Love that Lasts Forever

one step

A/N: words: 2514. hey im alive lmao. last few chapters have taken a minute but yk hi. anyway, enjoy!

Over a month had passed since Christmas, Sam's injuries healed, and the first week of February, they got a call from Monica. "You two need to make a statement about your relationship." Is what she said over speakerphone, both Sam and Bucky seated across from each other at their dinner table.

"We know." Sam sighed, rubbing his temples. Bucky glanced in his directions, eyes going soft. Sam waved him off, shutting his eyes.

"Listen, I know how hard it'll be for the both of you, but once you put it out there, I'm telling you the buzz'll go down. They feed off the unknown, and even that is becoming old news."

Sam sighed again, nodding slowly. "Yeah, yeah, thanks Mon." Bucky said, fidgeting with the hem of his plaid shirt.

"No problem guys. But, on a better note, Belova brought in another stray to join the team. Barton's mentee, apparently." Sam cracked a smile, recalling the countless texts he got about the newest archer.

"So we heard." Sam said, smiling as Bucky rolled his eyes.

"Do we have to come in a meet the newest menace?" Bucky earned a slight kick in the shins for that, causing him to glare at Sam from across the table. It also earned a laugh from Monica.

"Eventually, but I'll let y'all handle the press. Oh, and I forgot to mention, congrats on the engagement." Sam and Bucky groaned, causing Monica to laugh again.

"Was it Torres? I swear-"

"It was." Monica confirmed over the phone. Sam rolled his eyes, as Bucky grumbled something about Joaquin.

"'Course it was." Bucky muttered.

"Mon, I think you just gave Bucky another reason to hate this kid."

"I'm counting on it." She said, a smile evident in her voice. "Anyway, I'll make sure a PR manager gets a hold of you two. Don't stress about it, and I'm sure I'll see y'all soon." They all bid farewell, and as the line went dead. Sam wiped his face with his hand, laying his head down on the table. Bucky smiles, the smile that softens on the edges, and feels like the comfort of a sunrise in the early morning. Despite everything, Sam smiled, positioning himself in a proper sitting position into the table.

"You okay?" Bucky asked softly, reaching for Sam's hand.

"I just wanna get this over with. It's been, what, 2 months? And it's still here. I just- I don't know what to do, and I really don't think making a statement about what we are is gonna change anything. I've always had this hanging over my head, bein' a queer Black man ain't a joyride, but now- now it's the entire world looming over my head, telling me who I am is disgusting, isn't worthy of Americas praise, isn't fit to protect. And- and I just wish I knew how to do it. Steve was Americas perfect golden boy, the perfect mold. But then he handed it to me, and I'm still so pissed because he knew, I told him how difficult in my own skin some days, and yet I'm still carrying this shield, representing a country that doesn't represent any of who I am. I can't make that go away with just a goddamned news article-"

If the world was falling Sam wouldn't know. If flames lit up this house, or if waves came crashing down, Sam wouldn't know. Because a fire is burning so deep in his soul, flooding his sense, his lungs collapsing on the weight of this cracked world, heaving on his shoulders. Words can flow from him like blood on a fresh wound, and he'd never noticed they'd crack if it wasn't for the breath he was forced to take, the flood that pushed a sob out of him. If it wasn't for the two arms that were wrapped around him, he might've thought he was dying. Or falling. Or flying, even.