James.
Steve traces over the haphazard script, the wide loop of the J, all the way through to the way the s trails off at the end. He has yet to meet a James, surprisingly enough.
It's a common name, after all, and by this point …
Well, by this point, Steve hoped he'd have numerous James' to scrutinize. To meet, to date, to figure out which one was the James.
But he doesn't.
He's always been very sociable, and as his friends, one by one, find out who they're meant to be with, Steve smiles along with them, lets himself hope. But as their smiles are eternal, his is not.
James.
Someday, he tells himself. Someday.
Bucky refuses to look at his soulmate tattoo.
He hates the idea of it, hates how this one mark is supposed to determine his entire life. The most important choice he is ever going to have to make, and it's made for him.
When he was younger, before he could even decipher it, he caught a smudge of writing in his peripheral vision. Then he wrapped it in a bandage, tightly, and never looked at it again.
He's never been the type to lie, so when people ask him about it, Bucky just levels them with a look.
"I don't want to know who it is," he says, every time.
Though really, he's not sure if that's a lie or not anymore.
Steve is pretty sure he's in love with Bucky Barnes.
But he can't be.
Because Bucky is not James, not even remotely close. But Bucky is so much more than this unnamed James, and every time Steve sees him James becomes nothing more than a far-off memory.
Forget soulmates, forget James, Steve thinks every time he catches Bucky's brilliant smile, every time their eyes meet and his heart skips a beat.
But he knows, deep down, that's not how it works.
Bucky wants to check. The bandage is itchy, so very, very itchy. To the point where it almost burns.
Hot, almost uncomfortably so, like the way his face feels, burning crimson every time Steve Rogers casts a glance in his direction.
Steve.
That's it.
That's his choice.
Bucky doesn't know quite how to feel when he dares to look, and the name Steve, in careful, practiced print, is written across his arm.
He's elated at who it is, ecstatic that this is who he's meant to be with.
But disappointed, because, in the end, it really wasn't up to him.
It never was.
They've been together a year when it all breaks apart.
"Steve," Bucky says one day, his voice devoid of the casual humor it so often holds when they're with each other.
Steve's head snaps up. He can tell this is something big, something serious. "Yeah?"
"I just wanted to … " Bucky trails off.
Steve waits, expectant.
But never in a million years would he have been ready for what happens next.
As Bucky shrugs off his jacket, turning his arm so that Steve can see it.
His name, right there.
It can't be.
"No." It's like he's underwater, the sounds are distorted in his ears. "No, Bucky, you don't understand —"
How can Bucky have him when he has James?
Steve wonders if it's a mistake.
If the universe even makes mistakes like that.
"I'm sorry, Bucky, I just —"
Bucky doesn't answer.
Steve's words fall away, as the devastation hits him all at once.
"I'm sorry," he whispers again, later, once he's finally found his voice.
Bucky realizes now why he hates those damn tattoos so much.
They're wrong, his choice is wrong, his fate is wrong —
It's all wrong.
"Steve," he asks sometime later. It could have been hours, could have been days, could have been months since their last conversation.
Neither of them really know anymore.
"Who do you have?"
Steve's eyes meet him. It takes a long, long time for the words to come.
"James."
And James Buchanan Barnes lets a smile spread across his face.