Bucky had been fidgeting all day.
If his knee wasn't bouncing, his fingers were making patterns on your leg or messing with the ends of your hair.
It made sense to you. It was draft day-the beginning of summer, just weeks after you'd both graduated. There had been scouts at just about every one of Bucky's games last year, all scoping out talent for the major leagues.
You weren't worried in the slightest. Bucky was the best pitcher in the nation, and you knew every coach was just aching to get their hands on him. Bucky knew it too. So while it made sense that he would be a little nervous, he shouldn't look like he was about to bolt out of his parent's living room.
"Bucky," you whispered, attempting to pry his sweaty hand from yours. He didn't budge. "What's got you so worked up, honey?"
He looked over at you in a daze. "What'd you say, baby?"
"I asked you what was wrong. You've been freaking out all afternoon."
You'd know that better than anyone. After over a year of dating, the signs that Bucky was losing it were clear as day. You hadn't seen him this panicked since you'd crashed your car in the snow last winter.
"I'm just nervous, you know? What if I don't get drafted? All this for nothing."
That was a lie.
His eyes were shifty and his thumb began running small circles onto your hand. Clear signs of a guilty conscience.
Plus, he was bragging just last week about all the coaches sending him emails.
You placed a hand on his cheek and turned his gaze to you. "You know you're going to make a team, Buck. That's not even a question."
"Yeah, but-" he paused, words evading him. The deep sigh from his chest sounded pained. "What if it's not the right team? What if you-"
"I'm going to set up the camera now, Bucky. Oh, I am just so proud of you! And I have your sister on facetime so she can see too and-George! Get down here, they're going to announce the draft in a few moments," Winnie rambled, cutting off her son's anxious spiel.
The league had asked each family to set up cameras during the draft reveal so they would have footage for the recap later. You insisted you didn't need to be in the video, but Winnie had almost clobbered you with a rolling pin when you did.
"You are a part of this family, y/n. You will sit on that couch with the rest of us and you will like it."
There was no way you were going to argue with Winnie Barnes wielding a rolling pin.
You brushed Bucky's hair back as his mom fretted about the room. The nervous smile he gave did little to reassure you. He was supposed to be happy today. All of his hard work was finally paying off.
"I'm so proud of you," you whispered. "And I love you."
He pressed a long kiss to the side of your head, his exhale displacing a few strands of your hair. If you had looked up, you would have seen his eyes squeezing shut, as if trying to commit the act to memory. He was acting more like he was being sent to war, and less like he was about to be offered a six-figure baseball contract.
Winnie finally got everything set up, and Bucky's dad joined the group a few moments later. With his whole family squeezed on the couch-Becca through a phone screen-the livestream flickered on the television.
There was a very long introduction, and an even longer list of players that came before Bucky. That was to be expected; the draft always saved the best picks for last. Unfortunately, the longer wait meant more time for your boyfriend to become anxious.
Steve's name finally flashed on the screen, and you felt Bucky tense. You knew it was going to be hard if Steve got drafted far away. Natasha already agreed to follow him wherever he went, so the both of you would be losing a best friend.
You held your breath.
The Dodgers.
You would just visit Natasha in California then.
Winnie let out a happy sob, choking out praise for the boy she watched grow up. "Wouldn't it be so lovely to be on the same team, Bucky? You and Stevie, always going everywhere together."
"Yeah, uh... definitely, Ma."
His dad gave him a stiff pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it, son. Wherever you go, we'll be proud."
And then Bucky's name was taking up the screen. His hand gripped yours even tighter, the circulation in your fingers almost entirely cut off. He brought it up to cover his mouth as if it were his own hand, hunching over to focus fully.
The screen went blank for a few moments and then...
The Dodgers.
The room erupted in cheers. Bucky was tugged in every direction around the living room as his family jumped and congratulated him and cried. You were somehow crying the most, entrapped under Bucky's arm as his parents crowded him. He wouldn't let go of you-even when the excitement died down.
Your mind was racing at such an incredible speed, so enamored with the thought that Bucky-your Bucky-had made such an incredible team. That the playboy jock you knew a few years ago had progressed into such an amazing man with an amazing future, and that he loved you.
You glanced up at him from your place in his arms, and that feeling immediately disappeared. The cameras were off, and now, it seemed, so was Bucky. His parents had retreated into the kitchen to cut the cake they bought 'just in case', and Bucky was left standing in the middle of the living room looking so torn it broke your heart.
"Buck," you prompted. He looked down at you almost immediately. "Aren't you happy? You'll be with Steve! And on such a great team. I bet Los Angeles will be amazing!"
He took a few moments to respond, his face an indecipherable mask. When your smile started to fade, he quickly recovered. "'Course I'm happy, doll. I mean, the Dodgers, wow."
You furrowed your brows. "Are you sure? You don't seem very excited, Bucky. I know it's not New York, but I'm sure California will be fun."
"No, no, you're right. I was just shocked. Took me a sec to really take it all in. Promise I'm excited, doll."
"Well, good," you cheered, pressing up to kiss him. "Because if you aren't, that cake's not going to taste as good."
The rest of the night went better. Bucky seemed much happier, laughing with his family over dessert and telling stories from his t-ball days. His mom kept pinching his cheeks and crying, and his dad wouldn't stop giving him life advice.
But you could tell something was still off. His smile didn't reach the corner of his eyes like it usually did, and he didn't let his head fall back when he laughed. And he always had one point of contact with you at all times. If you moved out from under his arm, he would let his fingers fall down to brush your thigh. When you dropped his hand to grab your water, he would tuck some of your hair behind your ear.
He acted like you were dissolving in front of his eyes.
When the night finally came to a close, and Bucky ran out to bring the car around, Winnie hugged you. "Talk to him," she whispered, squeezing you close. "He thinks he's losing you."
You yanked yourself back. "What? Why would-why would he think that?"
"Men don't think like we do. Just talk to him, sweetie. Don't let him hold all that nonsense in."
You shook your head, still so confused and filled with a million questions. But Bucky's hand slid across your back then, and you knew you'd find no answers here.
The drive home was silent, but it wasn't lonely. He kept his hand on your knee the entire way. You couldn't seem to shut your brain off long enough to ask him the questions you needed to.
You couldn't ask him when you got home either, because the moment the front door closed, he trapped you in a searing kiss. It was intense-the kind of intense that meant more than it should. You could feel it in the way he pressed you up against the wall of the entryway and in the shakiness of his palms. He kissed you with fervor; he kissed you like he had been aching for it and you had refused him for too long.
You'd normally enjoy this. He'd kissed you this way a few times. After you'd been away on a trip for a few days. Right after a fight that went on for too long. The night after a friend's wedding.
But you couldn't enjoy it this time, not with his mom's words ringing through your ears. Because this kiss was usually filled with passion, but this time, it was filled with need-a desperate need that hurt your chest.
You pulled away, only for him to try and follow your lips back. "No, Buck, hang on."
"What? What's wrong?" he panted. He nudged his nose to your cheek.
"I think you know what's wrong. You just need to tell me."
His eyes were wild for a moment, still looking down at your lips and debating whether or not to just dive in and kiss you. That would solve all his problems. If you were in front of him and kissing him, nothing could be wrong.
"Bucky," you interrupted. "Look at me. Tell me what's going on."
His eyes snapped to yours, unable to ignore you. "I just love you." His hands slid up the base of your neck. "Lemme kiss you for a little longer."
His lips were almost to yours when you whispered, "I'm not going to leave you."
He was frozen then; still pressing you against the wall, but completely frozen. His mouth brushed yours as he opened and closed his mouth, and his hands were still tangled in your hair. It took a few beats-the clock on the wall counting them for you-until he could form words.
"I won't take it."
You flung your head back to look him in the eye, and his hand jutted out to soften the blow from the wall. "I-Bucky, you what?"
"I won't go to California. I'll stay. Put my name in the draft next year and wait for a New York team to pick me up. You can go to grad school and I'll join a minor league in the city."
You couldn't possibly be shaking your head faster, face twisted up in so much confusion it was almost comical. "What are you talking about, Buck? Joining the minor leagues? Giving up a contract like that? In what world has that ever been your plan?"
"The world where I fell in love with you."
You huffed out an incredulous laugh. He looked so serious; his brows were pulled together and his eyes held so much conviction in them. His whole life's work, down the drain because he thought that's what it would take to have you.
"Why are those two things mutually exclusive," you asked. You gripped at his forearms surrounding you. "Why can't you love me, and have your career."
He pressed you further into the wall. "A job like that? Baby, I'd be away for the entire year. No time off. Hardly any holidays. You think I can do that? Be away from you for that long?"
It was immediately clear to you that this ordeal could have been easily avoided. He was assuming you had some tie to New York; he hadn't asked you to come with him because this was your home.
New York wasn't your home anymore. Not where it mattered.
"Ask me."
"What?"
You let your hands glide up his arms. "Ask me to come with you."
"Baby." Shaky fingers rubbed your neck. "I couldn't-I mean this is your life here."
"What, so you can give everything up, but I can't?" you teased. "Bucky, there are grad schools in California. I'm asking you to ask me."
You could see the shift in him; the spark in his features that was absent before. He was starting to look like he usually did, with his playful smile and youthful eyes. The dread was fading away.
"Okay, yeah. Come with me. Come with me to California. I'll make it good, I swear. I'll buy us a big house and get you one of those dogs you always tell me about. We can move next to Stevie and then you won't be lonely when I'm playing, 'cause Nat'll be there, yeah? And-"
"Yes."
You didn't need any of that. You had half the mind to tell him you were expecting to come anyway, but the smile that was gradually creeping onto his face was too cute to dispel.
"You mean that?" he breathed.
"Barnes, I'd follow you just about anywhere."
He kissed you again.