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It’s not even much. A whisper of silver at his temples, just above the ears. It catches the light when he turns his head too quickly. Subtle. Almost charmingly unfair, how even ageing seems to suit him. You watch him for a while across the kitchen one morning, his back turned, sleeves rolled, hands working quietly to press coffee grounds into a French press. That’s when you notice it again, the faint shine of grey in the morning sun. And something in your chest tugs.

You love him. That much is easy.

Loving Steve Rogers is like standing in the sun, steady, unwavering, quietly powerful. It isn’t always simple, though. He carries too much, too quietly. Sometimes he forgets he’s allowed to be soft. He forgets he doesn’t have to be Captain America with you. Only Steve.

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed. “You’re going grey.”

He pauses, coffee halfway poured, and glances at you over his shoulder. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

There’s a beat where his expression doesn’t change. He studies you, almost too carefully, like he’s trying to find out if you mean it. You know that look. You’ve seen it a thousand times. He’s not vain, not even close, but he worries in his own quiet way. Worries he’s missed too much, wasted too much time. Worries you’ll wake up one day and realise the past has aged him in ways you haven’t noticed yet.

“I kind of love it,” you say, voice softer now.

Steve’s eyes linger on yours a second longer than they need to. Then the corner of his mouth twitches, not quite a smile yet, but close. He sets the mug down. Walks towards you like he’s considering something.

You don’t move. Let him come to you. He stops a little too close, close enough to smell the coffee on his skin and the faint scent of your shampoo from the night before still clinging to the collar of his sweatshirt. His hand finds your waist. Yours go to his chest like they belong there.

“You mean that?” he asks, like he needs to hear it again.

Your thumb brushes the soft cotton over his heart. “I mean it.”

“I feel old,” he admits.

“You are old. Very old.”

That earns you a quiet laugh. His head drops forward, his forehead brushing yours. “Thanks for that.”

“You’re welcome.” You wrap your arms loosely around his middle, resting your cheek against his shoulder. “You’re also stupidly handsome, aggravatingly kind, and built like a sculpture, so if you think a few grey hairs are gonna scare me off, you’re delusional.”

His hand smooths down your back, settling at the small of it. “I didn’t say I was scared.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You feel him exhale. His breath is warm against your hair.

It’s always like this, with him, love held in actions rather than declarations. A pressed kiss to your hairline. A hand lingering at the small of your back when crossing the street. A wordless glance across a crowded room. You know he loves you, in the quiet, devoted way that he loves all things, deeply, and without asking for much in return.

Still, there are parts of him you wish he didn’t keep so buried.

“I think it suits you,” you murmur. “The grey. It makes you look… lived-in.”

He snorts. “Thanks again.”

“No, I mean it. You’re not twenty. You’ve survived things. Seen more than most people could imagine. It’s written on you. And I think there’s something beautiful about that.”

When he pulls back, there’s something unreadable in his face. His hand lifts to your jaw, thumb resting just beneath your cheekbone. You don’t speak. Let him look. Let him think.

“You always know what to say,” he murmurs. “It’s annoying.”

“I know.”

He kisses you then. Not rushed, not slow either, just real. Familiar. Like the comfort of your shared bed after a long day. Like the hush of midnight when the world outside is too loud. You kiss him back, threading your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the strands slip between your fingers.

When he pulls back, you let your hand drift to the silver at his temple.

“I mean it,” you say again. “I really do love it.”

Something in his posture shifts. Like he lets himself believe you this time.

He presses another kiss to your cheek, then your nose, then finally your forehead. “You’re biased.”

“Utterly.”

The grey spreads, slowly.

You notice it more when you’re lying beside Steve, tracing your fingers through his hair absently while he talks about something in that low, thoughtful voice. It suits him, like you said. He’s softened into himself over the last few years, less rigid, more at ease. The pressure of the shield is gone now, some given to Sam, some tucked away in museum glass or behind classified files. He still trains, still helps where he can, but it’s not the same. He lives now.

You see it in the way he sleeps in more. The way he reads on the porch, half-glasses perched low on his nose, feet up. The way he looks at you like he’s memorising every second.

Sometimes, it still hits you. That you get this version of him. The one who gets to stay. To grow old. He never expected that.

One night, months later, you’re curled into his side on the sofa. There’s a film playing, but neither of you are really watching it. His arm is around you, thumb tracing the rhythm of his thoughts against your arm. You glance up. The light from the TV flickers against his face, silver catching again in his hair.

“Do you still feel old?” you ask softly.

He doesn’t answer immediately. His gaze lingers on the screen, even though you’re sure he hasn’t registered a frame in the last hour.

“Sometimes,” he admits. “Not in a bad way. Just… it’s different.”

“Do you mind it?”

“I used to. Thought I’d lost too much time to earn it. Now…” He looks down at you. His thumb stills. “Now it feels like something I’m allowed.”

You reach up, touch the grey again. He leans into your hand like it’s second nature. It is, now.

“You more than earned it, Steve.”

He kisses the inside of your wrist. “I’m lucky you think so.”

There’s more you want to say, about the life you’ve built, the ordinary routines that feel extraordinary because they include him. The way you catch him looking at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, like he’s still trying to believe it’s real. You want to tell him that he’s beautiful in ways that have nothing to do with the way he looks. That time hasn’t taken anything from him that you care about.

Instead, you lift your hand to cup his cheek. Let your thumb graze the corner of his mouth.

“You’re going grey,” you whisper again. “And I still kind of love it.”

This time, he smiles fully. “Good.”

He kisses you, slower this time. Drawn out. Tasting of love, of time shared, of mornings still to come.

He shrugged his shoulders. 

"I'm headed to the common room for open mic night here. Some of the agents think they're hilarious so I'm going to heckle them if they're not. You should come." You smiled. 

He gave you a polite shrug then left. 

"I don't know why you keep talking to him. He's not interested and could care less about you and what you do. He only walks up to you to be nice." Your co-worker and fellow agent Sara glared at you. 

You shrugged. You weren't going to let her rudeness get to you. Not today. 

"I know. But I like to think he listens to me" you shrugged. 

"He'd never be interested in you" she scoffed. 

You shrunk in your seat. You knew that it just hurt when someone else pointed that out. Whatever. You went back to your reports and smiled to yourself, glad you got to see Bucky.

You were a naturally talkative and bubbly person. Always positive and looked at the bright side of things. You constantly got into trouble with your teachers in school since they thought you were such a distraction to the other students. Your parents had a hard time dealing with you because you were so curious and outgoing. You'd approach anyone and have a full-blown conversation with them about whatever topic came to mind and you loved it. You were always so curious with what people's opinions were on things and you'd listen to them, putting your two cents in and you loved it. 

Your grandma always said you had the gift of gab, and you should use your voice for good, so you became a communications specialist with SHIELD. You would be a liaison between SHIELD and the press/media in your early days and you enjoyed every minute of it, but it didn't challenge you enough. Plus, you had to be on call all the time in case a member of the media or press had any questions or needed more information. You hated being woken up at 3am by the French media or having to work until 1am to speak with someone on the other side of the world. You liked your sleep too much. 

 You then moved to their archives and records department where you are now and haven't looked back. You still get to chat lots, but this time, you get to chat with the Avengers in person, still do office work, and be done at a reasonable hour, so you can't complain.

The following morning, you were working away on one of the last mission reports when you had to clarify something that happened. You looked at the name on the report and it was Sam Wilson. You found the Avengers schedule and saw Sam would be in a meeting room, so you wandered over to the conference rooms. Sure enough, he sat around the table and was chatting with Steve. 

"Um, hello?" you knocked on the door. 

"Agent Y/l/n." Sam smiled. 

"Hi Sam. I had a question on your last report" you showed him your tablet. 

"Uh oh, you're in trouble." Steve smirked then he left the room. 

You waved at Steve when you saw Bucky behind him. 

"Hi Bucky."

You smiled. He nodded and looked down at his feet. 

"Sam, line 40 doesn't make sense, can you clarify?" you pointed to your tablet he held. 

"Sure." He tapped on the screen, and you turned to Bucky. 

"Nice day out there. I think I'll head out after and get some ice cream." you smiled. 

Bucky nodded and looked over at Sam. 

"Here you go." 

Sam handed you the tablet and you looked at the revised line. 

"Thanks Sam. See you later. Bye Bucky!" you left. 

Sam glared at Bucky. 

"What?" he asked. 

"That agent practically spoon fed you an easy date and you just stood there like a lump." Sam scoffed. 

"What? What do you mean? Agent Y/l/n is always talking to me, telling me things" Bucky shrugged. 

"She's into you man" Sam got up from his spot. 

"She's just being nice. She's very talkative." 

"Sure she is" Sam rolled his eyes and walked out, leaving Bucky alone.

Bucky's known you for almost a year. You always stop and talk to him and ask about his day. He knows a lot about you from the brief interactions you've had. He knows your favourite colour, how you take you coffee, your favourite animal, movie, music, and what you like to do to relax. That's just from the small bits and pieces of what you've told him in your brief interactions. Were you interested in him? 

He thought you were cute, pretty even in a natural and simple way. He was shy when he first arrived, and you were the first agent outside of the Avengers to talk with him. You found him one day sitting on a bench in the sun. You sat and joined him while you ate your lunch, completely relaxed and open around him. You told him where you were from and about how much you liked sitting on benches and people watching when you were in the city. Bucky had no idea how to react to you since he was shocked someone paid any attention to him outside of the team. 

Usually, other agents would see him and walk the other way, or avoid him altogether, but you didn't seem to mind being close by. He later found out you were in the archives and reporting division and would input all mission reports so there were times you had to chat with him if you had to clarify something. He didn't say much to your talking, but he always looked forward to seeing you if he was called to your office to drop off a report or pick one up. He felt bad he never really answered you, but you didn't seem to mind or care if he talked back. He liked that about you. 

Since being back from Wakanda, he found himself more of an observer than a leader and he's just fine with that. He thinks some of the things you tell him are funny and weird, but he likes listening to your thoughts and opinions on a lot of things. He thought about it some more and he looks forward to hearing you talk to him, it makes him feel special, normal almost and considers it a good day if he runs into you.

"Hey Bucky!" you waved at him from your desk. 

It had been a few days since you saw him, and he looked over at you and smiled while he dropped off a folder. Sara rolled her eyes at you, but you ignored her. 

"Going to be a nice day out there" you said, then coughed into your arm. 

You had been dealing with a bit of a tickle in your throat lately and feared you were coming down with something. 

Great. 

Bucky walked over to your desk and peeked out the window. He liked you had a window in your office you could look out from since he knows you like the scenery at the compound. You told him last fall about how much you like seeing the changing leaves. 

"Don't get him sick" Sara scolded you. 

She had lined up a bunch of cleaning wipes and aerosol sprays to keep your germs on your side of the office. Bucky looked at you and you felt sheepish under his gaze. 

"I think I'm getting a little cold, nothing major as I feel fine, but my throat is a little sore." you admitted. 

"So, stay away from here if you don't want to get sick." Sara glanced at Bucky. 

Bucky shot her a scowl she didn't see since she turned her back to get something from the printer. 

"Yeah Bucky. I don't want to get you sick. I'll probably work from my room tomorrow if I feel any worse." 

"Please do so." Sara scowled at you. 

"Anyways, have a nice day." you waved, and Bucky nodded then he left. 

"Pathetic." Sara muttered. 

On a normal day, you would have sassed her, but since you were feeling a little run down, you didn't have the energy to, so you put your head down and finished inputting the reports that were on your desk.

Just as you thought, the following day your throat felt like it was on fire, so you stayed in your room. The rest of you felt fine, no aches or chills, but your throat felt like 1000 knives were stabbing it. 

"Great" you croaked out while you got dressed. You shuffled to the kitchen and got some tea and toast, then headed back to your room to your desk so you could work for a few hours.

After lunch, you went to the medical bay to get checked out. You wanted to see if you had anything that was contagious, but it turns out, just a case of laryngitis that wasn't infected, so you just had to rest your vocal cords, drink plenty of fluids, and relax. Great. No talking to Bucky for at least a week, maybe two. 

Oh well. 

You headed back to your room and flopped on your bed, feeling a little down you're sick. Your thoughts then started running and perhaps Sara was right. It's been well over a year and all you do is talk and talk to Bucky, but he never really talks back apart from a hello or goodbye. He's probably tired of you and is just being nice and doesn't want to tell you to stop. Perhaps you should pull back a little and let him be. What were you thinking blurting out random things to the poor man! God, you felt like an idiot.

The next few days were the same. You got the reports dropped off at your room so you could work from there and not be around too many people to tempt you into talking. That would worsen your throat, so you opted to stay isolated. The sooner you could get back to normal, the better. You weren't made to isolate! Your throat was still sore, so you were drinking lots of tea and relaxing in the evenings.

Meanwhile, Bucky hadn't seen you for a few days and had no idea where you were. He was getting worried since he hadn't run into you, and he missed your chats. Even though he didn't say much, you seemed to be the highlight of his day. He asked Sam where you were, and all Sam did was tease him. Steve was out on a mission with Nat and Wanda wasn't around and asking Tony wasn't an option. He wasn't sure where to look for you. He wandered the compound tracing back his steps where he had seen you. 

The bench you met him on, the gym, the lounge and kitchen, you were nowhere. He had an idea of where your dorm was, but he didn't really feel like he should just show up. Would you like that? He didn't feel like going to your office since he would more than likely run into your co-worker whom he hates with a passion since he thinks she's mean to you. He'd rather cut his fingers off than have a conversation with her, so he continued searching around the compound for you.

You were finally feeling a little better, able to say a few things in your raspy voice. The doctors looked again and said you were on the mend, so you decided to take the day off and relax before you went back to work the following day. You headed outside to catch some sun, so you made yourself a little picnic. You grabbed a blanket, some snacks, water, and headed out to the lawn to find some quiet. You snorted thinking you were trying to find some quiet since you were the one most likely making noise by talking.

You wandered to an area of large trees and set up your blanket and snacks before you flopped down. You relaxed and opened a book to read, one you had been eyeing up online that came a few days ago. You were into your book when you heard footsteps run up to you on the grass. It was Bucky. 

"There you are!" his voice was a little frantic and he seemed a little out of breath. 

You looked at him a little weirdly, but then you smiled. He almost fell over with your smile. Combine your smile with the light, and it looked like an angel was smiling at him. He froze. You stared at him waiting for him to speak. He looked at you and stood there.

"Umm..." He froze like an idiot. 

Finally, after so long of listening to you, he had planned to talk to you, and he just stood there like a zombie. You pointed to your throat and shook your head no. 

"Oh, you're sick then?" he asked. 

You nodded.

"Huh." Bucky rubbed the back of his neck nervously. 

You gestured to your blanket and smiled at him. 

"Oh, you want me to sit?" he pointed to it. 

You nodded yes but shrugged your shoulders as if to say if you want to. 

He smiled and plopped himself down on your blanket. You placed your book to the side and smiled at him. You offered him some snacks and he grabbed an apple. 

"Thanks." He bit into it, the juices squirting down his chin, and you giggled making him blush. 

You ate some crackers and smiled over at Bucky. You were excited to see him but you were bummed you couldn't chat with him. 

"So, when will you be able to you know..." Bucky pointed to his throat. 

You shrugged and managed to squeak out "Few more days" before he nodded. 

You both sat and enjoyed the early spring air and your containers of snacks when Bucky started talking to you. You almost froze you were stunned. He told you his favourite colour, his favourite kind of music, a joke Sam told him. He talked a little about his time in Wakanda, and he told you what his favourite flavour of ice cream is and how he thinks today's movies are weird. You giggled and he smiled at you. He was finally talking to you, and you were thrilled. 

"So, I was thinking, when you're better, do you maybe want to go out on a date with me? Something casual like getting ice cream or coffee?" he asked. 

Your mouth fell open and you stared at him. He looked a little scared, like you were going to dump the contents of your snack containers on his head and storm off. 

You smiled at him and nodded like crazy. 

He let out a breath and smiled. 

"Ok, well, when you're better, we'll plan something." 

You nodded again and patted his knee.

 "Ok." 

"Ok." you rasped out. 

Bucky rolled his eyes, kicking up from the couch and rounding the kitchen counter to pick at your sandwich. You knocked his hand away several times, but you both knew it was futile. In the months you’d been living with the hockey player—who was far too big for the small, shoebox of an apartment you leased—you’d learned that food was non-negotiable for Bucky Barnes. 

There were many other things you’d learned about him as well. He sang in the shower, but only when he thought you weren’t home. He had an annoying penchant for using your $30 lotion—again, when he thought you weren’t home. And he loved to throw his massive, smelly gear just about anywhere it would land right when he got home from every practice. 

He didn’t really care if you were home for that last one. 

Bucky was the last person you thought you would be rooming with when you posted that ad last summer. A small, quaint room previously occupied by your now engaged (and traitorous) best friend, you assumed someone like-minded to yourself would have taken you up on your offer. The price point wasn’t egregious and the building was relatively close to campus. 

But weeks ticked by, and you started getting desperate. Your landlord wasn’t a nice lady, something you were positive she took pride in, and she decided that a rent increase was the perfect way to ring in the new school year. You were on the verge of destitution, and as it so happened, the only other person as desperate as you was the starting center for your college’s hockey team. 

You hardly got along. It had taken weeks for your eye to stop twitching every time he tumbled through the front door at three in the morning, and even longer for you not to feel an infuriating aggravation at his random, nighttime smoothies. You supposed he probably felt the same about your cleanliness rules and your incessant reminders about trash days. Because Bucky was in charge of bringing the trash down those long, apartment steps. Not you. 

But you’d be lying if you said things hadn’t gotten easier as of late. Conversation flowed more smoothly, things that made you seethe before were only mildly annoying, and Bucky was being… considerate? You weren’t quite sure what to call the random cups of coffee he brought home on occasion. Or his sudden urge to warm up your car when he had a morning class before yours. 

There was also the case of that party last weekend. A frat party with far too many drunk men and not enough common sense, you had had the urge to leave the second you got there. But Wanda had dragged you along for the sole purpose of driving her home after she got hammered, so you were essentially stuck. 

It was fine at first. Hot and crowded and loud, but fine. You kept a general eye on Wanda and scrolled aimlessly on your phone in the armchair you claimed. And then it wasn’t fine, because a man twice your size was encroaching on your space and unrelenting. 

“What kinda girl comes to a party and doesn’t even wanna talk to anyone?” 

“You want to come up to my room and watch a movie or something?” 

“Hey, I’m talking to you, bitch.” 

You weren’t even aware that Bucky had been at that party. It wasn’t surprising—the line between fraternities and sports was blurred at your college—but the space he took up as he intercepted the man in front of you was.

~~

“There a problem here?” Bucky posed, crossing his arms over his chest, his presence looming above your seated position. His weight shifted to his toes.

The man didn’t miss a beat. “Yeah, you. Move.” 

“Wanna fucking tell me what to do again?” 

“Fuck you, man.” 

A harsh shove to Bucky’s chest was all it took for a right hook to echo in the living room of the frat house. There was chaos. Grunts and screams from the drunk people surrounding the unnecessary fight created a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to get the attention of someone in charge. The man—Brian, you had now learned based on screams—was pulled back from Bucky and getting chewed out by some president or manager of something. 

And Bucky was seething, chest rising and falling laboriously as he wiped at the new bruise forming on his face.

Fights were not uncommon. But this one had been about you. For you.

“Bucky?” you asked when the crowd calmed and Brian was no longer in the room. 

You watched his back release its tight coil. He turned. “Are you okay?” 

The words were almost lost in the noise of the crowd, but he was close enough that they created a tactile vibration across your skin. His pupils were dilated and he looked so disheveled it would have been charming if there wasn’t also a cut forming on his brow. 

“Y/n.” 

It took you a moment to realize that you hadn’t answered him. Your response fell out of you as if you’d been shoved. “I’m—I’m fine.” 

He grunted, but it was more of a puff of air. “The fuck was that guy?” 

“I don’t know,” you replied, realizing by the way you swayed that you had stood up at some point. “He just—” 

“We’re going home.” 

“What? I can’t, I’m here with Wanda. I’m driving her, Bucky, I can’t just leave.” 

He grabbed your wrist, the grip achingly soft compared to the blows he was landing minutes before. “She left with that British guy she’s been on and off with. Asked me to tell you.” 

That explained his random appearance. Your brows pinched as you took in the information, eyes cast down to the angry red marks marring Bucky’s knuckles. He’d been in fights before. So many fights. On the ice. 

This was different. 

“I haven’t been drinking—I can drive myself home. You don’t have to leave,” you shouted over the music now bumping in the room. 

He didn’t respond, not verbally. He pulled you to his front instead, leading you through the impossible crowd until cool night air began melting into your skin. His silence was strange. Bucky’s favorite activity was talking your ear off until you told him to shut up, but right now… nothing. Even his earlier words had been clipped. 

You felt responsible for easing the tension in the air as Bucky continued to guide you to your car. You hadn’t told him where you parked, but he seemed to know the exact location anyways.

“You really don’t have to leave with me,” you mumbled. “It wasn’t a big deal or anything.” 

“It was a big deal.” 

~~

The drive home had been silent. The walk to the door had been as well. Bucky spent a few minutes appraising you in the overhead light of the living room when you got inside, but after that there was nothing. He went to his room and you went to yours. 

There was no discussion about it the morning after, either. Bucky apparently wanted to pretend nothing ever happened, so you respected that. Even now, you ignored the fading cuts on his hands as he shoveled food into his mouth.

Bucky’s next words were muffled by a mouthful of bread. “Well where’s this dude taking you at least?”

“Ice skating.”

The cough and sudden exasperation was very expected out of the man next to you, Bucky’s next words hardly containing syllables. “Huh?” 

“We’re going ice skating,” you reiterated. You picked up your lunch and headed for the living room, ignoring the slightly heaviness in your chest. “It’s winter and ice skating is festive. The rink on campus has decorations.” 

“Without me? Y/n, you’re gonna let some guy who probably doesn’t even know how to skate—” 

“Bucky—” you attempted to interrupt. 

“—drag you around the rink like a rag doll?” he continued, holding his hand up to mute your incoming speech. “I’ve asked you to come by the rink, like, a ton of times. You’ve never shown any interest.” 

You rolled your eyes and shot him a cross look as he picked your feet up from where they rested on the couch and dropped them into his lap. He went on with his rant for a little while longer, knocking his head back against cushions and accusing you of being a bad roommate. You had a few rebuttals of your own, but there was a reason you had never accompanied him to the rink. 

A good reason. 

You didn’t date athletes. 

It was true that simply going to visit Bucky at a practice, or letting him be the one to drag you around the ice like a rag doll, wouldn’t mean you were in a relationship by any means. But it would be an extra step. And if you were being honest with yourself, it would only take a few of those extra steps for the irritation you felt towards Bucky to melt into something else. 

And you didn’t date athletes. 

You did not. 

You didn’t have the time, nor the patience, to put up with the cheating, the anger issues, or the crazy schedules. And there wasn’t a single athlete you’d met at your sport-centered university that was willing to compromise on any of those subjects. Especially the cheating. You’d learned that the hard way after dating a lacrosse player for approximately one month before receiving the dreaded DM from a girl you had never met. 

The man hadn’t even given you the courtesy of pretending he didn’t know what she was talking about. He just admitted to his wrong-doing and shrugged. Shrugged. 

So athletes were not exactly in your good graces when it came to dating. 

“Are you even listening to me?” Bucky cut through your thoughts, patting your shin in impatience. 

You blinked and reoriented yourself, focusing on the hairs that fanned across Bucky’s face. “Of course I am,” you lied. “But my answer is still the same. I’m going on my date and you are not going on my date.” 

He groaned, apparently giving up as he cradled your legs closer to him to lean over and grab the remote from the coffee table. He flipped the channel to ESPN—typical—and you ate your sandwich, silently cursing him. He had a TV in his room. 

“When is it?” he suddenly asked, breaking the silence that had knitted itself into a comfortable blanket over the room. 

“Tonight,” you answered plainly. 

The arms atop your legs tensed. 

~~

The dichotomy of the man sitting beside you was impressive. On one hand, he was so full of himself that he had missed almost all of your conversation starters due to being so transfixed by his reflection in the rink’s glass. He had yet to ask you a single question about yourself and had insisted that the four other girls skating tonight were in love with him. 

On the other hand, he was, quite possibly, the most uninteresting person you had ever met. You were usually very quick to laugh, but every word out of his mouth was almost painful. He wouldn’t stop talking about his ex-girlfriend, gave you one word answers about anything other than baseball, and was honestly really terribly at ice skating. You were no pro either, but you found yourself on your back every time he tried holding your hand.

The tumble five minutes ago had you seeking out the penalty box on the side of the rink. You needed a break, you had told him, hoping he would continue on making a fool of himself and give you a moment alone. But he followed you instead, and was now sitting beside you, talking about baseball.

You supposed that was better than making you fall while talking about baseball.

“I bet we could do that,” he remarked, pointing out onto the ice and catching your attention. A couple who clearly had more experience than you was twirling each other around. “We definitely could. I pick up good speed.” You cringed. “I really don’t think we should try, Sean. My tailbone is already pretty bruised.” 

“Oh, c’mon! I won’t try the throwing part, just the twisty stuff.” 

“We are literally on rental skates. You will kill me,” you deadpanned. You were tired at this point and seriously questioning why you thought ice skating was a good first date idea. 

Well, there actually was an answer for that. But you were not going to think about the hockey player that popped into your head when Sean asked you on a date in the dining hall last week. 

Definitely not. 

“I’m not going to let my date think I’m boring,” Sean groaned, yanking you up from your seat. 

You gave a few tugs and words of resistance but they were ultimately useless. You figured it would be just as useless to tell the guy you already thought he was boring. He probably wouldn’t even hear you. 

On unsteady skates, Sean guided you to a mostly cleared corner of the rink and gripped your forearms. He squinted as he surveyed the area, the corner of his mouth turning up in a way that made your stomach roll. This entire date had been a bad idea.

“Maybe we should just watch them do it,” you tried, words wavering. 

“No!” he grinned. “No, we got this. It’s gonna look so cool.” 

And then you were spinning. You’d never been spun against your will before, but it sucked. Your skates kept getting stuck in the divots in the ice and the grip on your forearms was close to bruising. You were starting to get dizzy and Sean showed no signs of caring. God, he really was dragging you around the rink like a rag doll. Bucky was going to get a kick out of this.

“Okay, ready?” Sean called, an unwarranted jubilation in his tone. 

“What?” you yelled. 

He didn’t answer you. Instead, he let go, and you went flying in another direction without a clear path. It only lasted a moment, but the sound of your head smacking onto the ice signified the end of that movement. You landed on your arm next, and then your back. Again. 

This time felt different though. Your head was spinning and there were muted pinpricks trailing up to your wrist. The ache there was dulled compared to the biting iciness in your back, but as soon as you tried leaning on it to get up, it became sharp.

“Oh shit!” came Sean’s laughter-filled gasp. “My bad. I really didn’t mean to let go.” 

You blinked a few times to clear the blurriness from your vision but it proved unhelpful. “I think… I think my arm’s broken.” 

“Wait, seriously?” he asked, wobbling down to a seat beside you. 

“Yeah, it’s—”

“Everything okay over here?” a voice interrupted. You tried blinking again to take in the man that towered over the two of you, but the lights overhead washed him out. 

You recognized him…maybe? You felt like you were going to throw up. 

Sean answered for you. “Yeah, man, we’re fine. She just fell.” 

“Y/n, are you okay?” the man asked, ignoring your date completely.

“Do I know you?” you slurred.

You thought you heard a curse. “What made you think throwing her around was a good idea?” 

“Dude, it wasn’t even that fast. Or my fault. She just couldn’t keep her feet under her.” 

“Well, dude, maybe you should go home.” 

Sean scoffed. “Right, and who’s going to take this one home?” 

Your head was starting to hurt with all of the back and forth. The man that just joined, the taller one, kneeled down beside you. His blonde hair cast a harsh glare that had you squinting again. 

“You want me to call Bucky?” he asked.

Bucky? How would he know Bucky? Blonde hair began morphing into a man in your memory, and you reached for the material of his shirt, looping it between your fingers.

“Steve Rogers?” you mumbled. 

The man, now identified as Steve, sighed. “I’m calling him. Go home, Sean. Her roommate is coming to get her.” 

There was more discussion, something about Steve having the authority to kick him out and Sean not understanding what all of the fuss was about. Steve warned him about something and Sean scoffed as if the situation was beneath him. And then he left. 

Steve was then in your line of sight again, brows pinched together and a bright orange vest covering his shoulders. His hands hovered in front of you as if you’d break if he touched you and you almost found it funny. Steve was a huge guy with a lot of authority on Bucky’s team, but right now he looked like a scared animal. 

“Why are you dressed like a construction worker?” you asked. 

A small smile graced his face. “I’m working at the rink today. Everyone on the team has to take shifts during the holidays.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed. “I think my arm is broken.” 

“I know. I’m pretty sure you have a concussion too. Let’s get you off the ice, yeah?” 

You tried to nod, but that hurt too much so you let Steve assist you in shakily standing up. He guided you to the seats by the rental skate counter with a soft but sure hand on your back, asking some guy named Antonio for an ice pack. Everything around you felt like a fever dream. 

Gentle touches rolled the sleeve of your sweater back to reveal a swollen wrist that Steve immediately covered with an ice pack. 

He cursed again. “Well he’s gonna be pissed.” 

“Who?” Your head swayed with the question. 

Steve looked up to meet your gaze, lips parting to answer, when he was replaced by a different face. Your brain was having trouble keeping up with everything, obviously, because Bucky was in front of you now. He was kneeling between your legs with his hands on your face and you had no idea where Steve went. 

“What the fuck?” you blurted out. 

“Hey, y/n.” Bucky spoke your name low and soothing, his fingers moving to your eyes where he pried them open one at a time and looked for something you couldn’t see. His next words were directed over his shoulder. “Maybe a concussion. Tell me what happened again?” 

“Sean Marcus was being an ass. Flung her all over the place,” Steve replied. 

“Why are you here?” you interjected, trying to focus on one thing at a time. “I told you not to come on my date.” 

Bucky moved his assessment to your arm next, shifting the ice pack. “Never really agreed to those terms.” 

He turned back to Steve after that, having another discussion that you barely understood. Bucky absentmindedly fiddled with the material of your jeans as he spoke, and you put all of your energy into not face planting on the ground. This past week had truly been a series of terrible events with terrible men. 

After some amount of time elapsed, you were walking to the parking lot with a jacket thrown over your shoulders and Bucky continuously jutting a hand out each time you took a step. He was very well versed in concussions, apparently. 

“Okay, in you go, killer,” Bucky prompted, opening the passenger door. 

You eyed the front seat, scrunching your face up. “My arm hurts.” 

The man in front of you seemed to soften, his shoulders dropping on a long exhale. “I know, sweetheart. But we gotta go to the hospital to fix that. I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“I should just call Wanda. Or Nat. You don’t have to be the one to take me.” 

“I can take you just fine.”

“Why do you want to you? Aren’t you busy?” 

Another long sigh, this one accompanied by hands on your shoulders, fingers at the base of your neck. “Get in the car.”

His eyes were boring into yours, searching for something, or maybe already finding it there. You still had your arm cradled to your chest and you titled your head to the side as you observed him. There was something else to his gaze that you couldn’t quite describe. It reminded you of his expression after he came home from a rough game. Angry. Discontent. 

“You’re being weird,” you commented, breaking the silence you had created. 

“You broke your arm and smacked your head on the ice,” he simply replied, as if the statement was an explanation. 

“Yeah, but—” 

“And then that douchebag did nothing about it,” Bucky interrupted. “So please, y/n, get in the car so I can help you before I find him and kick his ass. Because you know I’m not above fighting people.” 

You blinked, and then slid into the front seat. 

The drive was quiet. You’d never been in Bucky’s car before, but the spinning in your head didn’t give you much space to inspect it too closely. You caught hockey gear in the back, a keycard to the rink dangling off the rearview mirror, and a small collection of hair ties in one of the cupholders. One caught your attention.

“Hey, this one’s mine.” You picked up the purple band and rolled it between your fingers. “Thief.” 

Bucky snatched it back. “Mine now.” 

He made a sharp turn that had you sucking air between your teeth and repositioning your arm. Bucky sent you a quick, achingly apologetic look. 

“Sorry, almost there.” A long beat of silence and then a mumbled, “I should keep your hair tie. You won’t be able to do your hair alone with a broken arm anyway.” 

~~

Your wrist was fractured, not broken. You also only had a minor concussion. This was all great news to you, especially since they told you after administering a hefty amount pain reliever. To Bucky, this was apparently terrible, life-altering news. 

After practically body slamming into the front door of your apartment, he chucked his wallet and keys down on the kitchen counter and began grumbling to himself as he opened and closed kitchen cabinets. You watched from a distance, half amused, half concerned for the rusting hinges. He finally found what he was looking for—a cup—and continued to mutter to himself as he filled it with gatorade. 

“Are you… okay?” you asked tentatively. 

Bucky ripped the freezer open and manhandled three to four ice cubes. “I’m fine. You are not.” 

“I’m okay now,” you assured. Bucky stalked over to you anyways, pressing the sports drink into your hand that was not wrapped in a cast.

You looked down at the glass and sent him a baffled look. He nodded at it and raised his brows, a silent demand for you to drink. 

“Okay. And why do I need to drink gatorade?” Your words were slow. 

“You were just on the ice and haven’t had any water for at least three hours.” 

“Bucky,” you began. “I was ice skating recreationally for about thirty minutes. I don’t need to replenish my electrolytes.” 

“Will you just… will you just drink the damn drink?” he groaned, gesturing to it with a firm hand. “Jesus, I can’t take care of you when you go and get yourself hurt by idiots. So just let me do what I know I can do, alright?” 

“You don’t have to take care of me.” You were beginning to raise your voice, matching some of the frustration in the room. 

Bucky threw his hands in the air, tugging at his roots on the way down. He moved further into the kitchen and leaned against the counter with stiff, rod-like arms propping him up. And then he sighed, long and profound as if this was the hardest conversation he’d had all year. His head hung heavy between stiff shoulders and you felt the environment shift. 

You almost wanted to intervene on his thoughts again, to make some comment about the dishes in the dishwasher or pretend you were going to go take a nap. But he had something to say, something you needed to hear, and so you stayed. You blinked and clenched your fist in the uncomfortable silence, but you stayed. 

“Y/n, I want to take care of you,” Bucky breathed out, words still directed toward the floor, almost too low to make out. “I’ve been tryna get you to see that for weeks now, but you’ve either got no clue or you want absolutely nothing to do with me.” 

You stopped blinking, stopped fidgeting, stopped breathing altogether. You watched as Bucky drummed his fingers against the counter and still refused to look up. You swallowed hard because you weren’t clueless, but also because you wanted everything to do with Bucky Barnes. 

And nothing at the same time. 

“Bucky…” you began, with a tone of surprise you weren’t sure was believable.

“Don’t do it yet,” he stopped you. “Don’t…don’t tell me no yet. I’m still pissed as hell that you got hurt and you shouldn’t be alone with a concussion. I don’t need you avoiding me when you can’t even drive a car.” 

“You’re being presumptuous.” 

He snapped his head up, his eyes rushing back and forth between your own. The drumming on the counter ceased, instead replaced by balled up fists turning white under days old cuts and fading bruises. He didn’t say anything. You searched the empty air for a reply. 

“I wouldn’t avoid you. I don’t know if I could avoid you—not anymore. You’re sort of a big part of my life now.” A good start, you thought. Not a real answer, but not a rejection. 

Bucky bit the inside of his cheek and eyed the drink still perspiring in your hand. You set it down at his observance, moving closer to his slumped posture in the kitchen. 

But Bucky stood up straight at your movement, becoming guarded, stiff. “I shouldn’t have said anything. Bad timing, just forget it. You should try and get some sleep.” 

“I don’t want to forget it,” you softly spoke, shaking your head.

He clenched his jaw. “And I don’t want to hear that you don’t feel the same way about me that I feel about you. Not right now. I feel like I’m going insane, watching you go out on dates and having my best friend tell me that my girl—that’s not really my girl—is all banged up on the ice because of some asshole.” 

You opened your mouth to speak, but Bucky kept going, now pacing in the kitchen. “I mean, y/n, you’re my everyday. I wake up and you’re making coffee. You text me in class to ask what I need at the grocery store and then I call you after practice to make sure you got back to the apartment. I think about you so god damn much and I can’t believe there was a time in my life that I didn’t get to end my day in a home that has you. And you’re just my roommate. You want nothing to do with athletes, I get it—” he added, catching your eye in the middle of his rant, “—but, shit, I haven’t even looked at another girl since… well it doesn’t even matter.”

“Tell me,” you whispered. There were a million other things you could’ve said, a million explanations that would have made sense. But the two soft words stopped Bucky from tracking holes in the ground. They shoved him from his shallow breaths and made him look at you. 

And, god, did he look at you. You must have been worse for wear. A hospital visit mixed with one too many tumbles onto solid ice probably had your hair in disarray and your face pressed with exhaustion, but his gaze was revering. Candy-coated red with soft blues melting below brows that fluxed with the movement of his lips; Bucky was beautiful, and he was looking at you as if you matched.

His tone confirmed as much, light and saccharin as he said, “That dumb movie a few weeks ago, the one about the superheroes. Your friends wouldn’t watch it with you so you made me. You were so excited even though it was awful and you were out like a light within the first hour. You rolled over onto me and I wasn’t gonna wake you up so I sorta just held you.” 

He paused, trailing his eyes up to the light fixtures. “At the risk of sounding pathetic, it felt like I had you, you know? Like we were going through all our usual motions, but after I annoyed the hell out of you and you told me off, you were mine. I can’t… I can’t really picture that with another girl.” 

There were very few times you had considered yourself speechless. But with Bucky Barnes standing in front of you, red-faced and vulnerable and still wearing the stupid hospital nametag they made him put on in the waiting room, you had no words. There was none of the arrogance you usually associated with him, no short-temper or pestering taunts. It was just Bucky, and he was pouring his heart onto the kitchen floor. For you. 

“You get why you can’t tell me no just yet?” he asked, trying to get something out of you. Anything. “You can break my heart, but let me just make sure you’re okay first. And I can’t beat the shit out of Sean if we aren’t on speaking terms.” 

The laugh that left you was one of disbelief, but the breathiness and accompanying tears fit the heaviness of the room. Your glossy eyes met Bucky’s and something flashed on his face, but it was soon out of your line of sight because you were kissing him. You were kissing him hard and your bodies were too close for the cast between you but it didn’t matter. 

He didn’t respond at first, hand hovering at your back. But then he did and the cold linoleum of the kitchen floor was gone from your bare feet. He sat you on the counter, so gently, as if you were glass, and you let your hand brush against the cracks and divots of your home. The one that Bucky came back to every night to see you. 

The one that had housed so many nights of confusion and longing and denial.

The one that had Bucky kissing the life out of you on the kitchen counter. 

He pulled away first, forehead pressed to yours. “Didn’t think I’d ever get to do that.” 

“You can do it again.” 

“Oh, I will, baby.” 

Laughter met in the air between you—sweet, short, intertwined. There was so much you wanted to tell him, so many instances like the one he shared before where you were left questioning boundaries and feelings and lines. But, you figured, there would be so many opportunities to tell him. So much time together. 

“I texted Wanda that night,” you shared, interrupting the kisses he was pressing to your cheek. “After I woke up and you had taken me back to my room.” 

He smiled against your skin. “What’d you say?” 

“I told her I was an idiot—that I was falling for the enemy.” 

Bucky ran a soft hand along the back of your head, a smirk lighting up his face. He was slotted between your legs and kept his other hand firmly pressed onto the kitchen counter, caging you in, making sure your arm didn’t hit the cabinets. 

“And is that true?” 

"Baby, you sounded horrible," he admits. You can feel his heartbeat where the heel of your hand rests over his neck. It's racing - skipping a few beats. "I don't ever want to hear you like that ever again."

"I'm sorry," you say again. You might be saying it all night.

"It's okay," he says and then kisses your palm. "Let me see, yeah?"

"See what?"

"The cut, lovely," he laughs.

"Oh," you blink, "right."

You let him hold your hand between your bodies, flipping your palm in his shaking hands to inspect the damage. "Oh, no, baby," he says, all faux worried. "That's horrible."

"Pete." He's teasing. You think you deserve it.

"Should I call 911?" he says, frowning, biting his lip to hold back a smile. He'll crack eventually, you know it.

"You reckon?"

"Amputation at best," he snorts. "Don't worry, Doctor Pete can fix you up."

"Thank god," you sigh, then, under your breath, you grumble a, "Doctor Pete." because he's unbelievable.

He moves across the kitchen to grab the first aid box in the cupboard above the fridge and pulls out a box of bandaids. He takes the wrapping off and walks back over, caging you in with his hips against the lip of the bench.

"Here," he says quietly. "This'll fix ya'."

He wraps the bandaid around your finger. It's blue, his vigilante face is plastered all over it. You snort. "My favourite ones."

"A doctor knows what's best," he tells you, smoothing plastic around your finger. He gives it a kiss to make sure.

"I look like such a nerd," you whine to peeve him off.

It works. He pretends to be offended but it doesn't really work. He's cracking the biggest smile because he can never help it around you. "The cutest nerd there is," he says.

His hands are suddenly crawling up your sides. He's not as soft as he usually is. His fingers are pinching, crueller than he is when he wants to hold you to his body. He starts to prod further and it's ticklish.

"Pete," you warn. Your body curves off the sink and he pushes his thumbs into your stomach now you're closer.

"What?" he asks. Smarmy.

He's not secretive about it now. He's tickling you. You try to bend in half, gasping through girlish laughter. He's stronger than you, obviously, and uses his elbows to keep you upright so he has better access to your sides and your back behind your armpits, right in between your ribs where he knows you hate it.

"Stop!" you gasp, "Pete, I'm sorry. Pl- please!"

"That's what you get." He's laughing too. It's horrible how you love the sound of it despite it being at your own expense.

"For what?"

"For scaring me," he tells you. He doubles down when it sounds like you can't breathe.

He lets his hands settle at your hips and you collapse against him, panting into his shirt. "You're horrible."

"It's your fault, babe," he laughs, holding you closer now he knows you can breathe properly.

Draco gave you a look you didn’t recognize. You knew his face by now. You knew his expressions better. Dating the Slytherin heir came with its perks but it also came with its downsides, like having to know exactly what he was feeling for the sake of yourself and everyone around you. 

But this look seemed unfamiliar. You sat together at the table in the Great Hall, across from Goyle and Crabbe. You didn’t particularly like either boy but you tolerated them for the sake of Draco. 

“What’s wrong?” you asked, gently, trying to coax out some sort of emotion. His face wiped of any disdain. 

“Nothing,” he snapped. You widened your eyes. 

“Alright.” You cleared your throat, putting down your fork. “Do you want me to meet you after the Quidditch game tonight?” 

“Don’t bother,” he said. “I have things to do.” 

“Oh? What kind of things?” you asked, defensively. 

“Nothing that concerns you.” 

“What is your problem Malfoy?” There was a loud bout of laughter coming from the Gryffindor table. Your eyes followed the noise, landing on the familiar group of redheads. George Weasley’s head was resting on the table. He was shaking from laughter. You found yourself longing to know what they were laughing at. They always seemed to be having more fun than you were. 

“Damn Weasley’s think they’re the only people in the world,” Draco grumbled. “Don’t they know we can all hear them?” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you pointed out. 

“We’ll talk later,” he promised, voice sneering. He reminded you of his father then. You had the displeasure of meeting Lucius on multiple occasions and the more you watched Draco grow the more he became like him. Was that his goal all along? Did he strive to be the heir his father wanted him to be? Or did he want to be his own person, more like his mother? 

You got up from the table and grabbed your bag. If you could sit with the Gryffindors you would, if only to annoy your boyfriend. You left the Great Hall and Draco didn’t even bother to watch you go. 

George did, only because you caught his eye. Dinner wasn’t even halfway over. You had a determined look on your face that intrigued him. No matter how much your boyfriend attempted to put the Weasley’s down, you never were able to join him. You usually stood, a bystander, which implicated you only in your silence. 

George stood abruptly. 

“Where are you going?” Fred questioned, still laughing about the tail end of some other joke. 

“I’ll be right back,” he promised, the light hearted smile never leaving his face. He rushed to the doors, suddenly eager to follow you. 

The silence outside of the Great Hall was sometimes deafening. It always surprised you when the loud voices became muffled. You never felt more alone than when you were no longer part of Hogwarts student body. You were just a girl inside a large school, far too large for her own good. 

It was easy to hear that someone had followed you. The door opened, creaking, and the voices were loud once more for just a moment. You leaned between some pillars, against a stained glass window. You should get your books for your next class. Forget Draco entirely, focus on the schoolwork you knew you had to get done. 

You expected Draco to round the corner, a forgiving look on his face, knowing that you would mend things with him again. You were startled to see a gentle look and some red hair. You squinted, confused. 

“Miss Slytherin, what on Earth are you doing out here?” he questioned. He crossed his arms. He wasn’t here for some other reason, he had followed you. You glanced behind him, attempting to find Fred. Surely they were here to tease you mercilessly, just as Draco would’ve done to them. 

“Where’s your better half?” you asked, bitterly. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head. 

“He’s still eating, just as we both should be.” 

“Who’s stopping you from going back?” 

“A very solemn look on a very not solemn girl.” You hardened your face defensively. You looked down at your shoes, hoping not to reveal anything else to him. 

“I’m fine. Just getting some air, Weasley, don’t worry about me.” 

“I’m not worried. I’m curious. There’s a large difference.” You found yourself grateful for his care. Draco should’ve been the one to follow you but he never would've been inquisitive on your feelings. He would’ve told you his, begged you to forgive him, promise it would never happen again. 

“I’m fine,” you repeated but it sounded less true this time than it had the first time. 

“I can sniff out liars. It’s a skill I have, courtesy of Ron being best friends with the boy who lived and such.” You eyed him, guarded. “Alright, well you can’t say I didn’t try.” 

He started to back away. 

“It’s Draco. Though I suppose that gives you satisfaction doesn’t it?” 

“I can’t lie, it absolutely does.” He smiled slyly. “But you don’t deserve whatever that twat has dished out.” You looked back down at your shoes. 

“Thank you Weasley,” you said, quietly, like saying it any louder would mean you’d have to confront the situation. 

“Do you know which Weasley I am?” he questioned, hands in his pockets, a familiar trickster look on his face. 

“George,” you said, without missing a beat. “I’m not stupid.” The smile he gave you was genuine. It felt like he had handed you a small promise, a gentle secret. 

The doors to the Great Hall opened. Draco emerged, showing almost no reaction to you and George speaking. Almost. You knew his face and you knew the twitch in his lips and the anger boiling within his eyes. 

“Get lost Weasley,” he said, enunciating clearly. 

“Come to beg for forgiveness Malfoy?” George questioned. 

“I don’t need to tell you twice,” Draco promised, walking between the two of you. George put his hands up in surrender. 

“Not my circus, not my monkeys,” he joked. He sauntered away, throwing you a wink that only you caught. You tried not to smile. It wasn’t until he had returned to the Great Hall that Draco spoke. 

“We need to break up,” he said, clearly. The smile on your face fell into despair. What had you done to warrant this? The question seemed to be painted all over your face because he answered without you saying anything verbally. “We don’t work anymore. It’s nothing you’ve done.” 

Your face twisted. 

“Clearly it is.”

“It’s not. There’s no need to be emotional about this, we both knew it was coming.” You wished you could disagree with him. But you could tell he was distancing himself for this moment. You just thought you could play this game a little bit longer. 

“Alright,” you breathed. “Fine.” 

Draco showed nothing on his face other than awkwardness. He shoved his hands into his pockets. How long had he been wanting to do this? You crossed your arms and turned away, walking farther away from the Hall and back to the dorms. You weren’t going to class this morning. 

“You aren’t going to fight?” he questioned, annoyed.

“Why would I? Clearly you’ve given this a lot of thought. We’re better off without each other.” His jaw set. He wanted a spat. He wanted a fight. Draco and you did nothing better than fight. You two could fight like no one else, screaming, throwing things, kissing and making it all better. 

You wanted to fight him. You knew how it would end. But you also knew you were better off without it this time. 

“Fine,” he said. You were still walking away. Draco had been part of your identity here at Hogwarts. It would be an adjustment without him. 

“Fine,” you repeated and rushed away, turning a corner so you could allow your emotions to flow. 

-

The next morning you made it halfway to your potions class before giving up. Sitting in the hallway and fake studying seemed so much more appealing than sitting in a classroom with Snape and Draco. You had no energy to make your way to the common rooms or a library so you sat on the steps beside a window, a book in your lap that you weren’t reading. 

You could hear footsteps making their way towards you and you quickly searched for some sort of excuse to be on stairs instead of in class. You were pleasantly surprised to not find a teacher when the footsteps emerged. Fred and George Weasley gave you curious looks. 

“Oi! What are you doing over here?” Fred asked. He seemed a little annoyed that they had run into you. You couldn’t blame him. Draco was cruel to the Weasley family and you couldn’t say that you were any better. You at least, never stopped it. 

“Just ignoring potions,” you said truthfully. You wiped your eyes, just in case any stray tears from your small homework crying session had lingered. 

“What’s wrong?” George asked.  He seemed genuine but you didn’t want to give him the immediate satisfaction that Draco had broken up with you.

“I want to apologize. For being so rude to the two of you, it isn’t something I pride myself on,” you said changing the subject. It had been itching at you since yesterday and you were happy to finally get it out. 

“It’s alright,” George started.

“We rarely think such things personal,” Fred finished.

“I would personally blame the most of it on that horrid boyfriend of yours,” George said. You locked eyes with George. The sympathy on his face led you to believe he knew. He hadn’t been told. He had guessed. 

“Well I suppose you won’t have to worry about him influencing me any longer,” you promised, voice hard. You attempted to ignore the emotions that came with speaking it out loud. He wasn’t worth the tears, you tried to tell yourself. 

“He finally did himself in,” George observed. 

“After I spoke with you yesterday,” you explained. 

“Good to be rid of him then,” Fred said.

“You always did deserve better.” 

“Truly so.” 

All three of you heard footsteps coming down the hallway at the same time. A panicked look came across your face but they remained entirely calm. George grabbed the book off your lap and helped you up. You gazed at him, confused, as he led you to a hallway that hadn’t seemed to be there before. You gasped, looking around, somehow within the walls of Hogwarts. 

“How did you know this was here?” you questioned in awe. 

“Lucky guess,” George promised, hand still holding your arm. It was a tighter space than you had been in before. You heard whoever was walking go past. You remained where you were, looking up at him with curious eyes. 

“This wasn’t a guess. What do you two know?” 

“More than you,” Fred assured. You scoffed, though the laughter was pleasant. You moved away from George, leaning against the wall. 

“You Gryffindors act like Slytherins are the sneaky ones,” you mused. 

“To be fair, a Slytherin created the Chamber of Secrets didn’t he?” You shrugged at the observation. 

“Alright Weasley’s let me out of the walls.” 

- 

It was unexpected, just how drawn you felt to the twins. Especially George. You had never bothered to give them the time of day when you were with Draco. George was easy going when you needed emotional attention. They were light hearted and funny. You needed light hearted and funny. 

The Hogsmeade trip was the highlight of everyone’s month. Getting to leave the school was exciting, even if your school was a literal castle. You had always gone with Draco, even before the two of you dated. Still you forced yourself to get ready, bundle up into a scarf and hat, promising yourself a good time. 

“Hey!” You turned to find George, a smile plastered on his face. He was cozied up for the cold as well, though he was without the twin that usually trailed behind him. 

“Well if it isn’t my favorite Gryfindor,” you mused. “Where’s Fred?” 

“Fred had to stay behind and make up a test for Snape. I offered to help him cheat but he’s already on the terribly bad side of that teacher and decided to fend for himself,” George explained. 

“Well better that than to end up having detention for the next month.” 

“Would you care to be my companion on this trip?” he asked, bowing dramatically and offering a hand. You laughed gently, shivering. It was starting to snow. You took his hand. 

“My red knight,” you teased. He threw his arm around you. You tried not to lean into him, or feel anything at all. You had just broken up with Draco. 

Well, Draco had just broken up with you. 

“Honeydukes?” he asked. 

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

-

You stopped in for some butter beer and walked around until you were too cold to be outside. By the time you entered Honeydukes you were full and George had a butterbeer foam mustache. You pointed at it, shivering from the new warmth of the shop. 

“I’ve been trying to grow one,” he admitted, not wiping it away. 

“It is a good look,” you admitted, laughing. 

“You think so? Perhaps I could draw one on with some make-up pencils.”

“They’ve got to have some fake mustaches around here somewhere.” George gravitated towards the candles which had some prank ones mixed within them. 

“Which should I bring back to Fred?” he questioned. “I was sorry he had to miss today.” 

“One of those,” you said, pointing at the ones that explode when you light them. “He’d love that.” 

“You’re absolutely right Miss Slytherin. I’m glad you’ve got to come along with me.” 

“Me too,” you said earnestly. You couldn’t remember the last time you had so much fun at Hogsmeade. Your smile lingered more now. George could almost swear you were glowing. It made him want to take you aside, keep you to himself. He refrained and offered you a candle to smell. You leaned in, a serene look going over your face as you breathed in. You made a twisted face. 

“What is that one?” “Firewood.”

“That’s an awful candle!” 

You were laughing when Draco saw you. It was odd, going to Hogsmeade without you. He found himself unable to figure out what he wanted to do. Usually you dragged him around the shops and he ended up buying something you didn’t need. 

Seeing you so happy made his stomach churn. With a Weasley no less. He had thought you would still be heartbroken. He would be lying if he still wasn’t a tad torn up himself.  But you looked immensely unaffected by the lack of him around. 

You looked happier. 

“Goyle, go see what they’re getting,” Draco spat. His friend nodded, eyeing him suspiciously before slinking through the crowd of people. 

“Smell this one,” you said, offering another disgusting one. “You should get this one for Fred, if you’re going to get him the chocolate frog like a good brother. It’s only…” you trailed off, feeling Draco’s gaze. You caught his eye. At the same time George saw Goyle, coming to do Malfoy’s dirty work. 

“Oh bloody hell,” George muttered. He gave you the things he was holding and turned to Goyle who looked like a deer caught in headlights. George grabbed him by the scarf, dragging him over to Draco. 

Draco had never noticed how tall George Weasley was. 

“Made your minion come and do your dirty work, did you?” George questioned. You rushed forward, leaving your things on the table where you were at. 

“What’s your end goal here Weasley? Have you gotten into her pants yet?” Draco questioned, voice like venom. George shoved Goyle at Draco, almost causing both of them to fall over. 

“Listen here Malfoy-” 

“George he isn’t worth it,” you promised, grabbing his shoulder.

“Oh no, let him speak.” Draco stepped up, sizing up the twin. “What, did she call my name instead of yours?” There was nothing you could have done to stop George. He was already throwing the punch before you could even register Draco’s words. 

Draco staggered, hand up to his nose. 

“Watch your tongue Malfoy,” George seethed. You had never seen him so worked up before. You weren’t even sure he knew how to get angry, let alone through a punch as good as that one. Draco’s nose was bleeding, dripping down his chin. Goyle turned to his friend, eyes wide in shock. Hexes were one thing. An actual assault was something completely different. 

“George come on,” you hissed, pulling him away. This time George listened, allowing you to drag him out of the shop. You didn’t speak until you had left the scene completely, landing on one of the hills just outside of Hogsmead. The snow had piled up. You could see the footsteps you took here.

George had calmed down, the red almost completely gone from his face. 

“God George,” you hissed, grabbing his wrist. You looked at his knuckles, now slightly bruised from the impact on Draco’s face. 

“I don’t regret it,” he promised. His general joy was back. 

“Why are you being so nice to me? After all Draco and I put you through, I didn’t deserve that,” you questioned. 

“Fred and I agree, it was always more Malfoy than you.” He paused, gazing down at you. “And I always did think you deserved better than him.” His voice was quieter now. 

“Like who?” you asked before you could even process his words. “You?” You meant for it to come out like a joke but your tone was too soft to have it be read as one. There was a moment of silence. You smiled at his stunned face. You had caught him off guard and he wasn’t sure how to answer. 

“Well yes. I suppose,” George said finally. You smiled. You could feel the cold on your face, making your movement slower than usual but the joy was there either way. 

“Good then.” 

“Good?” he asked. You were still holding his wrist, so close to his hand. 

“We’re in agreement.” He scoffed.

“Agreement then.” 

“Yes. Agreement.” 

“Love, I’m going to kiss you now.” The words sent shivers down your spine. 

“Alright,” you breathed. His lips were warmer than yours. He didn’t allow you to get away with just a peck. He said he would kiss you and he meant it. You were smiling against the kiss, too stunned to do much else than kiss him back. 

When you pulled away you noticed one of his hands were on your side and he had started to hold the one that was once holding his wrist. You could see your breath in the cold but you could see him more clearly. 

“Let’s go back to the school and get a bandage for your hand,” you said quietly. He nodded, keeping your hands intertwined. 

“Just a moment.” He took off his scarf, the red and gold one that signified his house colors. He took off yours, the Slytherin green and black. He wrapped his own scarf around your neck and you watched him with wonderstruck eyes. The scarf smelled like him. It was warm with his body heat. He lazily put yours over his neck. “Alright we can go now.” 

-

Fred was in the Gryffindor common room when you got back. The school was empty, sans the portraits, ghosts and a few stragglers. Everyone was still going about enjoying their day outside of the grounds. 

“What did you bring me?” Fred questioned, standing up from the couch beside the fire. You had started to shed your layers, taking off your gloves and hat. “You have a severe case of hat hair Slytherin,” he noted. 

“George punched Draco in the face,” you explained brightly. 

“Good for him.” He patted George on the back. “He had it coming.” 

“So we had to run away,” you explained. “Hence, the empty hands.” Fred rolled his eyes. 

“You could have stolen something but alas.” George gave his twin a gaze that caused Fred to pause. There was a beat of silence. “I think I left something in the dorms...” he said, slowly, eyes squinted. 

“Yes that sounds right.” 

Fred backed away, a cheeky smile on his face. 

“Faster Fred,” you said, smiling. You couldn’t remember the last time you had smiled this much. He took the hint and scurried up the stairs. George sat in front of the fire. You looked around for some bandages, finding a familiar box of supplies that you had in the Slytherin common room. You sat beside him, helping him take off his large jacket. 

“You can help take off the rest of my clothing if you would like Slytherin.” You flushed, unable to meet his eyes. 

“I’d like to wrap up your hand first.” 

“First implies a second thing,” he mused. 

“Yes, yes it does.” You finally looked up at his face. He was gazing at you with a look Draco had never even understood. George’s eyes had softened, the lines on the side of his face turned downward. His lips were parted expectantly. “Thank you for today,” you whispered. 

“I’d like to do it again, if you’re up for it.” 

“Punching Draco or kissing me?” 

“Honestly I wouldn’t mind doing both again. But I was talking about the kissing thing.” You giggled. You actually giggled. 

“I already promised that. Don’t be so eager George.”

“I will be as eager as I want to.” 

You gently joked at each other as you wrapped up his knuckles, getting warmer by the fire. He played with his scarf around your neck. He distracted you by trailing his fingers across your jaw. He promised to memorize your face. 

You promised to memorize his.

Harry Potter Tag List:

2. Hello and Goodbye, by @sweetascanbee ✨

Bucky x Adopted Wilson!Reader

You are Sam's adopted little sister, and he brings home a mysterious friend.

3. Three Shades of a Man by @bitsandbobsandstuff

Bucky x Reader

It was different every time, what Bucky needed from you to survive himself. It was in these moments you saw the shades behind the mask he wore in front of the world. 

4. Save Me From Myself by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader

You are being hunted by HYDRA and Bucky has been tasked with keeping you safe. Problem is, the two of you have a history.

5. Quiet by @nastybuckybarnes

Bucky x Reader

Steve Rogers makes an accidental discovery while on a simple hydra base raid. You. He brings you back to the Avengers Tower where they all try to figure you out. Your… interesting way of communicating makes that especially hard. Until one super-soldier proves otherwise.

6. Deepest Desires by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader

A series of sexual escapades where Bucky shows you what it’s like to give in to your deepest desires.

7. The Proposal by @captain-rogers-beard

Bucky x Reader Modern AU

Bucky Barnes world is turned upside down after he agrees to marry his boss, a woman he despises.

8. The Playlist by @bolontiku

Bucky x Mutant!Reader

being new to the Avengers you can’t help but screw with Bucky’s playlist.

9. Dreaming of Better Days by @wizardofrozz ✨

40s!Bucky x Reader

Steve always manages to find a fight no matter where he goes and Bucky is always ready to defend his best friend, until one day someone beats him to it. Bucky isn’t prepared to find you standing up for his best friend and he definitely wasn’t prepared to be so swept up by you. But most of all, he didn’t expect you to have such an important place in his future. 

9-2. Echos of the Past by @wizardofrozz

Bucky x Super Soldier!Reader

Bucky’s gone again, leaving you and Steve to regroup. Finding Bucky seems impossible, and the relentless memories don’t make things easier. One thing that scares you the most is who you might find when you’re reunited after 70 years. Has Hydra destroyed you and Bucky beyond repair?

10. Grease Lightning by @language-rxgers ✨

Bucky x Reader High School AU

You’re on the hair & makeup team for your school’s production of Grease, and Nat has signed you up to do the makeup for the lead role of Danny Zuko- played by none other than Bucky Barnes. 

11. Best Boyfriend You’ve Never Had by @language-rxgers

Bucky x Reader

When you find out your sister is getting married and expects you to bring a date to her wedding in two months, you panic, having not gone on so much as a coffee date with a guy in far too long. After all, being an Avenger doesn’t leave too much time for a life outside of work. So, when your best friend, none other than the James Buchanan Barnes himself, offers to pretend to be your boyfriend and plus one, how can you refuse? It seems like something that would come out of a movie. However, real life is never like the movies, and stories like this never go as planned.

12. Timeless Love by @beccaanne814

Bucky x Agent!Reader

YN has finally met the love of her life. The problem is – it’s a long distance relationship. She lives in Washington D.C., and he’s in Brooklyn, NY. There’s also one other minor detail – he’s from 1943 and she’s from 2012. Can the two of them find a way to transcend time to be together?

13. желание by @sebbytrash ✨

Bucky x Agent!Reader

Steve had drafted Bucky in to help with your training, not knowing you had feelings for him. Feelings? Ok, you were attracted to the man. Insanely so. And he hated you. Or at least that’s what you think, but is there more going on than you realise?

14. The Soldier | Podcasts | Examination by @softlybarnes

Bucky x Reader

The Winter Soldier finds the reader after a particularly grueling mission. 

15. Starlight by @viperbarnes

40s!Bucky x Reader (but the reader is named)

You'd grown up chasing after your brother and his best friend. Now that they've both returned from war, it seems Bucky's the one finally chasing after you.

16. Stripped by @moonbeambucky

Bucky x Agent!Reader

You are a SHIELD agent working undercover in a strip club whose owner is involved with organized crime. When you find out he might be in talks with HYDRA Bucky Barnes is brought in to help with the mission.

17. Glass of Water | 2 by @beautifulbuckys

Bucky x Reader

Reader LOVES making Bucky Barnes blush. What happens when he turns the tables?

18. Knife Party by @helvonasche

Alpha!Bucky x Omega!Reader

You tried to stay normal but the panic of him talking to a girl while changing his passcode didn’t leave much room for interpretation. When he came out of the bathroom he was wiping his hands on his pajama pants. He sat down and kissed your head, “You okay?” His question came when you pulled away from him, you crossed your arms and stared at the screen. 

“Baby?” He called when you ignored him. 

You hummed. If you spoke to him right now it wouldn’t be pretty. 

“You okay? You look like-” He started to make a joke, you cut him off. It wasn’t the time to be cute and funny. 

“Like my boyfriend has been texting a girl so much it made me insecure and when I tried to look at what was so important she needed to text you four times in a row I realized you changed your phone passcode?” You turned to look at him dead in the eye. 

“Do I look like that, Peter?” 

His eyes went wide, his mouth dropped open and his cheeks flushed with color. 

He looked guilty. 

“I, I, I…” He tried to start. 

“You, You, You.” You spat back. 

You stood and grabbed your water bottle and phone. 

“You need a better excuse. I’ll talk to you later.” 

You walked to the door and picked up your backpack. You had a hand on the door and waited. You waited for something, anything. You waited for Peter to speak, to call your name, to call you dumb for insinuatiting what you were, to beg you to stay, to talk about it. You waited for him to web your hand to the door, something. 

You opened the door and waited. You walked over the threshold and waited. You shut the door and waited. You walked down the stairs slowly, you stopped at the lobby entrance for a moment and waited. 

He never came. 

Red flag number three. 

If you were a cartoon character you would have steam coming from your ears. Your head would be red and swelling, it would pop with the pressure of heat and anger. If you could burn holes through someone right now it would be Peter. 

Because, when you tell your boyfriend someone he’s talking to makes you feel insecure and you even snap at him over it and leave his house you would think he would learn something. Not having her stand at his locker, talking back and forth. You watched with seething anger, he was talking about something insignificant, you could always tell when he was ranting on a topic. 

But Bailey, you never really watched her. And boy are you glad you tapped into that conversation. 

Bailey liked Peter. No. She loved Peter. 

You could see it written all over her face, her eyes were lit up at his movements, she was laughing when he wasn’t saying anything funny. She was curling a stand of hair around her finger, twisting her hips back and forth. But Peter, Peter didn't have a notice in the world she was looking at him like that. 

He was just moving things around from his backpack to his locker, he didn’t look at her once but she bored her eyes into his face like he was the world's greatest human. Peter could be deft at times, he was so smart but so dumb. He could recite the first fifty numbers of Pi but had no clue when a girl was into him. 

You slammed your locker and stomped over to him. 

The power that you felt the moment Peter’s gaze finally looked up and smiled at you walking to him. And the moment Bailey’s face dropped. You lent forward for a kiss and smiled when he pushed his head down to meet you, he pulled back but you pulled him back by the waist of his shirt for one more. 

“Looks like someone made up after the fight.” 

Your power was drained. You felt weightless and defeated. 

You looked at Peter and frowned. He almost wanted to cry, in the time you’ve been together he’s never seen a sadder face. 

“You told her?” Your words were built in betrayal. He wouldn’t talk to you but he talked to her? The reason you felt so shitty to begin with? 

“Yeah,” He looked at Bailey for a second, he licked his lips and thought of his next words carefully. 

“Yeah, I just needed a girl’s perspective.” 

You stepped back from him. 

“A girl's perspective?” 

You looked at Bailey, she had a half smirk but dropped it when Peter looked at her again. 

He nodded his head and gulped. Bailey said this would help but it was backfiring badly. He didn’t choose his words carefully enough. 

“You could’ve asked MJ or literally anyone else.” Your voice was monotone. 

“Well Bailey-” He started. He was defending her. Not you. 

Red flag number four. 

You cut him off and spoke loudly. You wanted the hall to hear this. 

“Bailey wants to fuck you. She’s trying to fuck this up.” You pointed between you and him. 

“And you’re letting her.” 

You stepped back ready to turn away to go to class. You looked at Bailey once more, her head was down and her cheeks were the color of a tomato, her whole body was flushed. You called her out in front of everyone. 

You looked back at Peter and pointed at her ashamed stance. 

“I don’t want to give you an ultimatum. I’m not that kind of girlfriend, but when you choose two girls you lose the one.” 

You shook your head at him in disappointment and turned for math class. 

—------------------------------------------------

Peter was always your partner in lab. Even though you didn’t sit together he made a deal with his seat partner that during lab he would work with you instead. He always looked forward to the block class, he got almost 2 hours with you and especially today he needed the time to talk to you, to try and fix this because god, you were pissed. 

But imagine his surprise when the teacher called for lab and you moved to his table but when his table partner went to stand you pushed his shoulder back down. 

“Thanks Tye, but today I’m going to work with Bailey.” 

You looked at Peter and turned to go back to your work station with Bailey. Her face froze in panic when you returned, you smiled at her. 

“Why aren’t you working with Peter?” She laughed to ease the tension. It didn’t work. 

“Because,” You sat next to her and twirled a strand of her hair around your finger. 

“I don't want to work with Peter today. I want to talk about Peter today. I thought you would love that, both of us chatting about the boy we love.” 

Peter gulped. You knew he could hear you, you knew he wouldn’t be able to focus right now. You knew he was in full blown panic mode. You knew he was a nervous pee-er. 

Bailey looked behind her at Peter but you caught her chin to bring her back to your face. 

“He’s nervous. He doesn’t like that I broke the routine.” You looked at her. 

“When he’s nervous he has to pee. It’s cute, on our first date he had to pee like seven times.” 

“He’s about to ask for a bathroom pass.” 

Peter’s hand raised, “Mrs. McClendon, can I go to the bathroom?” 

You raised an eyebrow at her. “Told you.” 

You watched her take your words in silence. She was scared of you at the moment, it was cute. 

“Now, when he gets back, he is going to look at us. He’s going to wipe his hands on his pants and bite his lower lip. Then he’s going to sit down, he’s gonna tap his pencil on the desk and bounce his leg. Then he’s going to get up and look around and sharpen his pencil at the front of the class so he can get a better look at me to make sure I'm not tormenting you too much.” You smiled at her when you finished. 

Bailey wasn’t sure where you were going with this. 

When the class door opened you paused on writing down a chemistry question, the solution was the mixture you would be working on today. 

“Go ahead. Look at him.” You nodded towards the back of the class. Bailey kept her eyes on her paper, you elbowed her. 

“Really, watch him. I’m asking you too.” 

You watched as Bailey looked at you, then turned her head to your boyfriend. You continued to work, even sliding Bailey’s worksheet to you to finish the second half of the equation. Bailey watched Peter at your command, she watched as he wiped his hands and looked around the room chewing on his bottom lip. He looked around until he looked towards their table, his eyes on you. You bent over the table, you looked between the pages and started to mumble. He heard you mutter something along the lines of ‘if Peter was here how would he do this? Is it x squared? No he would say that not every problem would be solved with x squared.’ 

He moved his eyes to see Bailey looking at him, he hadn't even noticed she was staring at him. 

Peter moved to his seat with his head down. He started to tap the end of his pencil on the desk, then moved from biting his lip to shaking his leg. He looked at you once more, ignoring Bailey’s eyes. He looked at his pencil and pressed the lead to his desk watching it snap. He stood and walked to the front of the class to sharpen it again. He looked towards you and watched you struggle with the question, if you weren't mad at him you would have asked for help 3 times over by now. 

He blew a breath through his mouth, he had to at least check on you. He had to make sure you weren’t berating Bailey too bad. He slowly made his way towards you, if the teacher asked he was taking the long way back to his seat. He paused in front of your seat, he was ignoring Bailey right now. Even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and talk to her right now. 

“How’s it going over here?” 

You looked up to Peter and smiled, you wrapped an arm around Bailey’s elbow and tugged her into your side. “Great! You know, I think we have some things in common.” You looked at her and watched her slow blink, you pushed your shoulder to hers, “Right?” She just nodded blankly. 

“That’s great.” Peter responded weakly, he moved to stand over your shoulder. 

“Need any help?” 

You straightened your back and felt him involuntarily move in, it was a habit. He was used to standing guard over you. 

“Yes, actually.” You pulled your arm from Bailey’s, and pointed to the sixth task. 

He hummed and moved forward, his hand moving over your shoulder to grab your pencil. He lent his mouth into the back of your head and placed a soft kiss. You knew it was an ‘I love you’ and grabbed his wrist in a silent ‘I love you too.’ 

“You know you can’t solve everything with x squared right?” You lent your head back into his chest and groaned. 

“I know but last lesson it was the answer to everything and it made me feel smart and now I need your help again.” You placed a kiss on his forearm. “Every time I feel caught up it changes.” 

Peter hummed and wrote the equation down for you, most times he helped you solve it. Sometimes you weren't in the mood for a whole lesson and he would just give you the answer. 

“I know, it’s such a drag to help you. I mean, you have to come over and I help you and then we get to watch movies and I get to kiss up on you. It’s actually terrible.” He kissed your forehead and pulled back. 

“You’re good to start now. You wanna come over tonight? We can do homework, or…” He trailed off and moved to your right ear, his whisper to you only, he didn’t want Bailey to hear, your reaction alone would make her shake. 

“Or, we can do something else. May isn’t home, she won’t be back til tomorrow evening. Whole place for us all night.” He mumbled into your ear and you pulled back with a gasp. You held a hand to your chest, “Peter Parker!” He hummed and smiled, he placed a kiss on the top of your head. 

Before he parted he pulled your head back by your chin, your face pulled backwards to look at him upside down. He had both his hands on the side of your face and smiled with his whole heart, he looked into your eyes and spoke honestly. 

“Hey. I love you.” He winked and went back to his seat. 

You started to pull the liquids to make the chemical reaction. 

“How accurate was I?” 

Bailey looked at you, and spoke softly. 

“Spot on.” 

“Know why I told you that?” She shook her head no. 

You smiled at her with pity, you knew she felt it. She looked down in shame, “Know why I asked you to look at him?” She looked at you again, “No.” 

“Because, You will never know him like I do. And he will never love you like he loves me.” 

Bailey was silent for the rest of lab. 

—----------------------------------------------------------

Peter thought he had made it right. 

You talked to him in lab. You lent into his touch and he even gave you the answer off the bat. He even totally ignored Bailey and felt like a dick but he did it so you would know there was nothing to worry about. He loved you, he thought you knew that. He didn’t mean to make you so upset, he really didn’t mean to make you cry. 

In fact, if Peter really thought about it he can’t remember a time he’s made you cry like this. He made you cry because he made you feel beneath him. 

Peter thought when you came over tonight all would be solved. There would be no Bailey discussion, he figured he made his point when he ignored her existence in class today but apparently that wasn’t good enough. 

The way tonight went Peter wasn’t even sure he had a girlfriend anymore. 

Honestly he wasn’t too sure when it started. He wondered if you came over with the intention to fight or it just happened, maybe it was intentional because you didn’t even bring your backpack. You were in pajamas and had mascara under your eyes, he wondered if it was from crying or rubbing at your eyes from a long day. 

“Hi.” He greeted you at the door. 

“Hey.” That set him back some, you both always said the same thing. It was always hi, always. Peter felt like he was slipping, were you both on different pages? 

“Hey?” 

“Hello?” You questioned back. 

“Are we just running through formal greetings?” You moved to the kitchen to inspect his fridge. Peter always had the best snacks and drinks, and they were always different. It was the first thing you always checked, looking for the flavor of the week. 

“Hi. It’s always hi.” Peter felt nervous, his eyes shot to his bathroom door. 

You scanned the fridge and found the new soda flavor in front of you. 

“Oo, orange? May is going crazy. If she gets grape next time I won't leave until I finish all of them.” 

“Did you hear me?” He shifted his weight. 

“Huh? Oh, yes sorry. Hi, Peter.” Your voice was muffled when you poked your head back into the fridge. 

Peter frowned. It threw off his balance and it didn’t feel the same when he asked you to say it. He wanted you to do it naturally, not because he wanted it. 

“Babe, do you have any more cherry Coke? I kinda want one of those instead.” 

“Um, Maybe. I can look, I really have to pee though.” He nearly sprinted to the bathroom. 

When he opened the door he saw you standing right by it, he jumped a little and held his hand to his chest. He looked behind you to the kitchen and started to make his way to look for your cherry coke. 

He stopped when you put out an arm to block him from moving. 

“Am I making you nervous?” 

Peter looked around and looked back at you. 

“A little.” 

You raised your eyebrows. 

“Why?” 

“I think you're mad at me.” 

You paused and thought about it. You were a little upset still but not angry. 

“I don’t think I am. I’m a little upset but I don’t want to yell at you.” 

“You’re not mad?” 

You moved in for a hug and squeezed until he grunted. 

“Not mad.” 

“Then why didn’t you say hi?” 

“Hi.” You kissed where your head fell on his chest. You leaned up and kissed up his neck into his jaw, each kiss he was given an ‘Hi’.

“Okay, okay I get it!” He laughed and pushed you away from him. 

You followed him to the kitchen and watched him squat in front of the fridge, his head ducking to try and find a Coke for you, he knows you stashed one. You just forgot where you put it. He rooted around in the vegetable drawer and pulled the last one out. He held it to you and you gasped and held it to your chest. 

“My hero!” 

Peter stood and stretched, “If only every crime was that easy.” 

You yawned at his stretch and watched him copy. 

“I’m putting on my PJ’s. You pick the movie.” You gave him a ‘you sure?’ look. Peter always chose the movies, he said you had the worst taste in movies and you weren’t able to pick them anymore. When you binge TV he loves your choices, but movies were a failed task. 

“I’m positive. Be right back.” He answered your look, it made your heart swell when he did that. He knew you so well that one look could ask him a question. 

You cracked open the can and took a sip, you offered one to Peter. He took the can and took a mouthful that puffed his cheeks out. He wiggled his eyebrows and you giggled, he turned to his room to change. You meant to walk to the couch to choose a movie, and you did. You even sat your soda and phone down but then the thought of Peter changing was so exciting you bailed and went to watch him. 

Except the excitement was blown the second you walked in. Peter wasn’t changing, he was sitting on his bed with his phone pulled to him with the charger in. He was fully clothed still, he went in with the intention of getting on his phone, not putting on pajamas. 

His fingers were moving fast, he was trying to write as quickly as the thoughts came to him. 

You knew who he was talking to. 

Red flag number 5. 

“What is wrong with you?” Your words were venomous. 

Peter’s head shot up and his eyes went wide. 

“You didn’t think I’d catch you? You’re so smart Peter, why are you being so dumb?” 

Peter’s eyebrows furrowed. 

“What does that mean?” 

“Why are you still talking to her? What is it about her?” You pointed at his phone in his hand. He locked it and placed it face down on the nightstand. Your breath caught, he still didn’t want you to see. 

You took a step back, and stared at his phone. 

“Peter, I think we should break up.” 

Peter stood from the bed. 

“What?” 

“I think we should break up.” 

“What?” He couldn’t conceptualize what you were saying. 

“I don’t like how you’re making me feel. I think I need to step back from this.” 

“Step back? No, no no no, you don't need to step back.” His hands started to shake. He didn’t mean for this to happen, he didn’t know how serious you were at school. You told him you’d dump him. 

“Then why are you still texting her?” You shouted the words, tears gathering. You were about to break down. 

“She’s a friend! You treated her like shit today and she wanted to make it right with me.” Peter sighed and felt tired, he didn’t feel like fighting right now. 

“I treated her like shit? She’s the one that is trying to ruin this!” 

“Really? Because you’re the one fighting with me.” 

The tears came down your face, you started to huff. 

“Why are you letting her do this?” 

Peter ran a hand over his face. He could fight guys all night long but fights with his girlfriend were daunting and exhausting. There was always too much emotion involved. 

“I’m just talking to her. As a friend. I’m your boyfriend, you won.” 

“Then why did you change your passcode!” You screamed the words, your breaths were short.

“And why do you hide your phone from me? And why are you lying about talking to her?” You were on the verge of hyperventilating. 

“I’m not! Morgan got my password and texted everyone in my recents I sucked. I changed it then, I swear! I’m not trying to hide it but you said you were insecure!” Peter tried to defend himself but just put his foot in his mouth.

“I'm insecure? You know I'm insecure about her and you’re still talking to her?” You wiped your tears and sniffled. 

“She just went through a bad break up! She said it was hurting debate so she needed help and she just started talking to me.” 

“She wants a rebound not a friend Peter!” You were hurt and frustrated. 

“Oh my God!” He shouted and pulled at his hair. 

“She knows you exist! She knows we're dating!.” He pointed between you two.  

“And she doesn’t care! You know she likes you, I know you do!” Your voice was rising again. 

“I didn’t know it until today, I swear. But she knows we’re dating and that nothing will happen! She told me today!” 

“And you told her about last night?” You shot at him.

“I needed to talk to someone!” He matched your tone. 

“But not your girlfriend? Really? You’re going to talk to the person that made me leave?” You slapped your hands on your thighs and sniffled. You crossed your arms over your chest and looked out his window as you started to cry again. 

Peter sighed and looked at you, you were so upset you were trembling. He had really fucked this up, he was trying to save the relationship not make it worse. He stepped forward to grab you but you stepped back and looked at him. 

“Why her?” You sniffled and wiped away your tears before more were released. 

“I never get jealous. I let you talk to other girls all the time, I let you hang out with them and I don't get mad or question you. But this one, this one makes me upset. Why can’t you get that? It’s just one.” You spoke softly, your lip trembled with the sob that wanted to escape. You wanted nothing more than your boyfriend to hug you and tell you he would stop talking to her, but he didn’t. 

“I didn’t mean for that to happen, Y/N. I just thought she needed a friend. I just think you’re reading too much into it.” He spoke calmly but his words made you feel dumb, like this was a silly argument. 

Red flag number 6.

“I don’t like you right now Peter. I’ve told you how I feel about her twice now and each time you wave it off. It’s not about her anymore, she's just a girl from school. But you're my boyfriend, and you've made me feel belittled and downplayed and lower than you.” You moved towards the door, but kept facing him. 

“I’m sorry I made you feel that way. It wasn’t my intention.” His response was robotic. 

You guffawed at him, his words were hollow. Did he not understand what was happening here? 

“You know what Peter? It feels like you're cheating on me.” Your words sent swords to his heart. 

“I’m not- I would never.” He moved towards you and grabbed your hands in his. 

“I’m not cheating on you. I wouldn’t do that, okay? I love you.” 

You pulled your hand from his and shook your head. The disappointment was written on your face, even he could see it. 

“If you loved me you wouldn’t treat me this way.” Your words were soft, the decision was made. You weren’t going to make your partner choose you. 

“What does that mean?” His voice was panicked. He didn’t mean for this to happen. 

You stayed silent. He knew what this meant. He was fucking this up, you were the love of his life and he’s about to let you walk out the door. He was letting you dump him. 

“Baby, what does that mean?” You turned your face and held your eyes shut as you cried. This was so hard. 

“Baby?” His voice was pleading. You cried harder at the word, it was yours. He gave you that name and you wore it like a badge. 

“Please.” His voice cracked. 

Peter had never cried in an argument, but this wasn’t an argument anymore. This was a breakup. 

“Don’t do this. Please, don’t do this to me. I’m sorry, please don’t. Please.” He begged you. 

You shook your head, you had to stay strong. You had to prove you were worth more. 

“Baby, please. I’ll let you read the texts. I’ll block her number. Please. Anything.” 

You met his eyes, they were red and glistening. His nose was red, you remembered you told him his nose always went red when he cried. You called him your little rudolph. You just felt sad looking at him. 

“Please don’t leave me.” His voice cracked and tears ran down his cheeks. His breaths were short, once the tears started he couldn’t stop. He brought his wrist to his eye and rubbed at it. He turned his back to you, his quick inhales left you wanting to run to him. You wanted to rub your hand down his back and help him breathe, you wanted to hold him and tell him it was okay but it wasn’t. You didn’t feel secure anymore. 

“Peter,” You looked at his front door, you needed to leave. You couldn’t watch him anymore, it was becoming unbearable. 

“Peter, I should go.” You nearly whispered the words, they were so hard to say. 

“Y/N.” He whimpered. You’ve never heard him like this. He was pleading with you, he needed you like water right now. 

“Peter, I have to go now. I’ll see you later, okay?” You stared at his back. You realized you hadn’t kissed him tonight, you didn’t get a last kiss. 

You silently grabbed your phone and left. He didn’t say a word, part of you wanted him to fight harder for you. The other was glad he didn’t, he let you make this as easy as possible and you knew it killed him inside to do it. 

You loved him. You truly loved him with your whole heart. And if you were cruel you would tell him that, but instead you looked at him one last time. He was hunched over as his shoulders shook, he was holding in his cries for you. Your heart fell to the floor and you left it there as you passed over the threshold. 

Peter couldn’t sleep that night. 

He also couldn’t be Spider-Man that night. He couldn’t do anything that required him to get out of bed, he felt trapped the second you left. His mind was hollow, he was entirely empty inside. He kept replaying the fight in his mind, he was never good at fighting with you. He always said the wrong things and made it worse. That’s why he never tried to fight. 

He felt depleted and at a loss. He felt so fucking stupid too. He doesn’t know why he fought you so hard on it. It was one person that made you feel bad, but Peter, the one who wants to do nothing but love and protect you made it worse. He didn’t take your side, and that’s why you dumped him. He doesn’t blame you, he’d dump himself if he could. 

He told himself ‘That’s it!’ If he goes over to Bailey’s and talks to her he can solve everything with you. He just needed to friend dump her and everything goes back to normal. Satisfied with his plan he jumped out of bed and grabbed his wallet and phone barley locking the front door before speeding down the stairs. 

When he got to Bailey’s the plan was simple: Tell her girlfriend dumped you, tell her you can no longer be friends, get girlfriend back. Easy enough. 

But the second the first part came out she let out an “Thank God!” and sighed. 

“What?” Peter was puzzled. 

“Thank God! She was the absolute worst. I don’t know how you lasted that long with her. She is truly insufferable. She’s always talking about you and going on and on about how special she is to be with you. If I’m being honest she never deserved you.” She paused and took a sip from her straw. 

“You didn’t like her?” Peter was lost. Bailey had told him you were friends and she loved how cute you and him were together. 

Bailey laughed at his question. “God no, I was praying for her downfall.” 

“What? Why?” Peter couldn’t believe this. He was so blindsided, you were right. All she wanted was to get him to herself. And he let it happen. 

“She didn’t deserve you. I just said that, silly.” 

Bailey moved closer to Peter and placed a hand on his shoulder. 

“But, if you’re feeling sad and needy I can make a good rebound. I need one myself, this works out perfectly.” She lent in to kiss him but Peter pushed her back. 

“Are you insane? You said you needed a friend. I was good to you, I believed you when you said you wanted nothing more than that. I fought with my girlfriend over you. I got dumped because of you and you want to have sex?” Peter stood and shook his head at her. 

“You’re not a good person. You rubbed off on me, I was a terrible boyfriend tonight. You don’t deserve me at all, and how you could insinuate that is beyond me. You are a shitty human who did a terrible thing.” He spat the words and turned to leave. 

“Oh yeah? Well you’re just as bad. You fell into my trap just as easy, you knew what I wanted. Even your girlfriend called me out and you still kept talking to me. You must not have loved her that much.” She shrugged her shoulders, this was nothing to her. 

Peter’s blood boiled with her words. You had told him those words just a few hours before and now Bailey was rubbing that in his face. Peter clenched his fists but couldn’t keep calm, he was so pissed at this girl that ruined his relationship he couldn’t keep a level head. He turned to walk to where she had stayed. Peter bent at the waist so his face was in hers directly, he wanted her to know the words he was about to share came from his heart. 

“You are vile. You are scum. You are a terrible shitty human with no remorse or moral standpoints. You prayed on pity and turned it into a fun game. You mean nothing to me, if you were on fire I wouldn’t even spit on you. I think you are the worst person I have ever met and I’ve met a lot of them.” His words were ice cold, he has never spoken such cruel things. 

“Wow. That hurts.” She blinked at him. 

“You know what Bailey? I hope you find love, I really do. And I hope it’s really good. The kind of once in a lifetime kind of love. The love where you know the other person like the back of your hand, there is nothing that they can hide from you, and you can’t hide it from them. I want you to have a love that gives you a reason to wake up in the morning, someone that makes you breathe better just by seeing them. A love where you can’t imagine one possible moment without them because no matter what it is they just make it so much better. I hope that for you, I really do.” Peter spoke sincerely and went to leave. 

“Do you really?” Her voice was soft. She always wanted a love like that, she dreamed of it. 

“Of course.” He had his hand on her doorknob and turned his head over his shoulder. 

“Then I hope you fuck it all up and lose it all.” He opened the door and slammed it behind him. 

Peter was banging on your window. 

You tried to ignore the taps at first, but then they were knocks. Then they were thumps of his palm against the window. You rolled your eyes, there was a reason it was shut and locked. You wanted to keep him out. 

His restlessness was unsettled, his bangs became faster until you huffed and threw the covers off you and ripping the curtains open. You stared at Peter on the other side of the glass, and waited. You weren’t going to say a word until he did. 

Peter looked at you wide eyed with an open mouth. He didn’t expect you to actually come to the window, he assumed he would have to break in. 

“What?” You barked the words at him. You didn’t want to break the silence first but he was taking too long. Peter cupped his hand around his ear and made a confused face. “What?” You repeated. He narrowed his eyes and shrugged his shoulders and pointed to his ears. 

“I know you can hear me Peter!” 

He stared blankly at you. 

You groaned and unlocked the window and threw it up. 

“Hi!” He smiled at you. 

“Hi.” 

His heart clenched. You still did it. Involuntary or not it counted. 

“What do you want?” You were quick to the point. 

“Oi! What happened to exes being friends?” 

You frowned at him. It’s too soon for him to be making these jokes, it hasn’t even been twelve hours. 

“Not funny yet?” He read your mind. 

“No.” 

“That’s okay. I’m still into my ex.” He shrugged and watched you roll your eyes. He didn’t miss the hint of a smile on your lips, he still has you. 

“Why are you here?” 

“I went to Bailey’s house.” He started but you were finished at that sentence. 

You stared at him and pushed the window down, he caught it at the bottom and pushed it up. You huffed and pushed it down, he kept his hand in place the window not budging against his grasp. You stood on your tiptoes and put all your weight into pushing it down but it stayed complacent. 

“This isn’t one you’ll win baby.” His tone was cocky, he liked seeing you flustered. 

“You can’t call me that I’m not your girlfriend.” You sat down at the window so you were equal height with Peter on the other side. You grabbed at this hand and tried to uncurl his fingers on the wood. 

“Oh you like rubbing that in.” He watched as you tried to get him to release his grip but you were failing. 

“Peter let go!” You reached your arm out to pull at his wrist. 

“No. I love you.” 

You pulled away and tucked your knees to your chest. You put your head down and started to cry, your shoulders shaking with each sob. Peter pulled the window open and let himself in, he sat down with you and wrapped his body around yours. You cried harder at his warmth, you turned around to press yourself into his neck. 

“Why’d you let me do that?” Your words were muffled in his shirt. 

“Because you had to.” He kissed your forehead and rested his head on yours. 

Green flag number 1.

“Can I continue?” You nodded your head against his. 

“I went to Bailey’s house. See, I had this great idea that if I told her what happened she would be empathetic and set it straight and then we would never talk again and me and you would get back together and the worst five hours of my life would be over. But something worse happened.” 

You sniffled and pushed him back with your hands on his chest. You looked over his face and neck, if he was here to tell you he hooked up with her you would lose it. 

“What happened Peter?” 

He sighed and looked down. “You were right.” 

“Huh?” 

“I know right? Here I go with my loud mouth saying you don’t understand, but it was me babe. I didn’t understand. You were right, you were so right.” 

“About what?” 

Peter leaned back on his arms, “She wanted to bone me babe. Like right out the gate, I went over there heart in my hands. No light or soul left in me, just grasping at straws. I tell her you just dumped me with a capital D, no remorse, just a straight kill shot.” He smiled when he made you laugh, you wiped at your nose with a sleeve of his hoodie. 

“And she goes, and I quote, “Thank, God.” and I obviously, in pure shock. Just double knifed right now, punches from every side. I say, “what?” because there is no way I heard that right and she says it again. Then she said she hated you, which she said you were friends all along, and that you didn’t deserve me. Then said I needed a rebound and so did she and this was actually a good thing if I think about it. Then she tried to actually bone me.” Peter concluded his rant. 

“What did you do?” You looked at him and hoped he did the right thing. 

“I barked at her.” 

You laughed and leaned forward to hit his arm, “No you didn’t.” 

“No I didn’t. I said some really, really mean things. Like, I defended your honor so hard she’s gonna form a crush on you instead.” He smiled at you, he wanted to ask if everything was okay now. 

Green flag number 2. 

“How mean?” You pushed him, you’ve never seen Peter mean. He must have wished her coffee was always too sweet or too bitter, never just right. That's the most vicious you could imagine Peter getting. 

He let out a puff of air. 

“Uh, something about being vile and being a shitty human and hoping she has the once in a lifetime kind of love you always dream of and she fucks it all up. Or something like that, I dunno it’s kinda blur.” He shrugged his shoulders and looked towards you. 

Green flag number 3.

You pulled your head back in impressment. 

“Wow. I’m lucky you spared my feelings when I totally crushed you after I slammed dumped you.” 

“Good one, babe.” He stuck his hand out for a fist bump. 

“You were totally heartless there. I mean I was crying like a baby and you stone cold just left. Now I know who the bad cop is gonna be when we have kids.” He poked fun and you turned your head at him. 

“We’re not getting back together, Peter.” 

Your words were ice. Peter felt frozen, he was sinking on the titanic. He figured it was okay now, you were talking like you were okay. Peter had a deer in headlights look and cleared his throat. 

“Um, yeah. Of course, I really fucked that one up. I just wanted you to have closure.” He gave you a tight lipped smile and went to stand so he could make his exit. 

You reached for his wrist and pulled him to keep him sitting. 

“No hard feelings?” You reached your hand out for a handshake. He started at your hand and shook it, he nodded at your words. “No hard feelings.” 

Green flag number 4. 

You let out a breath of fresh air. 

“Oh good. Don’t get me wrong, you’re totally hot and smart and totally my type. I mean you make me laugh even when I’m supposed to be mad at you and you always know how to fix our problems but I mean, I’m still hung up on my ex. It wouldn’t be fair to jump into a new relationship right now.” 

Peter nodded with your words. 

“I understand. I’m still not over my ex, she reminds me a lot like you. Beautiful, witty and just a dream stomper. I still love her actually.” He sighed and reminisced. 

“I still love mine too.” You looked at him and felt like giving him the best kiss of your life. 

“You know if we're both hurting from our ex’s we could just be each other's rebound. It works out perfect.” 

You leaned over and met him in a kiss. He made a surprised sound not expecting your move but grabbed your waist and pulled you into him. He opened his mouth into yours and deepened the kiss, he thought he wasn’t going to be able to do this for a while. Not ever again though, he always knew he would win you back. You moved to straddle his waist, with your arms locked behind his head you pulled back from him and pecked his mouth. 

“I’m sorry I broke up with you.” You whispered into his mouth.

“It’s okay. I deserved it.” He matched your tone. 

Green flag number 5. 

“It was the worst five hours of my life. Let's never do that again.” 

Peter lent in to kiss you again, and again. 

“Deal.” 

“No really, it was traumatic.” 

Peter was kissing down your neck, he hummed and you pulled away with a shout. 

“Was it? I think I was more traumatized. The love of my life broke up with me like it was nothing. I was a mess.” 

“No, actually I had it worse. I mean you were begging me not to do it, I was the heartless monster that had to keep going and actually do it.” 

“I think you gave me trust issues.” He moved some hair behind your ear and you raised your eyebrows at him. 

“Oh I gave you trust issues?” Making sure to enunciate on the you. 

“Mhm. I see the error of my words.” 

You pressed your forehead against his and stilled. It was okay. Everything was okay. 

“Hey, Petey?” 

“Yes, baby?” 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too.”