river

Hands shot up around the room with excited murmurings, and you chose the student who looked most ready to jump out of their seat. The little boy proudly stated, “My mommy is on a diet.” 

You pressed your lips into a line to stave off the laugh. Your science unit was struggling in the last half of the day, your classroom alight with both tire and too much energy. Around 2 pm, the 8-year-olds stopped having access to their brains. 

“Thank you, Omar, that is very insightful. Emma, what do you have to add?” you posed, turning to your most on-task student. 

“Penguins eat fish,” she stated, matter-of-factly. “Like we eat fish at home sometimes. You know, like when my daddy made dinner and you came with Uncle Bucky.” 

You took in a sharp intake of air and paired it with a smile. The flush in your cheeks was surely coming on, but it didn’t have time to fully form before the class erupted with more babbling. They wanted to know why Miss. Y/l/n went to Emma’s house and why were you eating fish? That is so weird, and the most asked question: Is Mr. Bucky going to come here? 

You used every classroom management strategy in the book—clapping, a phrase, a gentle shush—but nothing would calm them. The unfortunate truth was that your class loved Bucky. And that was only unfortunate because mentioning him caused an uproar. One that you could barely tame. 

To be fair, you loved Bucky just as much. You hadn’t exactly told him that yet, but you figured it was obvious. Showing him rather than telling was just the best course of action right now. He was more traditional, asking you on dates and putting official labels on your relationship, so you didn’t want to freak him out with anything too soon. It had been about four months together, but maybe that was too soon? 

You just really didn’t want to mess anything up. 

You brought yourself back to the present hysteria of the room and raised your voice over the squeals. “Okay, okay, everyone! Thank you for settling down. Thank you for using inside voices when we are inside,” you gently reprimanded, sending out a few pointed looks. “Mr. Bucky is not going to be coming to class today—” the room deflated with a few sad sounds “—I know. It’s very sad. But maybe I could invite him when we have our Valentine’s Day party if everyone earns it.” 

“With his arm?” someone piped up from the back of the room. 

“He always has his arm, so yes. The arm would be there.” 

Yays boomed across the room. Emma was staring at you in gentle disbelief at the craze of her classmates, and you gave her a conspiratory wink. She returned it with a playful eyeroll, but then lost you when her head snapped over to the window. It didn’t take long for the rest of the class to follow suit, and suddenly, any control you’d had over the room vanished. 

The low hum of a motorcycle offered you an explanation. 

“Miss. Y/l/n, you said he wasn’t coming! He’s here! Mr. Bucky is here!” Peter shouted, bouncing on his toes by the window. Your class had a rather expansive view of the parking lot, a fate you were now cursing. 

“I… I didn’t think he was coming,” you mumbled under your breath, smoothing down your skirt with an unseen shyness. 

You watched Bucky kick off his bike and slide the helmet from his head, taking a moment to adjust to the sun before sending a smile to your classroom window. The kids vibrated with excitement, and Bucky slipped off his gloves before stepping closer and bending down to their level. He lifted his hand, pressed it to the window, and wiggled his fingers. 

All sanity was lost. Gone. Forever abandoned. You saw a laugh shake his shoulders as one of the students pressed their hand against his on the glass. His smile quirked up to you, shining in the exasperated look you sent him. He was so pretty it hurt to look at him. And you were trying to be annoyed at him for disrupting your class. 

The bell saved you. All 26 third graders scrambled around the room to gather their things as you gave fruitless instructions. Luckily, you weren’t on pick-up duty today. That would have really and truly drained you. Instead, you got to enter the hall and watch Bucky ruffle the hair of your students as they smiled up at him and raced to the exit. It was preferable. You leaned against the threshold of your door and failed to hide your own smile. 

When the space had become more sparse, Bucky honed all of his attention on you. He looked you up and down twice, as he loved to do just because it made you all antsy, and then stepped forward until the toes of his boots were inches from your sensible but professional shoes. You watched the way he pressed his tongue into his cheek, and relished in the slight color that dusted under his eyes. It wasn’t always you that got flustered. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted in a low, private tone. “Can I take you to dinner?” 

You raised your brows in playful disbelief. “Dinner? You riled up my classroom and caused a—a stampede to ask me to dinner? You could’ve texted me!” 

Bucky bit into his bottom lip and stared up at the ceiling for a moment, a slight shake to his head. “Can’t just text you. That takes all the fun out of it.” 

“We were trying to learn about penguins. Now they know nothing about penguins.” 

“Not the penguins. God, sorry, baby, I should’ve known it was penguin day. I saw you lay out that icicle skirt.” 

“They aren’t icicles, they are snowflakes and—now you’re riling me up. On purpose. I refuse to go to dinner with you.” 

Bucky clasped his hand over his heart in a wounded way and stumbled back. “You won’t? I can’t go on then. All my tours were nothing compared to this. Send me back out on the frontlines.” 

“You’re so insane. Don’t joke about that!” you chastised, tilting your head with your arms crossed over your chest. 

Bucky tutted and righted himself, unraveling your arms to hold your hands. His thumbs rubbed over your knuckles, and you shivered at the difference in temperature between them. 

He had told you about how it happened. It was about two months in, and he was having a difficult few days. The previous explanation of ‘Afghanistan’ wasn’t cutting it with the anniversary of the event that week, and so Bucky told you everything—everything, everything.  He told you about the deployments leading up to his last one, his years of service amounting to several awards and recognitions. He told you how he met Steve and everyone else in the military who meant something to him. And then he told you about the ambush where he lost his arm and a handful of people he had trusted with his life. 

So, sometimes, you got weird when he joked about it. Sad. Bucky coped that way sometimes, but he knew what he meant to you. And what you meant to him. 

Your boyfriend’s expression became earnest as the lights in the hall flickered over the elementary school art lining the walls. “Sorry. Didn’t mean it. Forgive me?” 

You didn’t need much convincing. You sighed and nodded, and Bucky took advantage of the relenting. He gently pushed you back inside your classroom and clicked the door shut, and then closed the curtains to the parking lot. 

“Don’t get any ideas in here, buddy,” you warned, leaning against your desk when he finished his tasks. Bucky hovered over you, arms on either side of your thighs and face just inches from yours. “This is a classroom. Kids are still here.” 

“I wasn’t gonna do anything,” he surrendered. “Was just gonna kiss you a little.” 

“And what if a student comes back in?” 

“School’s out.”

“Kids forget things all the time. I see a jacket on a chair right now.” 

“Good thing I locked the door.” 

“Bucky,” you went to reprimand with a laugh, but then he kissed you, lips soft with no urgency, and you let him. For a second. You didn’t even get the chance to pull away and be professional. He pulled back himself, eyes roaming over your face as you looked back in a daze. 

“There. All I wanted,” he smiled, tapping your chin with his knuckle. “Can I take you to dinner now? Maybe kiss you more off school grounds?” 

“I love you.” The words had slipped out, unexpected, but with so much ease it was hard to remember how they formed. Bucky was still leaning over you, and you watched his expression shift from a playful tease to so much more. His lips parted, his gaze froze, and then his lashes fluttered. 

Your eyes went wide. You slapped your hand over your mouth. “I—I mean, um, just that—” 

“Please get on my bike,” Bucky almost pleaded, voice just above a whisper. “Let me take you home. I’ll feed you later.” 

“What?” 

He shook his head, a disbelieving breath huffing out in a laugh. “What? Don’t ask me what. Girl of my dreams just said she loves me and I’m barely allowed to kiss her here. Gotta take you home.” 

“Does that mean you…” you trailed off, nervousness mingling with excitement. 

“That I love you too? Obviously. Yes. I love you and I’ve loved you ever since you picked glitter outta my hair after that bake sale.” 

“Right when we met?” 

Bucky was staring at your mouth as you spoke, an intensity on his face you saw sometimes. Only when you were alone. “Pretty sure I just said you were the girl of my dreams, right?” 

You clutched the edges of the desk between your fingers, elated and content and so unbelievably happy. “Is it the skirts?” 

Bucky wasn’t even trying anymore. He got close enough for you to feel his breath against your lips, one of his hands bringing your waist closer. “We need to leave now. I’m being dead serious.” 

“Okay, let me grab my coat.” 

“Screw the coat.” 

“It’s literally on the way out the door.” 

Bucky’s jaw jutted to the side for a moment. He pecked your lips in a lingering way, and then he lifted you from the desk and set you firmly on your feet, an entirely unnecessary action, but one that left you reeling. When you followed him out into the hall, your coat already hastily slung over his arm, you didn’t miss how he instantly pressed his hand to your back. Or how his smile became easy once more when he spoke to the kids in the pick-up line.