are you going?”
Sam paused in the doorway, his expression half shocked and half-offended. “You don’t get to ask me that anymore, Bucky, but I’ll indulge you just this once. It’s not like you’ll be seeing me much anymore, anyway.” He shrugged. “This”—he gestured vaguely—“was the last straw. I’m tired of all of this. I’m tired of having to look across the room and be reminded of what you did. I’m tired of living in the same room where I almost let you destroy me,” he told him. “I’m going to Rhodey’s house. I’ll be back to pack up my side of the room tomorrow. I’m moving out.”