Chapter Text
Sam Wilson didn’t intend to meet the love of his life at age 21. Frankly, it was damned inconvenient that he did. Football had been his passion for as long as he could toddle and grab a flag, morphing into his sole focus during two years of middle school, four years of high school and his first three years as running back at LSU. With the NFL draft looming and his dreams so close to reality, the last thing he needed was the distraction of a love life. But fate liked to be tricky, throwing curveballs for her own amusement; and she’d tossed a doozy in the form of a quiet, moody, intense loner with tortured blue-gray eyes and a massive chip on his shoulder.
One with a laugh so rare that it felt like a gift every time Sam heard it.
It was all Steve Rogers’ fault. For Sam, a lot of sentences began that way. They’d been teammates at LSU since freshman year, Steve a capable quarterback talented enough to enter the draft though he didn’t aspire to go pro. It was through him, Sam first met Bucky Barnes. Well over a year before, but only in the most general of ways. A friend of a friend, Bucky was broody at best and downright anti-social at most. Their paths had crossed several times, Bucky never bothering to greet him with much more than a nod–never a smile–before shuffling back to his own room when Sam came over to Steve’s dorm for pizza and video games. If Bucky had any friends outside of Steve, Sam hadn’t seen it, catching sight of the guy walking across campus every now and then–always alone.
Sam knew for a fact that Steve had tried to get Bucky to come out with him–morning jogs before classes, grub after grueling practices, parties on and off campus–Steve was always texting Bucky to invite him along, but Bucky never accepted.
Sam wasn’t one to pry, but curiosity had won out and one night he’d asked Steve about his phantom of a friend, one he’d heard so much about freshman year. You should meet my friend Bucky. He goes to IU. He’s a charmer. The life of every party. Girls hanging off him. Everyone loves Bucky.
That fit. Sam figured with a name like Bucky, a dude better have a great personality. After becoming close friends with Steve during that first year, he’d learned that as a kid the now strapping quarterback had been scrawny and sickly. That Bucky had been a year older and had taken him under his protective wing. They’d remained best friends throughout middle and high school, Steve eventually experiencing a growth spurt and then a glow-up after discovering weightlifting and sports.
Bucky enrolled in college at Indiana University to stay close to his family. Steve finished high school, the lure of a free ride courtesy of a football scholarship bringing the blond to Louisiana State University in the fall. Bucky had transferred to LSU for his junior year, and Sam had been looking forward to getting to know the Bucky from Steve’s stories, but that hadn’t happened.
Because, that Bucky apparently didn’t exist.
So yeah, he’d asked. Aiming for vague when he was really being nosy, because eff it…what was the guy’s deal? “Is it just me or is your friend kinda an asshole?” At the time, Sam thought it really might be him. Sam and Steve had grown close their freshmen year, had even discussed rooming together as sophomores before Bucky transferred. Maybe Bucky was jealous that his best friend had found another close friend. Sam could understand that a bit, the lead weight of grief settling in his stomach as he thought of Riley. Some relationships transcended mere friendship, landing on another plane–that of kindred spirits, soulmates even. He’d had that with Riley. He suspected Steve had that with Bucky. It was all good. He didn’t have a problem with Steve having another best friend…one who understood him in a way that Sam couldn’t. But maybe Bucky wasn’t so generous.
Steve had laughed at Sam’s bluntness before slowly shaking his head, his eyes clouding over as he considered his response. “No, no. It’s not…he’s not…look, it’s just complicated, is all. Bucky, he’s been through a lot. I’m glad he’s here. Even if he’s not the same.”
And that was that. All Steve would say, all Sam was getting. Apparently, whatever had happened to change Bucky was Bucky’s story to tell. But Bucky wasn’t talking to anyone but Steve, and really that suited Sam just fine.
Sam had a lot of friends. He didn’t need one always frowning, dressed perpetually in black, even if the snug tees and dark jeans he sported around campus suited him. Not that Sam was checking him out or whatever. He dated some, but never seriously, and he wouldn’t consider Bucky Barnes even for a fling. The guy was closed off to the point of being eerie, not to mention it would unnecessarily complicate his friendship with Steve. So yeah, Sam was nopeing out on all thoughts of that, even if the dude did look good in leather and drive a damn motorcycle. Which yeah…okay…a little freaking sexy. Even if he had hair long enough to put in a bun. Hair that made Sam’s fingers twitch a little at the thought of touching. Sam had never been into bad boys anyway. So yeah…nope.
Nope took an unexpected turn into yep during Sam’s junior year. He’d just turned 21 and had already decided to forgo his senior year since he would meet the requirements to be draft eligible by the end of the football season and school year. Bucky was a senior, which was about the only thing Sam knew about him since the other man lived on the fringes of his existence, barely an acquaintance. Seriously, Sam had seen him at one social gathering in the nearly two years they’d known each other–a birthday party Sam had organized for Steve.
He’d stood aloofly off to the side the entire time, though strangely enough Sam had managed to have a random, unexpected moment with him. After a few beers, Steve had finally managed to make a move on the blonde he’d been eyeing in his criminal justice classes. When Steve had leaned in to kiss Sharon Carter for the first time, Sam had found himself nodding and smiling with approval, his gaze landing on Bucky across the room doing the same exact damn thing. While Sam felt like he was being discreet, Bucky was full on beaming with pride, Sam’s breath catching because he was pretty sure that was the first time he’d ever seen him smile. And what a smile it was.
Somehow, they’d both stopped looking at Steve and were now looking at each other, Bucky’s smile faltering but not disappearing completely, the unexpected softness in his gaze drawing Sam in like a siren’s song. It was only a few seconds of eye contact, but fuck, it was potent, loaded with enough what if’s and what about’s to make Sam wonder.
Then Scott stumbled into him, sloshing beer as he went, distracting Sam enough to break the spell. When Sam looked Bucky’s way again the other man was gone.
That was their only real moment. A fleeting one at best that made Sam think about that sappy James Blunt song he secretly liked but would never admit to out loud. If he had “You’re Beautiful” on a secret playlist that was no one’s business but his own. But suddenly he got it…what it meant to share a moment that would last ‘’til the end’. How inexplicable, unattainable, and unforgettable a single moment could be.
He held that moment close like a secret, but it didn’t alter his life or anything. No, that came a few weeks later when he did that thing he rarely let himself do. When he sank into his sadness, drank a little too much and found himself alone at a random bar on karaoke night.
He wouldn’t say he was wasted, but he was drunk enough, his eyes bleary when he texted Steve for a ride. The reply he got back was immediate and surprising.
~Who the hell is this?~
Which okay…rude much? Sam leaned back in the darkness of the corner booth he’d picked to hide out in as he nursed his sorrows, finishing off his beer and waving for another against his better judgment. He was skating the line of going too far, but fuck, wasn’t he allowed a little weakness? A little sadness? He was so much for so many, always putting forth the smile and the effort. The happy guy. The personable guy. The guy trusted with all the secrets. The guy who let it all roll off. The guy going places because he never let anything get him down.
And it wasn’t a facade, wasn’t a lie. But sometimes…fuck…sometimes it was a show. When his phone started vibrating, he figured it had to be Steve, so he answered without looking. “Why ‘on’t you wanna come’n get me Steeb, huh?” He mumbled…feeling…embarrassingly enough, a little sleepy. He didn’t drink a lot, didn’t need alcohol to have a good time. That shit just came naturally. So yeah, maybe he was technically a bit of a lightweight.
“Maybe because you didn’t text, Steve, Dumbass,” came the grumbly reply.
Sam blinked. Pulled the phone away from his ear and squinted at it in confusion. He’d most certainly texted Steve…oh…wait…
Fuck. He’d texted Bucky by mistake.
“My bad. Got ‘our number in as ‘Steve’s Asshole Friend.’ Musta hit the wrong one.”
There was a moment of pointed silence and Sam realized he probably shouldn’t have voiced that out loud. He winced, giving the waitress a grateful smile when she put another bottle in front of him. At least he had beer.
“You got my number?” Bucky finally asked from the other end.
“Steve insisted I put it in when you first moved here.”
“Yeah, he put yours in mine, too. I deleted it.”
“Ouch.”
“You think I’m an asshole?”
“Did you just hear yourself? Yeah, I think you’re an asshole, Asshole. Deleting me like that. You’re cold, Man. As icy as your slate-colored eyes.”
“You know my eye color?”
Wait, what? That took a turn. Sam blinked, because he definitely hadn’t meant to say that. And maybe he should stop drinking. He took another drink as he considered it. “Can you give the phone to Steeb…I mean Steeb…Steeeve?” Third time was the charm. Sam nodded proudly to himself. He was fiiiine.
“Can’t. He’s on a date with the hot blonde.”
Of course Bucky thought Sharon was hot. Bucky was probably completely straight. Sam did not give a shit. “Maybe she has a hot friend…hot sister or something. Y’all could double.”
Bucky snorted. “Or a hot brother.”
Sam perked up. He suddenly gave a shit. “Yeah?”
“Where you at, Wilson? How drunk are you?”
“I’m 21,” he defended. This was perfectly legal. As long as he didn’t do anything idiotic like drive or get into a bar brawl, he was all good. His future all set.
“Not what I asked.”
“Not much.” And he wasn’t. He was still fully functioning. Just buzzed. Feeling a little happy before the eventual melancholy set in. It was like this every year on this day. He knew what to expect. He just was usually smart enough to drink in private where he could mourn in peace. “I’m fine. Just need a lift.”
“Can’t you call an Uber or something?”
“Fuck that. I’m not gettin’ in some car with some stranger. Don’t you read the news, Buddy?”
“What? Like you can’t take care of yourself with all those muscles you got?”
“You noticin’ my muscles, Barnes?” Interesting. The awkward pause that followed made Sam smile. Interesting indeed.
Bucky finally sighed. Loudly. Very put-uponly. “Fuck it, where are you, Wilson? I’ll come get you.”
“Stella’s.”
“Who is that? You at a party? Frat?”
“S’no. It’sabar.” He didn’t mean to slur the words together, but they tumbled out in a rush before he could stop them.
“Never heard of it.”
Sam wasn’t exactly surprised. He’d picked it because it was a little rinky-dink place away from campus. He hadn’t wanted to run into any teammates or classmates. Anyone who might know him and expect him to be smiling. “They have kerrrry-oh-keee, Baaaarnes. I think Imma sign up.”
“Don’t do that. I’m on my way.”
“Too late. Doing it. I’ll surprise you.”
“Fuck, I can’t find this place on Google. Where the hell you at, Wilson, that they don’t have a mother-fucking webpage on the Internet?”
“Come an’ find me, Barnes. I’ll be waiting.” He hung up with a gleeful laugh, finishing off his beer as he went to the front to check out the song list.