For the Love of the Game // Bucky Barnes

Part Four

"Nat, c'mon, just let me sit inside. When I sit in the hall your RA kicks me out."

The redhead sighed and leaned against the door frame. "Look, dude, I'm not letting you in. I talked you up and you blew it. You can't blame her for cutting you off after everything."

"I just wanna explain. Just give me a chance to do that," Bucky pleaded. He blinked hard—a futile attempt to mask the stinging in his eyes.

"I think your past is explanation enough; you don't exactly have the best track record. You practically begged me to get her to talk to you and then threw it in her face, Barnes. Why would I let you anywhere near her? Just so you can do it again?"

"Nat, you don't get it. This is more than just some stupid pride thing. She's so—" Bucky sighed and ran a restless hand down his face. "God, I've just never felt like this before. Not to sound pathetic, but that girl gives me tunnel vision. She comes around and just takes over, you know? And I know she deserves better—trust me I get it—but it's like just knowin' her changed me. She makes me want to be a good person; she makes me want to be someone she's proud of."

"Well, there's your problem."

"What?"

Natasha rolled her eyes. "You think that sounds pathetic. That's not pathetic, Bucky, that's love. And I'm glad you're finally figuring it out, but y/n shouldn't have to be with someone who's ashamed of her."

"Ashamed?" Bucky questioned, an incredulous expression taking over his face. "Nat, I called my Ma to tell her about her—I'm pretty sure she expects y/n over for Christmas. I mean seriously, I talk about that girl to anyone who'll listen. How could I be ashamed of her? She's... God, I can't even explain it."

"Right. You'll tell everyone about her... Everyone except for Zemo."

"I know I messed up, okay? But it's been days and she won't even answer my texts. I know she's reading 'em."

"Bucky, go home. If Steve sees you here, he's gonna be pissed."

Bucky groaned and knocked the back of his head against the wall. "You two were throwing us together a few weeks ago and now you have Steve escorting her home to avoid me."

"Yeah, well a few weeks ago you hadn't made my best friend cry in a parking lot so..." she trailed off.

"Can I at least leave a note?"

"Goodbye, Bucky."

"Is she coming to the interviews at least?"

She slammed the door shut, the uptake of air rustling Bucky's already disheveled hair.

He knew that would happen. He had been loitering around your dorm for the past couple days—hoping to catch a glimpse of you, just to explain—but was met with Natasha's bitter greeting each time.

You wouldn't answer his calls. You didn't come to practices. You weren't even following your usual routine anymore—Bucky figured that out after the second day he coincidentally took the path to class that passed your favorite coffee shop.

And he wouldn't stop trying because this pit had formed his stomach the morning after the party. The night he ruined everything, it wasn't there; the alcohol in his system had only allowed him to feel panic and regret. But when he woke up with the punishment of a pounding headache and the memory of your glistening cheeks, a seed had rooted deep in his gut.

It was eating away at him. It was as if the only way to quell the ache it left was to see you—to get you talking to him even if it meant you were yelling, even if you were screaming. He wanted you near him and he wanted you to forgive him, but he would forgo the latter if it meant the promise of you.