After a long hiatus, I am back! I had some issues in my personal life and have only just recently managed to recover from them. But! I strive to get right back into my fanfiction writing. Because I love it. And I missed it.
So here you have the next chapter to this little story here. I hope you enjoy it!

Chapter 6

"Here you are!" Clint breathed a sigh of relief. He shot a quick glance at the students around him before crawling underneath the bleachers at the side of the football field. Steve had the clear advantage with his size, having squeezed into the farthest corner beneath the stands, effectively hiding from the students milling about the campus.

"You never told me that football games weren't just football games at this college." Steve accused Clint weakly, leaning his head against one of the supporting beams.

"You never asked?" Clint shrugged, "It only ever happens when The Avengers play at home. I think it's pretty safe to say that our college endorses the football team wherever possible. I guess turning a football game into a sort of open day is one of the ways they do it. It's good advertisement."

"But there are so many people Clint." Steve muttered. He narrowed his blue eyes, peeking out between the wooden seats to glare at the passing students completely unaware of the two students seeking refuge in the shade of the stands.

"What are you worried about, Steve?" Clint inquired patiently, following Steve's glare with a far less hostile glance of his own, "I mean, it's pretty much the same as any day at college except this time people are dressed in football jerseys."

Steve sighed. Clint had a point, he knew he did. When it came down to it, the cheerful atmosphere hanging in the air didn't bother him. What did bother him, was that he had been sure that he'd be certain of Bucky's whereabouts the entire time. He had counted on being able to go talk to Bucky on his own terms and not when he accidentally ran into him at a festival-similar function spanning the entire college grounds.

"So, he's a pretty big deal, isn't he?" Clint asked offhandedly, shooting a nonchalant glance in Steve's direction.

Steve's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Who?"

"Well Barnes, obviously."

"Bucky isn't a big deal." Steve griped, crossing his arms across his chest defensively, "The only reason he's as popular as he is, is because he's the quarterback of The Avengers and happens to be good-looking."

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Clint muttered, "But if he ain't a big deal to you then why the hell are we hiding underneath the bleachers when there's food and fun waiting for us? Why are you letting him influence you like this?"

"He doesn't have any influence on me!" Steve snapped, squaring his shoulders angrily. He had that fire in his eyes again- the type of righteous anger that Clint had only ever seen in Steve, as though the emotion was one that only Steve Rogers could experience.

"Then what are we waiting for scaredy-cat?" Clint smirked.

"Screw you, Barton." Steve growled, grabbing his messenger bag and squeezing his way past Clint.

"Finally." Clint laughed, following Steve with a triumphant grin on his face.

The college campus was packed with students belonging to the college and also visitors, coming to watch the other football team play. The players, judging by the amount of green Steve was seeing, hailed from Hydra Academy, a school for alternative education. Even Steve had heard of them- they took their sports very seriously and were renowned for their ruthlessness.

The fragrance of hotdogs, corn-dogs and popcorn hung in the air the same way it always did at Coney Island. The mixture of smells reminded Steve of days spent at the funfair until the blistering summer heat became too much to bear and Clint and Steve would seek out some much-needed shade in the diner nearby. The diner- a quaint little place- made the best milkshakes Steve had ever had and their pancakes were to die for.

Steve let out a soundless sigh, having to ruefully admit that he did enjoy the atmosphere and the sunlight soaking into his skin like a warm embrace.

Some of the college clubs had taken the opportunity to promote what they did- the science club had a stand, the debate club did and so did the acapella groups. While they walked, Steve listened to Clint mouth off about the importance of the archery club and why they didn't have a stand at an event as big as a college football match between two rivals.

Clint's dramatic monologue was interrupted by the words "Steve! Churros!" after which Steve was dragged to a small stand off to the side of the science building. There was a short line of students waiting for the potato dough delicacy. Steve couldn't help the smile that broke out across his pale face when he noticed the way Clint was excitedly rocking back and forth on his heels. It was so easy to make Clint happy, it was almost profound.

Content with waiting in line with his best friend, Steve eventually began looking around again, taking in all the different impressions and sounds around him eagerly. A group of students had found an open stretch of grass upon which they were devotedly playing a game of hacky sack. Not far from the hacky sack players, a group of girls had settled down on the lawn with snacks, chatting animatedly about something while giggling.

"So… remind me again why we came here in the first place?"

Steve cringed, returning his gaze to his best friend. They had moved up two spaces in the line. "I told him that I loved football." Steve gritted out the words like tearing off a plaster, grateful when they were finally out, and he no longer had them weighing on his tongue.

Clint hesitated, blinking confusedly for a moment before turning his head to give Steve his undivided attention. "You don't even know any of the rules, Steve."

"I know that, Clint." Steve retorted.

"So why would you-."

"I panicked!" Steve lifted his hand to pinch the bridge of his nose, painfully aware of how stupid he had been to tell Bucky that he felt anything but indifference towards the sport.

They were silent for a beat, Steve using the moment to compose himself whereas Clint was visibly lost in thought.

"So, what are you gonna do now, then?" Clint asked quietly, looking around to make sure that no one was listening in on their conversation.

Steve waited for Clint to order his churros before answering his question, watching the way Clint was ogling his snack. "All I need to do is survive today." Steve said, "The only reason he wants to talk to me today is because he feels like he owes me something after I gave him that drawing. He'll tell me what his mother thought of it and that'll be it- his imaginary debt will be payed and we'll both go on with our lives like nothing ever happened."

"Is that what you want?" Clint asked through a mouth full of churro.

Steve hesitated, averting his eyes before answering Clint quietly, saying, "All I want is for this to be over."

Clint didn't say anything to that and Steve was grateful for it. He didn't like having this discussion. He didn't like discussing Bucky Barnes.

He wanted to forget Bucky.

"So… uh…" Steve faltered, fiddling with the zip on his faded maroon hoodie, "What are the rules?"

Clint stopped mid-stride, swallowing the large sip of root beer he had taken, in favour of grinning at Steve.

The latter rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest in hopes that it would distract Clint from the light blush that was peppering Steve's cheeks.

Clint didn't answer immediately, instead, his sharp eyes looked around to find an unoccupied bench to sit down on.

They had circled back to the football field by then and Steve counted it as a win that they hadn't run into a certain football player yet. He'd seen others, like the number 58, Odinson- a towering beast of a man who looked like he could have come straight from a Norse legend; and Stark, the number 18 who had walked around with a cocky smirk, wearing a pair of Ray Ban sunglasses and a beautiful red-head on his arm.

Steve and Clint settled down on one of the white benches on the side of the football field.

Suddenly nervous, Steve began fidgeting with the strap of his messenger bag, convincing himself that it was just that little bit too long and needed shortening.

"Have you ever watched a football game?" Clint started.

Steve shook his head dolefully. "Only baseball."

Smiling lightly, Clint proceeded to pour out all of his knowledge about football for his younger friend to soak up like a sponge.

Steve finally understood what the white yard lines on the field meant and what they were used for. He learned about how many players were on each team and what the differences were between offense and defense. While Clint went on, Steve lent into his friend comfortably, enjoying Clint's warmth while he listened. He felt content, feeling like he was safe where he was, listening to Clint talk instead of worrying about running into Bucky by mistake. The football field was empty except for the groundsmen preparing the field for the upcoming game. The stands were vacant apart from a young couple that had stolen away to the farthest bench to be alone. The side of the field that was closest to the gym was lined by benches that would soon be occupied by the reserve players for each team. Behind the benches, fenced off by a long white barricade, were the changing rooms. If Steve strained his eyes enough, he could see that the lights inside the building were burning already.

Was Bucky in there?

"Do you have any questions?" Clint's voice tore through Steve's thoughts and he blinked, looking away from the changing room windows. "Yeah." Steve paused, shaking his head, "No. I mean, I think I get it."

Steve could feel Clint's eyes on him, watching, analyzing him critically the way Clint always did before asking Steve-.

"Don't you want to get it off your chest, buddy?"

"Do you really want to talk about this here?" Steve grumbled, feeling every last trace of contentment dissipate the way a puddle of water would in the sun.

"If you're asking if I want to talk to my best pal about something that's clearly been bothering him for weeks, then hell yeah." Clint retorted, fixing Steve with a stubborn look, "And if not right now, then when? There's no-one around so where's the harm?"

"Where do you even get the idea that it's bothering me right now?" Steve snapped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his hoodie defensively.

"I know you Steve." Clint muttered, pressing his shoulder into Steve's as if to underline his statement, "I know that you wish you hadn't told Barnes that you were going to come. I know that you've been paranoid all freaking day, worried that you might run into him by mistake. I know that you're panicking because you know next to nothing about football and are worried that he'll find out. I also know that you hate the way the two of you are talking like nothing happened between you guys at his party."

Steve opened his mouth to speak but found that he had no words at the ready. He had no snappy comeback for Clint's hypothesis because it was right- everything Clint had said had hit the nail on the head.

"Steve, you've been a mess ever since the damn party and you've been trying to pretend like you aren't."

"I'm fine." Steve insisted.

"Yeah no shit." Clint cocked his eyebrow at Steve.

Steve winced. He wasn't used to seeing Clint this serious. Clint was a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, always laughing and smiling. Right then he was frowning at Steve though, clenching his jaw as if Steve had personally offended him.

"Well what the hell do you expect me to do?" Steve asked Clint, his voice shaking with emotion, "I ain't like you Clint! I can't talk to Bucky the way you talk to Natasha! I can't not care about the fact that all my life, people have been picking on me, reminding me over and over again that I'm at the bottom of the damn food-chain while people like Bucky are at the very damn top! Yeah, it's getting to me and I'm sorry that I can't hide it as well as I wanted to!"

"So then go and talk to him!" Clint raised his voice slightly, "Get it over with so you can enjoy the rest of your day instead of walking around like you're expecting someone to come out of nowhere at any time and punch you in the face!"

Steve wanted to protest. He wanted to yell at Clint and tell him that he was being stupid, but he couldn't. Clint wasn't the one being stupid… Once again, Steve was at a loss for a good reason not to listen to Clint's advice. He wanted to feel better. He wanted to get it over with so that he could go home and get lost in a good novel or a TV-show on Netflix.

What was stopping him? Was it really that he was afraid of ruining the fragile social status that he had managed to weave together over the past years by being seen with Bucky? Was it really that he felt that he had no right to talk to Bucky in the first place? And if it wasn't any of the above, then what on earth was it?

"What will you do?" Steve asked Clint quietly, zipping up his hoodie.

"I think I'm gonna go talk to Nat, wish her luck for her cheerleading. The game's in under an hour, they're probably getting ready."

"Right." Steve nodded, managing a small smile at Clint's excitement, "You know… I really…"

"It's fine Steve." Clint draped an arm across Steve's shoulders, pulling him into a one-armed embrace, "I'm the reckless one that gets himself punched in the face for talking to the wrong people. You're the guy who saves my ass when I do."

"Sometimes I wish I could just… care less about the rules, like you do."

"You know, I feel like, if you have a good reason to, you'd fistfight the moon, even if everyone told you that it was the wrong thing to do." With that and an encouraging smile, Clint got up, righting his clothes before sauntering off int the direction of the girls' locker rooms.

"See you back here in a bit!" Clint called over his shoulder before rounding a corner and disappearing behind a building.

Steve walked along beside the low brick building adjacent to the football field, reading the signs drilled to the wall. He passed the storage room and the head-coach's office before he finally arrived at the entrance to the changing rooms for The Avengers. A fancy "A" was painted on a sign next to the door that read Changing Rooms. If Steve listened carefully, he could hear talking behind the metal door. He knew that there were two entrances to the changing rooms. The one he was standing in front of was more of an exit- the door through which the players would come when they made their way to the field for the game.

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other awkwardly, Steve wondered what he had even planned to do once he got to the changing rooms. Bucky was definitely in there but how was he going to get to Bucky? He couldn't very well just waltz in there and ask to speak to Bucky. What if they were having a team moment? Or worse, what if they weren't dressed?

Bitterly, Steve even wondered whether Bucky even remembered that he was supposed to meet Steve to talk to him.

He probably didn't.

He credited his anger for his ability to bring his balled fist up to knock on the changing room door. Stubbornly, he braced himself for the worst, glaring at the grey door while he waited for it to open.

Steve startled, taking a step back when the door clicked, opening to reveal a tall, dark-skinned football player with bright eyes and a small smile. He was tall and lean but there was on hiding the muscles in his thighs, even with the loose tracksuit pants he was wearing. "Hey there, how can I help you?"

A furtive glance at his football jersey told Steve that his surname was Wilson. Steve's eyes widened. He remembered this guy. He had been one of the players sitting with Natasha at Bucky's party. He had also been one of the players involved in the conversation Steve had overheard.

Steve squared his shoulders, subconsciously trying to make himself look a little bigger before saying, "I'm here to see Bucky? Is he around?"

"Oh!" Wilson's eyes lit up and his smile widened, "He a friend of yours?"

Steve hesitated. "Uh… something like that, I guess?"

"Well, he did tell me to chase away any fangirls, but you don't seem to be one of them creepy girls so…" He paused, twisting around to call into the changing rooms, "Oi! Barnes! Get your handsome backside over here! There's a kid here that wants to see ya!"

Steve's mind tripped over the 'handsome backside' part before it caught up to the fact that Wilson had called him a kid. He frowned. Was he really going to get into this discussion with someone again? No. He definitely wasn't in the mood this time around. Besides, just then, Bucky arrived, pushing Wilson aside until he was standing in front of the slightly shorter male. "Steve!" Bucky grinned, "Good to see you could make it, pal!"

Steve's mind stuttered. Bucky must have been in the middle of getting ready because he was wearing black tights and an equally as tight black Underarmour shirt that hugged each and every curve and muscle that Bucky owned. His hair was a mess, sticking up in every direction as though he had just gotten out of bed. His eyes were a shocking grey again, turning lighter in the harsh sunlight.

Unmoved by Steve's lack of response, Bucky gave his teammate a quick nod before stepping out of the changing rooms and letting the door fall shut behind him. He drew in a long breath of air, smiling at the smells he perceived. "Wow. This is nice." Bucky said, leaning against the white railing that fenced in the football field. He looked up at the sky, his smile widening contently.

Steve couldn't help but follow the long line of Bucky's throat, up to his jawline. When Bucky lowered his head again, Steve blinked, forcing his eyes away from Bucky. "Sorry." Bucky muttered awkwardly, "I only just got here. I've been babysitting my sister all afternoon and my parents literally only got home an hour ago, I was worried that I wouldn't make it in time for the game. I haven't had a moment of downtime since I got here."

Steve perked up, his brain readily accepting a trivial topic to focus on instead of how attractive Bucky was. "You have a sister?" Steve blurted out, cringing when he noticed how high his voice was.

"Yeah." Bucky grinned, "She's a brat. Five years old and thinks she knows it all."

"Well, confidence seems to run in the family then." Steve muttered, immediately wishing he had said it quietly enough for Bucky to miss. The brunet had heard it though and the light frown he gave Steve in return was punishment enough. It wasn't a contemptuous frown, more of a confused one, as though he was trying to figure something out.

Steve ignored it as best as he knew how.

"Speaking of my family," Bucky changed the subject, "My Ma really, really loved that drawing. 'Told me that she had no idea Avengers Academy had such talented students."

"Well I had a good-looking model, so it wasn't that difficult." Again, his brain-to-mouth filter failed spectacularly. The moment the words had left his mouth, thousands of profanities rushed through Steve's mind and he bowed his head, letting some of those curse words slip out under his breath.

How could he have let something like that slip? How could he have told Bucky Barnes that he thought that he was attractive? Bucky's entire team was just a door away. All Bucky had to do was get his buddies and Steve was sure that Clint would find him behind the storage room in a puddle of his own vomit.

"Hey, Stevie… can I ask you something?"

Startled by not only the nickname but by the lack of disgust in Bucky's voice, Steve's head snapped up. Bucky had a small, unsure smile on his face and his eyes were wandering, looking anywhere but Steve as though Bucky was flustered or embarrassed.

"Uh… sure Buck."

Bucky blinked, his eyes finding Steve's. "It's kind of… something I haven't really spoken about that much. Well, not to anyone but my team…"

Steve drew in a quiet breath of air before holding it, feeling his heartbeat pick up traitorously.

"They're my family so… it was easy talking to them about it but… I guess… well…" Bucky pinched his eyes closing, looking to be composing himself before trying again, a defeated laugh echoing in his chest. "I hosted a party a few weeks back for my team as a kind of thank you. Other people from the college were invited of course and…" Bucky paused, licking his lips, "When I saw your sketch… You know how people say that art can make you feel something?"

Steve nodded numbly.

"Well I felt something when I looked at your art. I know it sounds kinda narcissistic seeing as it was a sketch of me. What I'm trying to say is… at the party, I met someone, and your drawing made me feel exactly what I felt after the party."

Steve felt the blood drain from his face. Unsure as to what to do with his hands, Steve shoved them into the front pockets of his jeans. He was trying to make his breathing sound normal, but he was on the verge of hyperventilating, desperately hoping that Bucky wouldn't notice.

Had Bucky figured it out? Had Steve's art given it away? Had Bucky really been able to pick up on all of the emotions that Steve had poured into his sketch?

"Oh God…" Bucky groaned, running a hand through his messy hair, "I feel really awkward asking you this. I've never asked anyone something like this before…"

"What is it?" Steve asked Bucky hoarsely, pushing his fingertips against the seams on the insides of his pockets anxiously.

"You're literally the only one I would think of to ask this..." Bucky admitted, bowing his head when a light blush colored his cheeks.

Steve swallowed, trying his best not to want to memorize the bashful look on Bucky's face and the way the blush looked so perfect on his tan skin.

"I was too drunk at the party to remember who the person was. I think I might have a hunch about how I could make sure though."

"How would you do that?" Steve asked him breathlessly.

"Well that's where you come in Stevie. If I tell you what I remember, do you think you could draw her for me?"

Steve's face fell.
His heart stuttered to a halt for a moment before beating on, more slowly now and as though it didn't really want to beat at all anymore. His stomach twisted, his body wanting to gag.

"What?" Steve whispered.

"I thought because you're such a great artist, you could help me draw a picture of her, so I know who to look for. I could show some people and see if they know her. She's gotta be from our college, otherwise she probably wouldn't have been at the party. Sam Wilson, the guy you just met at the door? He helped me come up with the plan."

Bucky looked so hopeful, so bloody oblivious.
Steve balled his hands into tight fists. His eyebrows furrowed, and he clenched his jaw. He knew he shouldn't try to reply to anything that Bucky had said. He knew that he should just walk away before his temper could do any irreparable damage. He knew what he should be doing and yet, he was rooted to the ground, his gaze intertwined with Bucky's.

"You know what I think you should do?" Steve asked Bucky tensely, "I think you should go to hell, James!"

It was so familiar- the way Bucky reached out his hand to stop Steve from leaving and the way Steve's small size enabled him to doge Bucky's hand. It was like a déjà vu, like a do over of the party, right down to the way Steve rushed off with tears rising into his eyes.

He ducked into a corridor, following it blindly until a familiar person came into sight.

Clint was making his way along the same corridor, a spring in his step and a smile on his face. When he saw Steve though, his smile vanished, and he rushed over, catching Steve before the blond could sink to the ground.

"What happened?" Clint asked him desperately, trying to prop a limp Steve up against the wall.

"I can't!" Steve croaked, clinging onto Clint's purple t-shirt, "You were right!"

"I was right about what Steve? Hey! C'mon Steve, easy does it! Breathe!" Gently, Clint let Steve slide down to the floor before settling down next to him and grabbing onto Steve's knees as if he was trying to keep Steve from falling apart.

"You were right," Steve hiccuped, rubbing at his face with the sleeve of his hoodie, wiping away invisible tears, "You were right when you said that he's a big deal."

"Aw shit… I'm so sorry Steve." Clint gathered Steve into his arms, letting the petite artist push into his chest and pull at his shirt as much as he wanted, "I'm so sorry Steve." He repeated quietly, placing a hand at the back of Steve's head.

"I'm so sorry."

Poor baby :(
So let me know what you think! Sorry that it took me so long to follow up on this fanfiction! Still, thank you for hanging in there with me! I hope you guys have an amazing weekend!