#mmb 7

Bucky dragged you down the block with your arm locked under his as you approached the club. The thundering music reached your ears long before you spotted the serpentine queue of patrons waiting to slip inside.

“Bucky, no,” you groaned.

You were not a huge fan of clubs, generally, but this club in particular was at the bottom of your list. It was flashy and gimicky, and way too expensive. Worse yet, every other night was a theme night, each one more ludicrous than the last.

“Oh yes,” he chuckled, holding your arm tighter and pushing forward. “It’s perfect. It’s too laughable to take seriously. We need to lighten up. This is our new friend-date spot.”

You sighed, ceding the point. One more night. “What’s the theme tonight?”

“Tight and bright,” he grinned, spinning you with a flourish out from your spot tucked into his side. Suddenly the vibrant outfit made perfect sense. Your brightest yoga pants fit right in with the line ahead and the light sweater Bucky had picked was already glowing violet under the club's ultraviolet haze.

“How come you’re not in dress code?,” you demanded as you came to a stop outside the door. With tequila still heavy on your tongue and buzzing in your fingertips and toes, you nearly stumbled into him.

“Don’t need to. How many times have I told you, make friends with bouncers.”

“Uh never? You said bartenders.”

“Okay fine, befriend b-people. Bouncers, bartenders…” he trailed off, trying to think of another.

“And Buckys,” you smirked, tapping his nose with the tip of your finger.

He laughed and took your hand before stepping to the door. The bouncer knew him immediately and they shared a short, loose hug and a few casual words. After a quick scolding about dress code, he let the both of you through.

It was like stepping through the wardrobe into Narnia. If only Narnia was a bad 80’s fantasy. The lights were dim and there was artificial fog rolling low on the floor. Brightly colored laser lights flashed across the room in erratic patterns. Everything was plastic and fiber optic.

Exactly how you remembered it: flash and gimmick.

The patrons wore very little, thin and short neon spandex dresses, tight denim in light washes that glowed violet under the blacklight. The staff wore even less, illuminated by the glow of the bar, or the play of light off the fog. One bartender leaned forward with a tall royal blue drink complete with swirly straw and a bright red maraschino cherry.

Another wandered past in roller skates and spandex shorts, holding a tray of jello shots. He stopped and offered one to you and Bucky. You reached for your wallet, but before you could withdraw the cash, Bucky had embraced the man and stood laughing over something shouted in his ear over the rumble of the club.

“Don’t worry about it, honey,” the man waved you off before disappearing into the crowd.

“You really do know everyone.”

He shrugged and guided you deeper into the fray where you danced and drank until you forgot every last one of the million reasons you shouldn't.

After a full night of sugary drinks in jello cups and fake syringes and plastic test tubes, the pair of you were beyond drunk. You stumbled into the cool night air, tucked under Bucky’s arm, nearly doubled over laughing. You’d danced and laughed and drank until you were dizzy and couldn’t tell which of those three was the reason.

“‘M tired, and it’s so hot. ‘M skipping my run with Steve tomorrow,” Bucky slurred as you pointed down the sidewalk in the direction of his apartment.

“Tha’s fair,” you agreed, “Think I sweat off more per ounce than I drank.”

Bucky snorted his disagreement. “We had a lott of jello shots. Jello’ssstill alcohol.”

“But I dinn’t drink it; I ate it,” you argued, stumbling into his side. “‘Cause it’s a solid.”

“Is it?” His face scrunched up in thought. It made you giggle and want to lean up on your toes and kiss his crinkled nose. “Or is it a non-newtonian fluid?”

“Nooo, ‘cause issa square.”

“Oh yeah,” he frowned.

“C’mon, engineer, you should know this!” you teased, pinching his side.

He laughed and folded over, dragging you down too with his weight across your shoulders. This was where your heart lightened, where it became so difficult to let go. The laughter came easy and the trepidation faded to a shadow with every squeeze of your shoulders, the warmth of his laughter in your ear.

“Notthat kind,” he defended. “Mechanical doesssn’t care ‘bout jello. But Tony would know!” he lit up with excitement. “Let’s call Tony!”

“Bad idea, Bucky!” You snatched the phone from his clumsy fingers and smiled softly at his pouting. “It’ss 1:30 in the morning an’ you’re gunning for an internship at his dad’s company.” You pointed at his chest with a clumsy jab. “Plus, you know I’m right.”

“You’re so smart,” Bucky mumbled, squeezing you tight to his side. He kissed the top of your head and you laughed, too drunk to be upset, too happy to realize you should know better.

You really should know better.

Surely, this was merely the high before the next crash that would break your heart all over again.

“Я тебя люблю,” he muttered against the crown of your head. (I love you.)

“Hmm?” you giggled.

“Но ты мой друг,” (But you're my friend.) he complained dropping his cheek against your hair. “Но ты больше чем просто друг.” (But you're more than just a friend.)

This was how you knew Bucky was well and truly drunk. He had a penchant for languages that astounded you. There was no foreign language requirement for an engineering degree, but Bucky had somehow managed to take on three, that you knew of. Meanwhile you and Steve struggled through French together, barely remembering simple verb conjugations while Bucky was nailing case endings in multiple alphabets. Clever bastard.

“Bucky I can’t understand you,” you chuckled as you made it to his doorstep.

“Что мне делать?” he asked, warm palms braced against your cheeks. (What should I do?)

It felt clumsy and strange but the way he was staring at you, had your brow furrowed, trying to see. Confused and drunk and entranced you shook your head slowly, trying to convey again that you couldn’t understand a word he said.

He looked down at you with big serious eyes and a deepening frown. There was a strange sadness to the turn of his lips and the softness in his eyes. As if, by shaking your head, you'd answered his question without meaning to or even knowing how.

“Но я думаю... я влюблен в тебя.” (But I think… I'm in love with you.)

You pursed your lips, watching the odd play of earnest feeling and drunken glassiness dance across his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re saying, Buck. Let’s just get you into bed.”

Upstairs, Natasha woke to the shuffle of clumsy drunken feet and the hush of giggling voices below Steve’s window.

“Everything okay?” Steve asked, seeing her shift upright and peer out the window, down onto the stoop where you and Bucky approached the apartment Bucky shared with Steve.

She sighed but didn’t lay back down, watching, listening. “Our idiots are here,” she whispered.

“They patched things up; that’s a good thing,” Steve mumbled. He winced at the light from his phone as he checked the time. “Bucky’s been a pain in the ass for weeks.”

“It’s not a good thing for her,” Natasha complained. She remained pressed to the window, listening, making sure they made it inside when she heard it. Bucky and his stupid mouth. She froze for a moment. “ ‘M gonna kill ‘em both.”

The following morning Bucky stumbled out of bed with the acidic bite of nausea on his tongue and the pulse of a hangover deep in his skull.

His first coherent thought was, Never again. Followed quickly by, How the hell did I get home?

He finally made his way downstairs, still scrubbing the water from his freshly showered hair. Steve stood across the counter from Natasha. Bucky didn’t bother to greet either on his path to the coffee pot.

“You seen Y/N?” he asked as he poured a cup. “Thought she would’ve stayed here last night.”

His eyes flicked up to his friends and he finally registered the hostility brewing icy and dark. Natasha stood resolute. Her glare beat against him like an early winter’s sleet.

“She slept on the couch, I think,” Steve explained around a mouthful of oatmeal. “Left an hour ago. Not even she can withstand the wrath of Romanoff for that long.” He grinned, clear blue eyes darting to his partner’s. She didn’t spare him so much as a glance for his playful jab.

“Ты идиот,” (You’re an idiot.) Natasha seethed quietly before taking a quick spoonful of grapefruit.

“What?” Bucky returned her glare.

“У тебя есть чувства к ней.” (You have feelings for her.)

“What are you talking about,” Bucky focused too closely on his cup.

Natasha rolled her eyes and let the spoon fall heavily onto the edge of her plate. Its loud clank rang through the apartment like a shot.

“You know exactly what I'm talking about,” she leveled at him. “She might not understand your second hand Russian but I do.”

“I don't even remember coming home so…”

She only glared. Not accepting his excuses, however true they may be. You don’t fall in love with someone over one drunken night. To her, the pertinent facts remained unchanged. He was lying and they both knew it.

She hadn’t so much as mentioned his return the night before; he did because he knew exactly what she was talking about.

“I thought you weren’t going to interfere?” Steve smirked, leaning his hip on the counter.

Her sharp gaze snapped to Steve for a moment before she finally pointed an angled hand toward Bucky in frustration. “He’s in love with her.”

Steve laughed while Bucky sighed heavily and rubbed his forehead, too hungover to parry this attack.

“Well obviously. Have you seen them together?” Steve chuckled between sips of black coffee. “They’re like an old married couple. Best friends my ass.”

“You have to tell her,” Natasha scowled at Bucky.

“I have to tell her nothing,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall with his eyes closed.

“But you’ll say it in a thousand ways she can’t understand? Confusing the both of you? Keeping her close enough to make you feel just good enough? You never say what’s important when it counts, do you.”

“I tried! She’s with that Quill guy!” Bucky defended. “If I tell her now I’m just the asshole who poisoned that and ruined this.” He gestured to himself, shaking his head in defeat.

“Идиот.” (Idiot.) Natasha shook her head with a deep frown while Bucky threw his hands out in frustration. “Bы оба” (Both of you.) “He broke up with her at the end of last term, Bucky!”

Even hungover as hell and stinging from the pain of this conversation, his attention snapped at her revelation.

“What?” he rasped. “Why didn’t she tell me? What happened?”

“You, Bucky.” The crease in Natasha’s brow deepening as she wondered how he could be so goddamn dense. “She wouldn’t give you up.”