Oh boy, here we go. Disclaimer: I have literally never written romance before, except for that one time I reimagined Five Feet Apart as a Johnlock fanfiction (crazy times they were, way back in 2019), but since then I've read a lot more of it than I used to, particularly Stucky, and if I'm being honest, not a lot is different in this story from the way I wrote them before. I just had to learn how to non-awkwardly describe a good cuddle.

This is where we learn how it all went down, where we fill in the gaps between Tony's last chapter and the shocking revelations of the epilogue of After Gravesen. There is so much story to tell, but it all begins here. Paris, Year of the Paralympics. I am so thrilled that you're here to join me as I travel through the Gold and Purple Years.

Chapter 1: Paris, Year of the Paralympics

Steve hadn't seen Bucky since the medal ceremony. Even that hardly counted because he'd only seen him from a distance. The team went out to celebrate in Paris together, while the Avengers celebrated on their own. But he couldn't stop thinking about him. Normally, Steve had no problem engaging in a conversation, especially among his friends, but as the rest of the group shared their favorite moments from this trip and caught up on anything they hadn't already covered during their time together here, he couldn't find it within himself to join in the chit chat. He kept wishing Bucky was here too. Of course he was happy that Bucky was out with his team, but he'd yet to congratulate him in person. It didn't feel right.

"Something on your mind?"

Steve jumped. Without him noticing, Natasha had slipped into the seat right next to him and whispered that question almost directly into his ear.

He forced a smile. "Yeah, Bucky. But what else is new?"

She eyed him as if she knew something he didn't, something she thought he should already know.

"What does that look mean?"

Natasha's gaze only intensified.

Steve knew his ears had turned bright red; he could feel it. He knew what that look meant. He'd known it probably since high school. Definitely since his transplant. Natasha noticed the moment the acceptance struck him, and instructed simply, "Go."

"Go? Go where? Crash his team celebration?"

"Do you know where they are?"

"No—I—why would I know that? I'm not—I'm not on the team."

She crossed her arms and frowned at him.

He admitted defeat. "Yeah, I know where they were planning to go. But what if they changed their plans last minute?"

"Go."

"Fine." Steve didn't even announce his departure to the rest of the group, just got up and left. Some of them noticed him leaving, but Natasha explained it to them. He didn't know what she said, but it was enough to stop anyone chasing after him. This probably wasn't as bad an idea as he was making it out to be in his head. His only concern was wondering if Bucky would reciprocate his feelings. But then again, hadn't he proven on countless occasions that he absolutely did?

There was only one way to find out.

The bar was within walking distance from the hotel Tony had chosen, so Steve made his way there. He could tell before even walking in that he found the right place. John Walker's voice echoed loud and clear all the way out to the sidewalk in front of the place. Steve stood before the door and took a deep breath before reaching for the handle.

~0~

Bucky was riding the high of a lifetime. He was in freaking Paris with a literal gold medal around his neck, surrounded by his incredible teammates. There existed only one thing that could have possibly made this night better. Bucky had heard a singular howl among the cheers of the crowd several times over the past week of matches. He knew who it belonged to. Nobody else from Hudson Creek was here, to his knowledge, and even if there was, Bucky would know his voice from theirs.

Bucky had tuned into Steve's cheering and drawn strength from it every single game. He wished Steve were here now.

As much as he enjoyed himself watching his team members get progressively more intoxicated and ecstatic, he hadn't gotten to share this victory with his best friend yet. That absence lurked constantly in the back of his mind as Josiah urged him to join the fun. Bucky wasn't even twenty-one yet, but they were in France, so he could've had whatever he wanted without a care in the world. He just didn't want to. He'd rather remember this night in perfect clarity.

"Hey Bucky!" Pinky called. "Was that one of your guys howling?"

Steve was so much more than "one of his guys," Bucky thought. "Yeah. It's a high school tradition. We were the Howling Commandoes."

"What kind of a mascot is that?" John questioned.

"It's better than my school's," Lemar said. "We were the Battlestars."

"What even is a Battlestar?" Hector asked.

"I went to school there for four years, and I still don't know." At that comment, the boys erupted into laughter.

All the talk of high school only fortified his desire to talk to Steve. He excused himself, claiming to need the bathroom, but actually headed for the exit. Most of them were too drunk and/or engrossed in their reveling to notice that he didn't return. Just in case, he texted Josiah to let him know where he was going. He was reading Josiah's response as he reached the door, and someone on the other side opened it for him.

"Thanks," he muttered without looking up. All of a sudden, the person let go of the door and dashed into his path. Bucky bumbled face-first into him.

"Watch where you're going," a familiar voice scolded. Bucky looked up into the exact pair of blues eyes he'd been missing all day long.

"What have I told you about helping me do things without first asking if I need it?" Bucky countered.

Steve crossed his arms and leaned against a lamppost with an adorable cock of his head. He explained, "I didn't open the door for you because you're disabled."

Bucky took the bait. "Then why did you open the door for me?"

"Isn't that what a guy typically does, when he wants to present himself as a nice gentleman?"

"Steve, I've known you for fifteen years. You're no nice gentleman."

He had the audacity to look genuinely affronted.

Bucky continued, "You abandoned our lovely friends, friends who flew across an ocean to come here and support me, just to…do what exactly? I'm sure your plans for this evening extended beyond just opening a door."

"And you abandoned your team, a team who just won an Olympic gold medal in an insanely competitive sport, to…do what exactly?" Steve parroted. "I'm sure your plans for this evening extended beyond just bumping into me."

"Actually, they didn't."

"No?"

"All I've wanted all night is to bump into you," Bucky confessed. Steve's expression softened into one of innocent stupefaction. "In fact, the more I think about it, the more I realize that, practically my entire life, all I've ever wanted is to bump into you."

Steve nudged him in the shoulder. "Consider yourself bumped."

Bucky wasn't letting him off that easy. "You never answered my question."

"I suppose that door," he gestured to the bar. "Isn't the only one I wanted to open tonight."

Bucky took a step closer. "And what's the other one?"

"It's more of a metaphorical door. But before I unlock it, I have to ask you something."

"Yeah?"

"Are you sober?"

"Yeah, why?"

Steve grinned. "That means you can consent to this."

Consent to what? Bucky almost asked. But Steve's intentions became clear a moment later when he leaned forward and gently cupped his hand around Bucky's jaw, artist's fingers feather light against his skin. He paused a moment to gauge to Bucky's reaction. His eyes asked, "Is this okay?" to which Bucky immediately nodded. All at once he realized how desperately he wanted this—and for how long that desire had been rooted within him. It had informed his every thought and action for the past decade, but none so much as this one.

~0~

Steve had never imagined having his first kiss under lamplight in Paris. It sounded like a preteen girl's fantasy, or the conclusion to a mediocre romantic comedy. Truth was, the setting contributed nothing to the enchantment of the moment. His heart would have danced just as gleefully if they'd been in a Brooklyn back alley lit only by a bare lightbulb shining through a broken window. It lasted for only a fleeting instant, which at the same time felt like an eternity.

They pulled apart, and Steve saw his own sense of wonder reflected in Bucky's face. In the year since the transplant, he'd grown a full two inches (turns out he was a bit of a late bloomer after all), making him and Bucky the same height. Not so long ago, he'd been a full head shorter. He probably would've had to stand on his tip-toes.

"You're thinking about how you've finally narrowed our height difference, aren't you?" Bucky asked with a smirk.

"Maybe."

"Don't worry, I would bend down for you."

Steve rolled his eyes as a cheeky grin spread across Bucky's face. "There's a difference between bend down and bend over," he pointed out. "Stop thinking filthy thoughts."

"Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Today has just been…a lot of great things happening back to back. I might be completely sober, but I feel higher than I ever have."

"Me too."

"Man, how is anything ever going to top this day? A gold medal and a reciprocated love confession from Steve Rogers? I've hit the peak, it's all downhill from here," Bucky rambled.

"No, no, no," Steve corrected. "Bucky, you've got nowhere to go but up. We've got nowhere to go but up."

"I like that there's a we."

"There's always been a we. I just can't believe it took us this long to figure that out."

"In our defense, we had a lot of other stuff going on."

"Yeah, but none of that should have stopped us."

"Well guess what?" Bucky said with a grin. "It didn't. And nothing ever will. Remember what I said to you after we made up from that fight in high school?"

Steve remembered. Despite the haze of agony and the near-death experience that had followed, those words remained burned into his brain. But he wanted to hear Bucky say them again. "Refresh my memory."

"I'm with you 'til the end of the line."

"'Til the end of the line," Steve echoed.