Anatomy of Three

by Artemis Day

Art student Steve Rogers has a problem. Two problems, in fact. Their names are Bucky Barnes and Jane Foster, his favorite models and a couple destined to be together forever. The only thing Steve loves more than drawing them is hanging out with them. Studying with them. Getting drinks with them. Dreaming about them every night. And therein lies the problem...

A/N: This story was written for the Marvel Rarepair Bang and is a long time in the making. You have no idea.

I'd like to thank my amazing artist, Issa, for creating some gorgeous art for this story. If you would like to see that, please check out this story on AO3 here: /works/23159986

And now, without further ado, I give you this very (very) long labor of love, Anatomy of Three.

---

Juniors

Bucky Barnes and Jane Foster wore their hearts on their faces.

Steve ruined his first two sketches because he had to express it. Their heads overtook the top half of the paper, their bodies squashed into the lower half like a state fair caricature. If his professors saw this, Steve would need a new canvas, because this one would be going over his head. Then they'd make him apologize to the paper for desecrating it.

He erased everything and began his third attempt. Their bodies slowly took form on the page. Lining was Steve's least favorite part of the drawing process. One little error and the whole figure was off. He might give Jane an extra appendage or leave Bucky without a right ear. He'd have to restart the drawing for the fourth time and then he wouldn't have to worry about losing his canvas. He'd destroy it himself out of shame.

"Stevie," Bucky sang like he wasn't supposed to be the human equivalent of a statue right now. "You're overthinking, aren't you?"

He'd moved his hand a quarter of an inch down Jane's stomach, probably on purpose because he was a shithead like that. "I never overthink."

"Except when you do," Bucky grinned. He brushed Jane's hip ever so lightly, making her serene expression crack as she fought not to giggle. "Just go with the flow, my friend. Thinking too hard does not a good artist make."

"You wouldn't know a good artist if he punched you in the face."

"Hey, asshole, in case you forgot, our first-grade art teacher thought my elephant was way better than everyone else's elephant so piss off."

Steve looked at Jane. "Do you see what I have to put up with?"

She smiled. "Trust me, I put up with it every single day."

"Okay, now I'm hurt," Bucky pouted, lip quivering. "Hurt and offended. I may never recover."

"You can console yourself by standing still and shutting up," said Steve.

He had asked them to dance for him. Life drawing was just that: capturing life. Taking a snapshot of a single moment and rendering it in paints or charcoal. Or pencil in this case. Three years of university with grad school looming, and he never seemed to graduate from his favorite tool. He started with Jane, filling in her long neck and muted curves. Her breasts were small but perfectly shaped. The dot for her belly button should've been the easy part, but he could never center it just right. The shading was always off. Thank God she wasn't an outie or he'd be in so much trouble.

"Don't move, Jane," he said, glancing away from the canvas for barely a millisecond.

"I'm not moving," she retorted.

"Now you're not, but you were."

"Was not."

"Please stop talking." Steve finished her stomach (for now) and moved on to her legs. "Before you move again."

"I have been still as a statue and I'm offended that you would suggest otherwise." She patted Bucky's hand, a difficult feat while tangoing. "Aren't you going to back me up on this?"

"We'll kiss and make up later," he said.

"You really think you're that good a kisser?"

"You really think I'm not?"

If Steve were a braver man, this was where he'd interject. He'd throw out some barb about knowing just how great a kisser Bucky was. When Bucky objected he'd make kissy faces until Jane broke out laughing and their pose was completely ruined. They'd have to take a break to calm down and then he'd need to pray they could recreate the look so the sketch didn't come out lopsided.

Instead of doing that, he fixed the shading under Bucky's hairline. His thick brown mane was much too straight; no waves at all. That was a travesty and needed to be fixed immediately. Then he started on the necks. Bucky's was thick and veiny, just like his biceps. Jane's was slender like a swan's. He had to re-do them twice to get the hollows just right, and a voice still itched in the back of his head that he couldn't do them justice.

Every time he drew them, he heard that voice.

'They're too good for you,' it would say. 'Too perfect, too beautiful. See how they look at each other? They'll never look at you like that.'

Steve didn't look. Not until their heads and torsos were done. It was time to finish the legs. He looked at their hips, their thighs, their stomachs, everywhere but the eyes.

Which was exactly the way it should be. He was an artist, a consummate professional.

Deep inside, he felt like a coward.

---

Freshmen

"What's her name again?"

They were at a bar half a mile off-campus, one of the least popular spots for college kids, which made it Steve's favorite. It was a chilly Thursday in mid-October. Trees were dying. The winds howled. Paper jack-o-lanterns and black cats lined the bartop. Thriller had played three times in the last hour. Steve nursed a beer the bartender had given him without checking for ID. Bucky stuck with water. He had a fight next week, so alcohol was definitely out.

"Hmm... " Bucky brought a hand up to his chin. "Well if I recall, her name is… not very hard to remember."

Steve glared and Bucky snorted. He was liable to get in the ring with a black-eye if he wasn't careful.

"Her name is Jane Foster," he said. "Soon to be the forerunner in astrophysical research, so show some respect."

"I'm not trying to be disrespectful," Steve said, sipping his beer, "but if she's really that smart, I don't see how I can help her."

"It's an art class. She needs it for her humanities credit, but aside from doodling in the margins of her lab notes, she's not exactly artistically inclined."

"She can't be that bad."

"Look, Steve, I like this girl." Bucky gave him his best puppy dog eyes and damn him for it. "I really really like her, but I'm not blind to her faults, and she can't draw. At all. She'll tell you so herself. That's why I need you to help us out here."

Us. Were they already an 'us'? Surely it hadn't been that long since they met.

Steve remembered the day they arrived on campus after a seven-hour drive across state lines. Bucky had all but jumped out of the van, ready for four years of NCBA fights, studying subjects he actually wanted to learn, and, of course, chatting up hot girls. He had broken up with Connie, his high school sweetheart because she was going to school on the other side of the country and neither of them was up for a long-distance relationship. Now his plan was to spend the next four years unattached, focusing on schoolwork and boxing, with a few casual dates in between.

In some deep, primal part of Steve, he hoped this would be the start of Bucky realizing he had options beyond random bar hoppers or classmates. Like maybe someone he had a bit more history with. Someone he'd been friends with since back when he thought kissing was gross. Someone he told everything to and trusted with his life and drunkenly admitted to loving during his graduation party.

Just a thought.

One week into the semester and Bucky was assigned a partner for the first big project of his Medieval History class.

"Her name's Jane. She's not a history major either, but she's pretty smart. Cute, too."

"You gonna try something?" Steve had asked like he didn't dread the answer.

Bucky shrugged. "Eh, I doubt it. She's not really my type."

A week later, they were still making progress on their research.

"We were in the library until past midnight trying to find this one source for the invention of the gun shield. Because of course, Wikipedia is unacceptable and so were all the other articles I found." Bucky grumbled. It wasn't the first time he'd complained about this particular professor. "So then Jane gives it a shot, and what do you know? She gets exactly what we need on the first try. I swear she's got the magic touch."

"Good thing you got her for a partner," Steve mumbled.

Another week went by.

"Jane was wearing this shirt today. It wasn't super fancy or… that much different from anything else she wears, but I don't know, there was something about it…"

And another.

"We're going out for coffee this weekend. It's not for school, though. Just a friendly thing."

And another.

"She's coming to my match on Saturday and I was thinking I could get her backstage passes."

Until one night, Bucky walked into their dorm room at two in the morning with kiss swollen lips and a dopey grin. So much for the swinging bachelor life.

It was perfectly fine with Steve, of course. Bucky's happiness was his happiness. However much his heart ached when Bucky raved about whatever amazing thing Jane had done the night before, he knew it would be ten times worse if he tried to come between them. Bucky wasn't into guys. Steve figured that out a long time ago. Hell, he wasn't even sure if he himself liked guys. It was always just Bucky for him.

Either way, he had to get over it, especially now. Because Bucky, that smug, gorgeous asshole, knew Steve could never say no to him. "I'm free on Saturday and Sunday mornings. If she doesn't mind a few extra hours in the library."

"Are you kidding? She practically lives there!" Bucky's face was as bright as a star, and Steve shivered when he gave him a one-armed hug. "You don't know how much this means to me, man."

"You can thank me later," Steve said. 'Because I don't know how I'm going to get through this…'

---

Juniors

Bucky fought like the world was ending.

It wasn't enough to say his life. He didn't do anything by halves and that included punching hard enough to knock a rookie's head off his shoulders. It had become something of a legend, or so Steve had heard. Every time Bucky 'the Soldier' Barnes stepped into the ring, he brought the fires of hell with him. He was ruthless, brutally efficient, unrelenting in his quest for victory.

And he reverted back to a six-year-old whenever Steve's ass hit the mat.

"Uh-oh, gotta try harder Stevie!" He did a weird little shimmy as he leaned over Steve's felled form.

Steve spat out his mouthguard. "I could punch you in the face right now, asshole."

"An illegal move which would get you disqualified! Thanks for the easy win."

"This isn't even a real match!" Steve stumbled to his feet, fixing his helmet and getting the hair out of his eyes. "I'm helping you out of the goodness of my heart. I could just leave and then you'll have nothing to train with but a punching bag."

"So… exactly what I have right now," Bucky grinned.

Steve threw a punch. Bucky blocked it. He followed with a sloppy uppercut which nevertheless grazed Bucky's ear. A curse and a jab later, Steve was reacquainting himself with the mat. Bucky danced around him, his white tank top clinging to his torso. As he bounced so did his shorts. Steve refused to look directly at him. He wouldn't dream of giving Bucky the pleasure and pleasure was not something to think about right now anyway.

'His abs look better when I draw them,' he thought deliriously before turning his thoughts to roadkill, his grandma's one-piece bathing suit, and other unsexy things.

"You'd better not be down there sleeping on me!"

Steve winced at Bucky's voice. He sounded like a chainsaw when he yelled. If only he'd stick with that raspy whisper he sometimes used on Jane to get her excited. That little purr at the end of each word… ('Politics! Professor Ross naked! Do not get hard. Do. Not. Get. Hard.')

"Is it against the rules to give up?" He rolled onto his knees.

"I didn't hear no bell," Bucky said in his best (read: most ear shredding) Slyvester Stallone impression.

"Ding ding," said Steve. "There it is."

"Come on, don't be like that."

"I need at least a few working brain cells to pass finals, you know."

Bucky rolled his eyes, but before he could read Steve the riot act, the side door cracked open. A shadow slipped inside, small and slight, bearing a white and orange box. "Hey guys, I brought snacks!"

Jane dropped her book bag next to the ring and climbed inside. She was an expert at this point. Rules during practice were never her concern. Bucky's coach used to pull his hair out whenever she got within ten feet of the gym, but eventually, he had to throw his hands up and let it go. He wasn't in today, which was good because that sweet, chocolatey smell would've had him retching.

"Are those donuts?" Steve stepped forward, his stomach whining at him for sustenance.

"Just a half dozen," Jane said, opening the box to reveal an assortment of colorful treats. "I know boxers in training need to limit their sugar intake."

"Yeah, down to nothing," Bucky replied. "Babe, you know I have to watch what I eat right now."

"That didn't stop you from eating two cookies last time."

"Those were mini-cookies," Bucky pinched his fingers together to mimic the size. "Barely a bite each."

Jane sighed dramatically. "Well, if you really don't want them…" she closed the box and wandered to the edge of the ring. "I suppose I can just bring them to study group tonight. Bruce and Tony sure do love their chocolate."

"On second thought-" Bucky reached over her shoulder to pluck the box off her, "-I've been really good about sticking to my diet these last few weeks. Maybe I deserve a cheat."

"Smooth," Steve said in Bucky's ear as he reached over his shoulder. His dear friend's glare wasn't nearly as powerful with bulging cheeks full of fried dough and sprinkles.

There was a spot of chocolate on his cheek. Steve didn't notice until Jane licked her finger and wiped it off. It wasn't the action itself which struck him- not even Jane herself new how maternal she could be- but Bucky's reaction to it. Or lack thereof. With his boxing gloves on, muscles tensed, skin gleaming with sweat, he was an imposing figure before his tiny girlfriend.

Yet he bent over without a thought to let her reach. He hummed when she pecked him on the lips and pulled her in for another taste. If they remembered the third party observing them, they didn't show it. Steve walked back to his corner, knowing he should look away but unable to make himself.

Jane's hair was in a messy ponytail, the kind he'd spend hours tracing from memory, wanting to get every curl and split end just right. Bucky's cheeks were a particular rosy shade, showing off both his Irish heritage and the hours of work he put in at the gym. How would he shade that in black and white? Nothing he could draw would ever be as alive as the real thing.

Knowing that hurt almost as much as watching them.

---

Freshmen

Steve had never been so deep inside the science building.

It had an official name on a sign somewhere, but aside from his Biology for Non-Majors class, he didn't expect to become well acquainted with this side of campus. It wasn't much different from the art building, with it's chipping paint, messageboards covered in outdated fliers, and a men's room with a giant Out of Order sign. His shoes made the same slap on the tiles. Several classrooms were full. Students were glued to their laptops while the professors droned on about chemical reactions and processes.

He checked Bucky's crumpled note one more time. Jane would be on the very top floor, in the room with the giant glass windows. That was easy enough as long as he survived the five-story hike up the stairs. Because of course, the elevators were out of order, too.

He jogged all the way up, taking snapshots in his mind of random things he might sketch later. A crack in the wall resembled a lightning strike. Someone had etched 'fight me Professor Fitch' into one of the windows. A guy with purple hair and a long trench coat passed him going down and greeted him in what sounded like French. This was why he loved college. High school was never so inspirational.

On the top floor, he followed the room numbers down the hall. All the lights were on even though it wasn't dark yet. A girl stood before a rolling whiteboard, tapping her chin with a marker before erasing half of the equation she'd written out. She wore faded jeans and a powder blue t-shirt. Her mess of hair was somehow contained by a single rubber band. Her profile was excellent, with a small nose, round chin, good head shape. Her lip protruded when she was deep in thought. Someone like her would be great for a figure drawing class.

'And where the hell did all that come from, Rogers?' Steve pressed his hand on the side windows. He cast a long shadow in the natural and artificial light, but not long enough to break her superhuman focus.

He knocked twice and she jumped, dropping the marker. For a second, Steve wanted to open the door just to apologize. She eyed him for a moment, then gasped.

"Oh right!" She said, rushing to let him in. "You must be Steve. I'm sorry, I thought I'd take a minute to look over a problem that's been bugging me and I completely spaced out. God, it's such a mess in here."

She knocked some loose-leaf paper off the table and grabbed two chairs from the closet. It was just one small part of the chaos. The garbage can was overflowing with coffee cups. Stacks of books and folders burst out of every cabinet. The walls were covered in posters of dead scientists and the inspirational quotes they supposedly coined. A few of them barely held on by a single thumbtack. If Steve drew this room and submitted it to a showing, intellectuals would argue for hours about his poignant portrayal of the complex and often disorganized nature of the human mind. Those empty test tubes which seemed to have no place among model solar systems and broken down telescopes clearly represented the disconnect between nostalgia and the modern zeitgeist.

Steve chuckled, earning a stare. He swallowed. "Sorry, I wasn't laughing at you."

Jane pushed a few loose hairs back. "You wouldn't be the first. We all kind of laugh at each other here."

"I guess art and science really aren't that different."

She smiled, and it was a nice one. The kind that could easily seduce a sentimental punk like Bucky. "Okay, I guess we should get started."

Steve nodded, pulling his sketchbook out of his bag and opening it to a clean page. "So, you wanna learn the finer points of art. Or at least you don't want to fail a gen-ed course."

"One of those things for sure," she said, chewing on her lip. "My professor says I need to work on my shading."

"No problem."

"And my linework."

"Okay..."

"And my coloring."

"..."

"And my tracing." She laced her fingers together in her lap. "So yeah… that's the gist of it."

Steve's jaw was frozen half-open. "Well… we all start somewhere. Can I see a few of your drawings?"

She hesitated for a moment, and then she reached for her backpack and slipped out a thin green folder crammed in between a binder and a science textbook. She slid it across the table, which was suddenly more interesting to her than Steve's face. To an extent, he understood. Showing his art to another person for the first time had been like ripping his own teeth out. If it wasn't for his kindergarten teacher's rapturous praise and that a coveted gold star, he might instead be majoring in accounting or telecommunications.

His art hadn't been bad for a five-year-old, and Jane couldn't be that bad for an eighteen-year-old non-major. All she needed was a little more confidence and maybe a few good tips...

It was a profound moment for Steve, seeing Jane Foster's art for the first time. Even after years of pining, of beating himself up over wanting to kiss his best friend, grappling with the idea of being jealous of Bucky's girlfriends, dreaming about him shirtless and wet at the pool, never had it really sunk in just how truly in love with James Buchanan Barnes he was. That was the only thing keeping his ass in this chair and his screams silent.

"Okay," he said, placing the papers face down with the folder on top. "I see you know how to draw… circles…"

Jane snorted. "Bucky was right, you are too nice for your own good."

Oh boy, was he ever.

---

Juniors

The park at the edge of campus was Steve's second favorite place to draw. It was quiet during the day- barring the occasional rescheduled soccer practice- and empty enough at night that he felt like the last man on Earth. The towering oak tree cradled him in its thick aerial roots, shading him under its leaves. The grass was soft under his feet. Even the dirt was spongey enough to cushion him.

He knew exactly where to sit to get the best light. Depending on the time of day it might be near the tree, or on one of the picnic benches no one used, or smack in the middle of the grass with a breeze ruffling his hair. It was just past one when he set up shop in front of the mossy rock wall. His next class wasn't until four. There was a peculiar white and purple flower sprouting out of a patch of grass and he had the perfect colors in his paint set for it.

"Not much of a landscape artist," he muttered as he failed to draw the stem straight.

That was the nice part about drawing for himself. Out here, there was no threat of a bad grade or negative reviews from art critics with perpetually upturned noses. There were no rules, no boundaries. He could draw a monkey riding a unicycle over a volcano and not have to worry about whether or not the wheel had the right number of spokes. He could sketch a flower for no reason and no one would try to shove their socio-political commentary into his work to 'prove' it deserves to exist. It existed because Steve said so. Because that was a really pretty flower and it reminded him to appreciate the good in the world. The beauty and peace.

(Okay maybe there was some commentary, but it was commentary for him.)

His phone buzzed, and he had to shift to one side to reach his pocket. The old thing was too bulky. One of these days he'd have to 'get with the times' as every single friend he had loved to remind him. On the cracked screen was a new text alert.

'Hey, I might be late tomorrow. Going to the movies with Jane.'

Steve unlocked his phone to text back. 'Aren't we meeting at noon? Didn't know you were up for the early show.'

'The movie's tonight jackass. We're having a different kind of early show. Hence I'll be late.'

'Thank you so much for sharing. Be good.'

'No promises.'

He could see Bucky's evil smirk as he tossed his phone aside and went back to eating Jane's face off. She was undoubtedly in his lap right now, nibbling on his ear or giving him love bites. Whatever it was those two did when they were alone.

A gust of wind blew through the delicate petals of his flower. Now they were an eighth of an inch off. Great.

Steve started to put his phone away, only for it to go off in his hands. He nearly dropped it twice. First in surprise, and then out of fear. An ominous organ ringtone played and the ID read 'Death'.

"Good morning, Professor Philips," he said as calmly as he could. "I hope you're doing well today, sir."

"You let it ring three times."

Steve winced. "Sorry, sir, I was… working."

"On your next project, I'm sure."

"Of course, sir."

He heard grumbling and typing on a keyboard. Standard fare for Professor Philips, a respected and sought after artist who had missed his true calling as a drill sergeant. "I can always count on you to carry the rest of those slackers who call themselves artists."

"Er- thank you, sir."

"Which is why I'm happy to make you this offer. Because I know you'll be smart enough to take it."

He explained his offer, and Steve heard it through a fog. The words had meaning and that meaning made his stomach do somersaults. Philips was not a man known for his brevity. He kept going, expressing as clearly as he could what an honor this was. What this would do for his future career and what a complete and total moron Steve would be to say no. All the while, Steve nodded until he was dizzy, and kept on repeating, "Yes sir. Of course, sir."

"Think about it, Rogers," Philips said before hanging up. "Deadline is the end of the month. Gives you plenty of time to draft your acceptance letter."

Steve dropped the phone; his arm was numb. He stared at the flower until it warped into a purple and white mess. "Holy shit…"

---

Freshmen

Jane drew an oval that was supposed to be a circle. And she drew it with a pen.

Her sketchbook was one of the nicer ones the overpriced art supply store had to offer. Advertised as the kind only 'real' artists used. Perfect for smudging if you so much as blinked. That told Steve several things. First, contrary to her brazen act of sin in using permanent ink, she was taking this seriously. Second, she did not know how to take it seriously.

"Okay," he said, sliding the book back to her. "We're making progress. We can keep working from here."

Jane's head dropped. "I suck, don't I?"

"You do not suck," Steve said, patting the air over her shoulder. "Come on, it's not that bad."

"I just can't believe how nice you're being," she said.

Steve furrowed his brow. "You want me to be meaner?"

"Oh God, no!" Jane shuddered like the very idea made her physically ill. "I get enough of that in class. My professor seems to think standing over you and glaring will make the bird come out better. Comparatively, you're an angel."

"Who is your teacher anyway?" Steve asked. "Professor Adler?"

"Pino," Jane said. "Do you know him?"

As soon as the name was out of her mouth, Steve aged ten years. "Oh wow, you sure got the luck of the draw."

"That's not very encouraging," she said, visibly deflating.

"It's okay," Steve replied, in as easy a tone as he could manage. "Pino's not a bad guy. He's the best professor you could ask for when you're a senior art major getting ready for grad school."

"But when you're a non-major just trying to get a few credits," Jane continued his thought, "he's a nightmare."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Jane dropped her head again. "Great. My first bad grade since kindergarten. Mom will be so proud."

'What happened in Kindergarten?' he wanted to ask. Before he could, a visitor arrived. This was why he didn't want to meet in the student lounge. There was no such thing as privacy here. In the corner near the trophy case, frat boys hyped themselves up for the next big game. By the TV, two girls argued over a political debate. Now the very last person he wanted to see was pulling up a chair at their table.

"How's the lesson going?" Bucky threw an arm around Jane.

"Could be better," she grumbled as he kissed the side of her head. "Knock it off?"

"Knock what off?" Another kiss.

"Bucky!" Jane tried to sound affronted, but her smile gave her away.

"What?" He all but pulled her into his lap. One of the frat boys started cheering him on. "What? What am I doing?"

"Oh my god," Jane moaned through the barrage of affection. He was all over her, hands and mouth like they were the only two people for miles.

"I love it when you say that." Bucky grinned.

"I love it when my tutoring sessions aren't interrupted by horny jackasses," Steve remarked. "Did you need something?"

"I'm getting what I need right now," Bucky said. He kissed Jane one more time on the lips, prolonging the moment as long as he could. She sighed and relaxed in his arms. It looked like they'd be cutting the day short. "But I also wanted to thank you again for helping Jane out, Steve."

Steve never thought he'd feel so much like a school principal who just caught two horny students in the closet. He made a mental note to punch Bucky in the face the next time they fought.

"Is that a cow?" he asked, turning Jane's sketchbook upside down. "Wait, I know, it's a koala bear."

"You think you're so funny." Jane tried to snatch it back, but he held it high over her head. "Give it!"

"No, I'm looking at the ducks."

"It's a circle!"

"Are you sure?" Bucky looked closer, squinting his eyes almost shut. "Looks like an oval to me."

Jane lunged at him, a futile effort that only landed her back in his embrace. As their lips met, Steve packed his bag one item at a time. He mumbled something about seeing them tomorrow and got a thumbs up in return.

By now the frat boys had finished their meals and moved on. The girls by the TV were talking about religion. Steve hoisted his bag over his shoulder and walked to the door. Only once did he look back, when Jane started laughing. Bucky had her sketchbook again and he was drawing googly eyes on her oval. He dubbed it a potato alien.

The tiniest sound issued from Steve's throat, but he didn't know if it was a chuckle or a sigh.

They were just kind of great together.

---

Juniors

"You're going to Paris?" Jane's eyes were like baseballs jutting out of their sockets. Steve had half a mind to ask the barista for an empty glass, just in case they slipped out.

They were at Nick's, the most popular bar in town and the closest to campus. Every night, the place was packed with students, some of whom were actually legal. With its slick concrete bartop, pendant lighting, and pounding club tracks, it certainly fit the image of a trendy modern bar all the cool kids hung out at. Maybe that was why all his counterculture art student friends hated it.

Steve just thought it was too loud.

"It's not for sure yet," he yelled over a particularly earth-shattering dubstep beat. "Phillips says I have until the end of the month to decide."

"Decide to accept you mean," Bucky said, raising his drink. "Isn't Phillips the guy who submitted your self-portrait to the state art show because you were too much of a pussy to do it yourself?"

"He did it because he believed in my talent," Steve snapped, glaring at Bucky. "He sure as shit didn't do it because I'm a 'pussy'."

"Maybe not in so many words, but he was thinking it," Bucky replied.

"No, he wasn't."

"Would he be wrong?"

"Guys, really?" Jane shouted. "I thought we were all friends here."

"Friends of a certain variety in some cases." Bucky snaked an arm around her and peppered her face with kisses, earning a squeal as Jane swatted him.

"Stop it, Bucky!" She giggled when he hit one of her ticklish spots (Steve knew all of them from positioning her). "God, you always do this."

"You're always beautiful. Can't help myself."

'He's right,' Steve thought, his mouth forming around the words he couldn't say. 'You are beautiful. Always.'

From experience, he knew they'd need a minute. So he sipped his drink, wincing at the burn of alcohol, and stared at the Open Bar sign until Jane had finally untangled herself from Bucky.

"Anyway," he said, trying not to laugh as they blushed, "it's not that I don't want to go, but it'll be a lot of work. And I'll be gone for a while."

"Only one semester," Jane shrugged. "That's not too long."

"A lot can happen in that time," Steve replied.

"Are you worried you're going to fall in love with some French girl and never come back?" Bucky sipped on his drink. "Because I sincerely doubt that. You're too American."

Steve made a face. "I'm too what?"

"Don't you remember?" Bucky grinned. "Back when we were kids, you had those American flag pajamas you wore all the time. You even wore them to school that one time. It was adorable." He winked at Jane. "Remind me to show you the pictures some time. You'll love it."

"Ignore him," Steve snapped, glaring at his old friend. "He sounds smart, but he's got another ass where his brain should be."

"People love my ass, thank you."

Jane rolled her eyes, dodging Bucky's attempt to snatch her up again. He mimed shedding a tear, which garnered him no sympathy. "It sounds like a great opportunity for you, Steve. You'll be exposed to a different culture, you'll get to see some of the finest art in history-"

"You should bring us back some eclairs while you're at it," Bucky interjected.

Steve somehow managed to smile. "So you guys think I should do it."

"Only if it's what you want," said Jane. "Philips picked you because he knows you're the best, but it's still your decision."

"What else did I become an art student for?" Steve asked himself, imitating Philips gruff southern drawl with expert precision.

Jane giggled. "Obviously it was so you could draw naked people all day. Just like I'm an astrophysics major so I can drink a lot of coffee and gain access to top-secret research facilities."

"Right, and I'm a business major because someone has to pay the bills while you two are doing all that," Bucky said.

The music had changed from one disjointed song to another. Some people were dancing, stumbling all over themselves and their partners. A woman in a tight black cocktail dress emerged from the crowd, dragging a dark-skinned man in a blue dress shirt. She ran to their table, slamming her hand on the concrete surface hard enough to make Steve wince. Her poor fingers.

"Why," she said with emphasis on the 'wh', "are you guys sitting here, depriving the world of your collective hotness, when you could be dancing?"

She turned her eagle eyes on each of them in turn. Somehow, they looked bigger without the glasses.

"We're having a private conversation, Lewis," Bucky drawled. "It's that thing where you don't post every second of your life on Facebook. You should try it sometime."

"Sounds boring." She hiccuped and fell into Sam's arms, laughing hysterically as he helped her stand straight.

Bucky rolled his eyes. "Can't you control her at all?"

"Have you spoken to Darcy for more than three minutes?" Sam countered.

"Love you, too, babe!" Darcy planted a sloppy kiss on Sam's face which he did not seem averse to. "Let me guess, you guys are ganging up on Bucky and going to town on his corporate butt. Art and science vs. business! The final showdown!"

Steve tried not to laugh, unlike Jane who was almost in tears. "O-okay Darc, what does that make you, the hype man?"

"I'm political science," Darcy folded her arms. "That means I make all the rules and keep things fair until Bucky bribes me and then he wins."

"At least you're honest about it," Bucky remarked, sipping his drink.

She put on a cutesy smile, leaning her head on Sam's shoulder as he led her away. "We'll see you guys later. All right, my lady, home or another dance?"

"Gee, I don't know." Darcy faked an indecisive hum before pouncing on Sam. She had a fistful of his shirt and she pulled him toward the dance floor where the crowd absorbed them.

"Such a lovely couple," Bucky shook his head. "I honestly don't know who I feel worse for."

"So rude," Jane mumbled as he blew her a kiss.

Steve searched for them in the sea of dancers, but they blended in too well. For all he knew, they were already gone, taking the party to a more private setting. "I think they're good together. Sam's been a lot happier lately."

Jane smiled. "I'm glad you're taking it so well. I thought you would've been more upset."

"Upset about what?"

"Don't you know?" Jane bit her lip like she was afraid she'd said too much. "Darcy used to like you. You mean you didn't notice?"

Had she? They'd only met a few times since last year. Once she asked him a bunch of questions about his art. Another time she ranted to him for an hour about Republican bootlickers in her debate class. All he remembered from those days was watching Bucky and Jane across the room, tracing their outlines and comparing them to his last few drawings.

"I… guess not."

---

Freshmen

"This is hopeless."

Steve did not say that. At least, they weren't originally his words. He'd heard it from Jane in the middle of a stress-induced bout of self-deprecation enough times to almost believe it. After a month of lessons, they were three-quarters of the way through her sketchbook. She had graphite marks on everything she owned, including her hands. Some of them were weeks old. At least she wasn't using pens anymore.

Many would call it the mark of a true artist. It was an understandable notion. There were certainly enough lopsided sketches and painfully clashing colors in Steve's repertoire. It was all part of the creative process. You spent years honing your craft, spilling your blood through a pencil or a paintbrush or a charcoal stick. All in the hope of one day gracing a gallery or even the lobby of an office building.

And yet, there were seventy-five unusable pages in Jane's sketchbook and no visible improvement. He really hated admitting that last part. It wasn't fair to Jane. She was trying so hard. Every time her face twisted with frustration when she messed up a line, Steve's heart went out to her. When she broke her hundredth pencil, he bought her a brand new set at the highest quantity he could find. Whatever she wasn't putting into science and Bucky, she was putting into this.

Her first big assignment had come and gone. A self-portrait which almost perfectly resembled the human shape. It had hair just like her's. Brown and long. There were also two eyes and they were more or less even. Professor Pino took great pride in writing a D on it.

"This is totally, completely hopeless." Her head was in a pile of erasers. Most of them were rubbed down to nothing. "I should just drop out of school."

Steve snorted. "Isn't that kind of dramatic?"

"Not when everyone else in the world can draw a straight line except me," she replied.

"I doubt everyone can do that."

"Then just everyone in my class."

"That's Pino getting under your skin." Steve covered her hand with his. It just felt weirdly right. "You do have what it takes, Jane. I believe in you."

Jane sighed. "You sound like my second-grade teacher."

"Is that a good thing?"

"He used to pat me on the head and call me a special little lady whenever I talked about studying astrophysics. I hated that."

Steve tried to be discreet as he removed his hand. "Well, I promise never to do either of those things."

As the hours wound down and it got closer to the start of Jane's evening classes, they fell into a discussion of her final project. Self-portraits clearly weren't her forte. In fact, maybe they should cut humans entirely. They were too much trouble anyway with their skin tones and hand shapes and developed musculature.

Speaking of which…

"Knock knock." Bucky walked in without actually knocking. He had a gym bag over his shoulder and a thin layer of sweat on his brow. "How's the lesson going? Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"We were just trying to decide if bananas look better on the canvas than apples," Jane said.

"How about grapes?" Bucky suggested. "I could go for some grapes right now."

"I'm not feeding them to you," Jane said as he pecked her on the lips.

Bucky pouted. "Am I that obvious? Damn, I'm losing my touch."

Jane rolled her eyes and left him to act like the big baby he was deep down. While she was in the bathroom, Steve packed up his supplies. He left Jane's stuff where it was, which might've been a mistake as Bucky's greedy hands found her sketchbook.

"Wow," he said, making a face at her monkey that was supposed to be an elephant. "That is… art. I think."

"Art is subjective, you know," Steve said, snatching the sketchbook back. "What you see as uninspiring someone else could write a whole book about."

"I'm not saying you're wrong or that Jane is bad," Bucky sank into her abandoned chair. "She's working her ass off."

"Don't I know it," Steve said.

"Not just with you, though. With everything." Bucky ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know how she does it. All her classes… and now this? And she still comes to every one of my bouts."

He'd only had two since they started dating. One was technically just an exhibition, but it was hard to get the words out when Bucky's smile was brighter than the sun. Not once had he smiled like that for Connie, or Dot in eighth grade, or any of the girls he liked before Jane came along.

Because none of them had been her.

"You're falling for her, you know," Steve teased, just like any good friend would.

Bucky grinned, completely unashamed. "Looking to be my best man? Because I gotta tell you, Sam looks damn good in a suit."

"Try telling her how you feel before planning the wedding, you dumb jerk."

"I like to plan ahead, you little punk."

The contest to see who would laugh first ended in a draw. Steve's mouth ached from the size of his grin, but he couldn't shake it. Neither could Bucky. "I really can't thank you enough for this, Steve."

The weight in his words couldn't have been intentional. Steve refused to believe it and so he didn't change positions at all. He even threw in a shrug. "No problem. I'm happy to help."

"Jane says you've spent a lot of time with her."

"Really, Buck, it's fine. Anything for you."

It only hit him what that sounded like when Bucky's eyes widened the barest fraction. They stared at each other, Steve's heart slamming against his ribcage, doing everything it could to break free of its confines. Someone outside was talking. Their laughter carried, but their words were a meaningless swirl in Steve's ears. He wished they would stop. Just like he wished Bucky wouldn't look at him like that.

"Uh…" he said.

Then the bathroom door opened and Jane stepped out. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything."

"Nope." Bucky shot out of his seat and hugged her. "Come on, we don't want you to be late for class."

Jane giggled. "You're the best day planner I've ever had."

"Yeah? Guess what I'm getting you for your birthday."

They were so wrapped up in each other, Steve was sure they'd forgotten he was there. At the door, Jane turned. "Thanks again, Steve. I'll see you tomorrow."

He smiled and waved. Bucky glanced at him, almost like he wanted to say something. Instead, he led Jane out. They were in the hallway, walking to the elevators, lost in a world just big enough for two.

---

Juniors

The mat tasted like metal mixed with rubber. Steve couldn't tell if that was the material itself or just the blood in his mouth, but if he had to eat canvas one more time, he was going to come back later tonight with a knife and do what needed to be done.

Some might say it would be more reasonable for him to stop agreeing to be Bucky's sparring partner. Those people were probably right.

"The whole point of training is so I learn how to take a hit." Bucky mimed a punch. "I know it feels like I'm made of iron, but I promise you won't break your artist's hands on my jaw."

"If I punch you in the jaw, I'd be more worried about glass than iron," Steve shot back.

"Oooooh!" It sounded like a siren, but it was really just a guy behind a computer on the bleachers. "You got burned there, Rocky."

"Shut up, Tony," Bucky grumbled.

It was such a big gym- with ten rows of bleachers and enough LED lights to illuminate a small city. The floor bore scuff marks from millions of feet over decades of use. In one corner was the weight room, currently reserved for the wrestling team. The pool was just down the hall. If one listened closely, they could hear the swim team's splashing. The acoustics were so good, it was a wonder the music department never jumped on it.

Years ago, this entire space belonged to the basketball team. Even now, the remains of a hoop adorned the highest wall, just over a full-length mirror. The net had long since rotted away, leaving only a sad, rusty rim. Meanwhile, the moderately decent Culver basketball team practiced in an arena almost visible behind the football stadium. The old gym was now home to a boxing ring, several hooks for punching bags, and a speed bag attached to a low hanging awning.

What had once been a place for team sports ('true' athletes in the eyes of the more narrow-minded) was now a dominion of warriors.

"You know, if we're talking about white dwarfs here, let's try not to get too Sirius."

Warriors and science students.

From her table at the foot of the bleachers, Jane cringed. "Really Tony? Really?"

"Yes really," Tony Stark, the resident genius and definitely not an astrophysics student last Steve checked, cracked a cheeky grin. "I'm practicing my dad jokes for when I start adopting a bunch of young scientists-to-be to nurture their intellect. You can't be a dad without dad jokes."

"Why don't you focus on finishing out the semester first, Tony." Bruce Banner didn't bother looking up from the microscope at his impulsive friend.

"Right, because I don't already have three degrees." Tony squinted at his computer screen. "Hey, Jane? Can you take a look at this?"

"Are the specs off again?" Jane asked, walking over from her station.

Tony scoffed. "My specs are never off, but if you look at this bottom column, I'm not sure the numbers match up with-"

It had been like this for a week. Bucky's biggest fight of the year was coming up on Saturday. He was 15-0 and Culver's best chance at ending the US Military Academy's winning streak. In the meantime, Jane had the choice of getting her own work done or being there to support her boyfriend as he embarked on his noble quest to beat the shit out of an army guy.

To no one's surprise, she had found a workaround.

To everyone's surprise, her favorite study buddies didn't mind working in a boxing gym.

"How many rounds is that?" Bucky returned to his corner to gulp down some water.

"I lost count after fifteen," Steve said. He could almost speak without panting now. "Seriously, Buck, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were actually trying to kill me."

"What I'm trying to do is improve my uppercut," Bucky replied. "Just so happens to be your face I'm bashing in."

"You never even said thank you," Jane called out while staring at her computer screen. "It's like you don't appreciate his sacrifice at all."

"I'm glad someone cares," Steve muttered.

Bucky raised his glove again (that one was definitely a middle finger). "How about next time I save you the airfare and punch you straight to France?"

Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, blanking on a response. Bucky soon got tired of waiting and smacked his gloves together. "Okay, round sixteen or seventeen. Let's go."

Steve groaned. "You can't take one five minute break?"

"No excuses, soldier." Bucky was already up and moving. "You don't see them taking 'five-minute breaks'."

"That's because we take morning breaks," Tony said while stretching. "Of course mornings for me are around four in the afternoon. If I don't make my six am curfew, I am screwed for the whole rest of the day."

His voice trailed off as he was sucked back into designing his newest robotic marvel. Under his desk were the guts of an engine. It would soon become part of the robot's internal system, though how Tony would manage it, Steve didn't know. Meanwhile, Bruce had not reacted at all to the momentary distraction. That guy was so calm and relaxed, he had to be doing yoga twenty-four hours a day.

With no help coming from them and no other way to stall, Steve rolled his shoulders and put his hands up.

"Now we're talking!" Bucky danced to the edge of the ring, leaning over the ropes. "Kiss for good luck?"

Jane didn't look up. "I don't know. That might give you an unfair advantage."

"Just say no," Bucky fake pouted. "It won't shatter my poor little heart too badly."

"Glad to hear it." She got up on tip-toes and let him brush her lips.

The bell went off in their heads. A real one had been installed somewhere in the gym, but the coaches preferred it wasn't used unless absolutely necessary. Something about noise complaints and potential property damage or whatever. It seemed like a waste to Steve, but what did he know? He was just an artist. An artist with a great left hook, as he happily reminded Bucky when he got the first hit.

"Woah, not bad," Tony whistled. He was standing on his chair to better see them. "That's one point for Paulie with muscles, no points for Rocky! The battle is on now."

Steve stared at Tony. "Did you just call me Paulie with muscles?"

"Well, you're no Apollo Creed," Tony said. "Maybe you can be the Russian guy. Let's hear an 'I must break you.'"

"Ignore him," Bucky said, rolling his shoulders. "Let's go."

Steve gave it his all as he dodged Bucky's jabs, grazed him with an uppercut, and perfected his blocking techniques. Sometimes it felt like he had more hours in the ring than most professionals. When Bucky got going he never stopped. He came at Steve with a thousand punches, landing more than Steve could count. It was an endless barrage, like fighting through a storm.

Every now and then, Jane looked up, either to make sure no one died or just to watch Bucky's biceps flex. Thank the Lord above he hadn't taken his shirt off today. The last time that happened, Jane had dragged him off early for a 'cool down' in the locker room. Meanwhile, Steve had to go home and take a very long, very cold shower.

"I think I finally found the issue with the flight system," Tony was saying, along with other scientific jargon Steve couldn't make sense of.

"That's great, but why do you want to put wings on a robot?" asked Jane.

Tony gawked at her. "Why wouldn't I? Imagine flying, Jane. I'm going to make mankind fly!"

"I thought the Wright Brothers did that a hundred years ago."

"You know what I mean."

He wouldn't stop going to Jane for advice, even when Bruce Banner, Mr. Seven Degrees himself, was right there within hearing range. He was being snubbed and he didn't even care.

And then he looked at Jane. "What do you think of these figures? I might finally be on the right track to isolating the source of gamma radiation."

"Kind of a tall order," Jane said, studying his notes.

"And building your own wormhole isn't?" Tony teased.

Steve couldn't bear to look at them anymore. Fortunately, Bucky was happy to help. "Quit slacking off on me, asshole."

"I'm not," Steve said, countering a powerful punch with a decent swing of his own. "Why do you always want to train with me anyway?"

"Because you can take a hit," Bucky said, "and because you had two growth spurts in senior year. That wasn't my fault. Plus, you have such a pretty face."

The way he said that made Steve shiver. He masked it by rubbing the sweat off his brow. "Just say you want me to beat your ass and be done with it."

"Oh, wow, Rogers. Them's fighting words."

Another uppercut clipped Steve on the ear. He retaliated with a swift cross punch. Bucky blocked it and went low, nailing him in the ribs. Steve tried to back off, but Bucky followed. All humor was gone from his face as he stalked Steve around the ring, bluff charging and throwing air punches. This must be what everyone who stepped in the ring with him saw: a taciturn warrior ready to rip them apart without a thought. A terror to behold and a veritable monster of an opponent.

"Hey, Jane, are you watching?" He turned to her with puppy dog eyes. "How am I doing?"

"You look amazing, babe." She looked up just long enough to wave at him, and then it was back to work.

How strange that this was business as usual. Bucky training, Jane studying, Steve going with the flow because no matter how much he snarked, he still couldn't say 'no' to Bucky. He didn't think he'd ever be able to say no. Not even if his life depended on it.

So he took every punch. He got a few hits of his own. He did not watch Jane work. He did not grit his teeth when Tony squeezed by her and brushed her back with his hand. He did not tense up when Bruce leaned inches away from her face to look at her monitor and answer her question. His blood did not boil because there was absolutely no reason at all for him to be suspicious of Jane's friends. Tony Stark's love for one Pepper Potts was legendary, and Jane had already told them all about Bruce's giant crush on her friend, Betty Ross.

Even if she hadn't, it wasn't Steve's business. He was not the one taking her on dates every night, anymore than he was the one kissing Bucky at the end of the evening. He didn't hold her at the bar when drunk idiots got too handsy. It wasn't him Jane thanked first when she won her first college science award.

He should not have been the one watching when Tony high-fived Jane. "You are seriously amazing. Barnes does not know how lucky he-"

Steve's fist swung. All his strength went into Bucky's cheek. Bucky cursed. A rock hit Steve in the gut. His world spun, first figuratively and then literally. Someone was shouting. Maybe it was Jane. Steve squinted at the hanging lights. His stomach hurt when he inhaled. His eyes watered.

Shadows appeared over his head. It took him way too long to register Bucky's gaping mouth and Jane's wide, terrified eyes. "Jesus, Steve. Are you okay?"

That one was definitely Jane. Her hands were cool and clammy, fingers raw from typing and handling tools. He thought he smelled motor oil.

"Fuck," Bucky said, rubbing his jaw. "You really were trying to break it, weren't you?"

"I…" Steve tried to raise his head, but the ring and the lights would not stop moving.

"Someone's going for the top prize a little early I see." Tony popped into view. The sight of him gave Steve a surge of strength, but not enough to reach up and punch him. "Seriously though, how many fingers am I holding up?"

It looked like four, so it was probably two. Instead of answering, Steve rolled on his side. He powered through vertigo and shoved all helping hands away. "I'm fine. Let me catch my breath."

"You don't look fine, Steve-"

"I am!"

Everyone stepped back. Each echo of Steve's voice was more agonizing than the last. He was on his feet, but not steady, leaning heavily against the ropes as he fought to control his breathing.

Tony returned to Bruce's side, giving Steve some space. He was the only one to be so considerate. Two pairs of eyes, blue and brown, would not leave his face. They watched him, scared and worried. Worried about him. Steve stared at the wall between them. It was all he could manage.

"I'm fine," he repeated. Somehow, he met Bucky's eye, but he had to immediately look away again. "I am."

Bucky sighed. "Okay, maybe we should stop for the day."

"I said I'm fine."

"Yes, I heard you," Bucky pulled his gloves off with his teeth. "We'll pick it up tomorrow when you've had some rest."

"Come on, I'm not done yet."

"I'm done!" Bucky got right in Steve's face. "I'm not fighting you when you're like this. So we're done, understand?"

Everything from his eyes to his voice carried such intensity. Steve could fall to his knees from the force of it. Jane's expression, severe yet fearful, did not help matters. Any second now she might cry. Or Bucky would. Or he would.

It felt like an hour passed. Bucky's arms were up, Jane's hand was on his shoulder, Steve was caught in a trap they didn't know they'd set. The world was spinning again. "Okay. Tomorrow."

Bucky bumped his gloves. "Okay."

"Okay," Jane slumped over in relief.

Steve chuckled weakly. When he thought about it later, this was almost a good moment for them.

"Hey lovebirds, are you guys gonna kiss and make up or what?"

...almost.

---

Freshmen

The Culver Art Institute hosted special exhibits twice a year. Steve had visited most of them. The retrospective on Jackson Pollock was okay, but the old WWII propaganda showing had been the real draw. This latest exhibit opened two weeks ago, but this was the first chance he'd gotten to come and take a look. It was Tuesday, half-price day. Perfect for a guy on a budget.

He texted Jane. She was on her way. With any luck, she'd be alone.

He was reading the plaque under a framed recreation of the Last Supper when he spotted someone small out the corner of his eye. She stood next to him, examining the iconic painting of Jesus and his disciples as though reading the nutrition facts on a box of cereal. Her tongue was caught between her teeth. It was a quirk of hers. Steve didn't know when he first noticed, but now it was all he could see.

"What do you think?" he asked.

Jane shrugged. "I know this painting is famous. That's about it"

"Not really your type?"

"I don't think I have one."

She scanned the gallery. Every wall was plastered with art, writing, and portraits of a man long gone whose influence was still felt in the very soul of modern society. At the center, of course, was the Mona Lisa. A near perfect facsimile. Some might question the logic of a Leonardo da Vinci exhibit when he was already so well-known and there was no way the government of France would hand over any of his original work, but Steve wasn't one of them. Really, he didn't mind at all. Not when this was about to save Jane's ass.

"Let's look at another one," he said, leading her across the room. On the opposite wall, surrounded by pages from the Codex Leicester, was the image of a man in a circle, standing tall or open-armed, depending on which set of limbs one looked at first."You know this guy, right?"

Jane squinted. "I think I've seen it somewhere."

"Probably a lot of places. It's pretty well known." Steve stepped closer, meeting the ancient man's lifeless, yet eternally sharp gaze. "He's called the Vitruvian man. Da Vinci drew him in 1492. It's also known as the proportions of the human body according to Vitruvius."

"Interesting," Jane muttered. It might've sounded aloof to someone else, but Steve saw the gears turning in her head. There were sixteen unique positions the Vitruvian man's eight limbs formed. She would have counted all of them by now. The inscriptions would be the hard part.

"We're not just here to talk about da Vinci," he said. "I realize I've been doing this all wrong. I wanted you to see the Vitruvian Man because this is how I'm going to teach you to draw."

She blinked. "You think I should drop the fruit bowl idea and go for anatomically correct naked people."

Steve choked. "No, not that. Look, the Vitruvian man is based on the work of an ancient architect, Vitruvius. He wrote a book all about the perfect proportions of structures, and also of human beings. See? The writing on the top and bottom are da Vinci's measurements. There's a translation somewhere, but basically, this is the most geometrically pleasing human form."

"According to da Vinci," Jane said, sucking on her lip. "Me personally? I'm not sure about that hair."

Steve gave her a look. She giggled and he had to stop himself from laughing with her. "The point is, da Vinci wasn't just an artist. He was a mathematician, a scientist. Artists like him, and the ones who came before him, we don't remember them just because their work was so beautiful. They created what they saw, not what they thought. Just like a scientist studies what she sees and what she knows is real."

"You're saying art is scientific." Jane's guarded expression almost made him question himself, but he stood firm. He was prepared this time. Spent all night researching just for this.

"Sort of." He walked her past a recreation of Virgin of the Rocks. "The best artists in history weren't just born that way. The hardest thing an artist can ever do is try to draw a perfect circle. Why do you think that is?"

She shrugged. "I guess it's hard to get the portions right. Hard to keep your hand steady."

"And a perfect circle is literally perfect," Steve said. "Perfectly symmetrical. Think of all the ways we use math. Sharpshooters need math to line up their shots. Engineers use math when manufacturing roads and buildings. Artists need math to understand perspective and symmetry. It's how we've come to understand the human body well enough to draw it. Da Vinci knew that. All good artists know that. Without math, art would die."

Jane's eyes widened. Steve flushed.

"Okay, that was a bit extreme," he said, rubbing his neck, "but you understand what I'm saying, right? You're a physics student. You know math and science better than anyone I know. So if you want to be a good enough artist to pass this class, you're already halfway there."

A woman leading a line of children on a field trip walked by. She nodded at the pair, continuing her mini-lecture on the Mona Lisa as they approached the eponymous painting. Even though it wasn't the real one, the children were so enthralled it might as well have been.

"When you put it like that, it sounds so easy," Jane said.

Steve nodded. "I'm sorry I didn't think of it before. From now on, I want us to look at this like an experiment."

"An experiment," Jane said.

"Here's my hypothesis," Steve said, "though studying the geometric shapes in the fruit bowl and how they interact with each other, you will create the best damn still life Professor Pino has ever seen."

"Okay, now I know you're messing with me," she said.

"I would never," Steve said, surprising even himself with his passionate response. "I mean… think of a schematic. That's just as much art as any painting and if you can do that, I know you can do this."

It occurred to Steve much too late that he could feel Jane's skin. Her hand was in his, and when he'd found the time to take it would forever be a mystery. Somehow, he was holding her hand, staring into her big brown eyes, the same eyes that had bewitched Bucky. Weirdest of all was her shirt. It was a plain red blouse without frills or a fancy collar. The sleeves went to her elbows and it matched her jeans as well as any other color. Odds were good he'd see her wearing it before, or at least something just like it.

But man, he couldn't stop staring. There was just something about her…

He was still holding her hand.

"Ah…" he let go to push his hair back. His very short and neatly trimmed hair that barely ever stuck out of place. "So going forward, I want you to remember that art and science are not diametrically opposed. You can be good at one and not the other but at the end of the day they… kind of need each other."

His eyes were down, but he could still see her face. The way she studied him. Her shoes were just as nice as her shirt.

"When you put it that way," she said, "it does make sense."

While he was certainly wrong or just imagining things, it looked like she might take his hand again. But of course, that was ridiculous.

---

Juniors

Steve slammed the locker room door open, allowing Bucky's cornermen to carry him inside. The crowd was going insane. Lights and cameras flashed in their faces, blinding them as they forced their way through the line of wannabe reporters. Steve took the lead, his size discouraging anyone else from getting in their way.

Bucky's dressing room was the first door on the left. Steve held it open for the cornermen to squeeze through. It was a tight fit, but they made it in without jostling Bucky or aggravating his wounds. While they laid him out on the bench, Steve stood guard. He knew he should've been watching them work, encouraging his friend and ribbing him for how long it took him to knock the shit out of that military loser. That was what Bucky would've wanted, and Steve always aimed to please. That swollen left eye and the ugly purple splotches on his cheeks were just too hard to look at.

"Did I win?" Bucky slurred. He'd asked that same question a dozen times. "Did I win? Did I?"

"Yeah, Buck," Steve choked, rubbing his eyes. "You did it. You KO'ed him in the eighth round."

Bucky spat out some blood. "Eighth… should've been the sixth…"

If he wasn't already half-dead, Steve would've slapped him. He found a blanket hanging out of Bucky's locker and draped it over his shoulders. With the gloves off, he could see the damage to Bucky's hands. The broken, bruised knuckles. The fingers that didn't quite bend like they should've.

Steve wanted to vomit. "You did great," he croaked. "Really great. So great…"

Sneakers pounded in the hall and then Jane was there. She burst into the dressing room, shoving past anyone who tried to stop her. With tears freely flowing, she sunk to her knees, draping herself over Bucky's beaten form. "Oh my God, I can't believe you did that."

"Had to, Babe." Bucky placed his hand on her head. "Had to… what did I do?"

One of the cornermen chuckled. A murderous look from Steve shut him up. "You baited him. Let him tire himself out, and then you finished him off. It was amazing. I've never seen you throw punches quite like that."

"Why do you think I practice on you?" Bucky worked through the pain to smile. "No one takes hits like you, Steve. So if I can hit you, I can hit anyone."

Steve smiled. His eyes stung and he knew he wouldn't be able to hold it in for much longer. "Then next time, I'll be the one in the ring."

"I don't think so," Bucky used his shaking arms to hoist himself up. "If you didn't put me in the hospital like this guy did, I'd never forgive you."

"What are you doing?" Jane grasped his shoulders. "You need to lay down. You're hurt."

"Can't make it much worse by sitting up," he said.

"Yeah, actually, you can. Haven't you heard of infections?"

"Is this the would-be nurse talking?" Bucky's words were mixed with groans, but he didn't let up. "You only took one class. I think real nurses need a little more schooling."

"Quit being a smartass and lay back down," Jane commanded.

"That won't work, Jane. You're asking far too much of him."

Bucky glared at Steve.

"Don't I know it?" Jane rolled her eyes.

"Hey!" Bucky very slowly and carefully folding his arms. "You're supposed to be on my side."

"I am on no sides except my own." Jane glanced at a first aid kit on the wall. It was already open. One of the cornermen was trying to undo a roll of gauze. Jane held out a hand and he gave it to her without a word. Within seconds she was wrapping it around Bucky's bleeding left arm. "My side right now says you've never looked worse. Or better."

Bucky nodded, like his mind was finally clearing and he remembered his triumphant victory. It really had been incredible. Steve tried to play it back in his head, but nothing his mind could conjure up came close to Bucky's grace and majesty while he mercilessly pounded another man's skull in. Some things were too much even for an artist to portray.

That didn't mean they couldn't try.

"You have to promise not to scare me like that again," Jane said. She had moved on to Bucky's face, cleaning the blood from around his good eye. "No more going into the ring with giant army cadets."

"He was barely six feet."

"Is that the point?" Jane stared him down, leaving no room for argument. Of course, Bucky was the first to look away. It satisfied Jane enough to go back to dressing his wounds.

"I can't promise I won't fight another guy like that," he said, moving his head to the side so she could get at his neck. "But I swear I will never make you worry so much again. Next time, I'll drop him in two rounds."

"Always so sure of yourself," Jane said.

There was something about a moment. A snapshot in time and space. Everyone had their own memory banks. The sights, sounds, and smells that took them to another place. When Steve thought about years later, or even days later as he sat in front of a canvas, he'd know this was one of those moments.

The men standing around them vanished from his sight as if edited out on moving making software. Bucky, with his blood-soaked head and banged up body, was the only man. Jane, on her knees and rubbing antibiotic ointment on his cheek, was the only woman. Halfway through the job, she paused to press her head against his. Together they breathed, taking in each other's air. Their eyes were closed. Bucky had to prop himself up with his hands. Jane's own hands rested gently on his knees.

Their silhouettes were amazing. Their faces were even better. Steve covered his mouth, though his nausea had abated. "The ambulance will be here soon," he rasped.

Jane nodded. She didn't look at him. Only at Bucky. "Okay," she said.

"Okay," Bucky repeated.

Steve's fingers itched. He wanted to grab the doorknob and get the hell out of here. More than that, he wanted to grab their hands and kiss every knuckle, clean and dirty alike.

More than that, he wanted a pencil.

---

Freshmen

Jane got a B.

The last time she got a B, it was for forgetting to cross all her T's and dot all her I's. That bold black letter, the second in the alphabet, was always a divisive subject in college. For some students, it was a boon upon them to have scored so high against all odds. For others, it was a stain on their record. A hideous blemish marring their academic record and creating an impenetrable wall between them and law school or medical school. Whatever their parents screamed at them over the phone about every night.

If Steve had to guess, for Jane it would be both. When she showed him her grade report, he looked at her face first. There was little in her expression that he could read. Her slight frown, even eyes, and unflared nostrils could mean anything.

"I don't know what to say," she whispered.

Nice knowing he wasn't the only one. "It's a good grade, Jane. A great one even. You should be proud of yourself, A or no A."

Jane lowered her phone. The screen went dark. She took a breath. "Honestly Steve, if I'd gotten a C, I would've jumped for joy."

She jumped into his arms instead. Steve grunted, taking a step back though she barely weighed more than a feather. Students and teachers stared as they walked by. Some smiled. One guy wolf-whistled. Steve knew exactly what this looked like and he wished she'd asked him to meet her in her lab or his studio. Or just somewhere other than the very public library.

"Thank you," she said against his shirt. "I could never have done this without you."

"You could've," he groaned. His hands had to stay on her back, no matter how much he wanted to drag them down.

"No, I couldn't."

"Yes, you could." Steve pulled back. "You always had it in you, Jane. I know you did. You're just… amazing."

Her smile was wet. If he didn't know those were happy tears, he might've cried, too. "So are you, Steve. You really are."

Maybe they should've sat down. The library had plenty of chairs and couches on all five floors. Today was Thursday, and even at the end of the semester, it was never a busy day. The few people left at the computers and the in-house cafe didn't seem to be paying attention, but Steve still felt their eyes on him. Like he felt the subtle curves of her body pressed against him. She was thin, but not child-like. Her breath on his neck sent shockwaves through his bloodstream.

"I…" he didn't know why he was talking. What could he even say?

Jane smiled up at him, her brown eyes sparkling with life and passion. He could never draw eyes like that if he lived to be one hundred. They widened as she let him go and ran past him. "Hey!"

Bucky had arrived out of nowhere, just like he always did. He caught Jane mid-charge, seeming to know before she said a word what had happened. When Jane showed him her grade, he kissed her. It wasn't an average kiss. This was bordering on obscene and Steve wondered if he should go request a quiet room for them. Preferably one without windows.

"Did I ever tell you you're brilliant?" Bucky asked, nibbling her ear. "Because you are. You're going to be the best astrophysicist artist in the world someday."

"Bucky, don't be ridiculous," Jane giggled.

"I will scream it to the heavens if I have to," Bucky declared. "First, we need to celebrate. We need pizza, wings, maybe some sushi-"

"There is no way we can eat all that food."

"Just you wait and see."

While they discussed their plans, Steve took that as his cue to leave. His feet rebelled against the idea. Actually, his whole lower half was giving him trouble. He had to force himself to turn and walk to the exit. He'd text Bucky later, or maybe tomorrow morning. They probably wouldn't even notice he was gone.

"Hey, Steve, what gives?" Bucky shouted. "Aren't you coming with us?"

The strangest part wasn't the question, it was Jane's total lack of anything resembling a protest. "Yeah, we can all go to a movie or something."

Steve swallowed. "I don't know. I… still have some work to do."

"I thought you got all your grades," said Bucky.

"I did. Of course, I did. I just… I promised my professor I'd help him clean his office today. I don't want to leave him hanging."

"We can wait if it won't take too long," Jane said.

"It's okay, really. You guys go have fun." He took a big step back. "Maybe this weekend we can all get together with some friends. Go to the bar or something. I'll see you later."

The double doors were in sight. Fresh air and sweet freedom. He'd hide out in his studio until tomorrow morning. Or else go and see if any professors really did need help.

"Steve, hang on." Jane skidded to a halt before him. Her massive bookbag bounced on her back as she ran. Any bigger and her spine would snap. "I have something for you."

There was a rolled-up paper sticking out of her bag. Jane pulled it out and handed it to him. It was a thicker stock good for panting. Even before he unfurled it, he knew what it was, and his heart somersaulted. "Jane, this is your final project."

Her fruit basket was vibrant and colorful. Grapes, apples, peaches, and bananas in an ocean blue bowl. A perfect array of colors that made him crave something sweet. So what if the apple was a little bit pear-shaped and the peach looked more pink than orange. That just gave it character.

"I meant what I said, Steve. I never would've made it this far without you," she said. "So I want you to have this. Because I didn't just make it for the grade. I made it for you."

She got up on tiptoes and kissed his cheek. With her hands on his shoulders, Steve was caught under her spell. Every nerve ending in his body was on high alert. He felt her hands, her lips, the tips of her shoes just barely touching his.

The worst part was Bucky, waiting three steps behind them. His arms were crossed, showing off his muscles. There was no defensiveness in his stance, no anger. That his girlfriend had her arms around another man-made him smile. When her lips touched Steve's face, he laughed.

"You look like a kid on his first date," he said.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Steve mumbled.

"He means you're the best," Jane said, squeezing his arm before letting go.

"Yup," Bucky grinned. "That's exactly what I mean."

They left hand in hand. Bucky already had a hundred plans for commemorating Jane's achievement. She would have to rein him in, lest he blow all his cash on a raucous week-long party. They said goodbye to Steve ("If you change your mind, you know where to find us." "Don't go breaking your delicate hands out there."), but as always, they were lost in each other. Bucky put his arm around her. Jane let her head fall on his shoulder. They were picture perfect. Like the cover of a romance novel.

Steve found one of those easy chairs he'd been thinking about and fell into it. Time ticked by. First seconds and then hours. It was almost closing time and the last few stragglers were making their way out. The librarian kept shooting him looks. Lights went out one by one. All the while, he stared at the fruit bowl.

Try as he might, he couldn't get Bucky out of his head. His eyes, his smile, his arrogant chuckle when he had an opponent on the mat or when he was teasing Steve for his awkwardness with women. He had ended so many nights just like this, but now it was different. There was a new face. Tiny and waif-like with wide brown eyes hungry for knowledge. Her fingers trembling around a pencil. The tip of her pink tongue between white teeth. The way she'd fill an entire whiteboard with numbers in under a minute. Her face just now. The unbridled joy as she looked at him.

Not Bucky. Him.

And now he saw them walking, happy and in love. They were perfect. Beautiful...

"Fuck." His head fell back. "Fuuuuuck. What do I do now?"

After two years, he still didn't have an answer to that question.

---

Juniors

There was something in his mouth.

As Steve drifted into consciousness, he tasted fiber on his tongue. His teeth gnashed into it. He couldn't remember what he'd been dreaming about or if it involved food, but the flavorless wad in his mouth wasn't particularly appetizing. It rolled down his throat and he sprang up, coughing the paper out. He didn't realize anyone else was there until the door closed.

"Long night?" Jane asked. It certainly had been one for her. She was wearing yesterday's clothes and her eyes were red and dry..

"Uh… no, I-" Steve fumbled around, pushing pencils aside and nearly knocking over a canvas.

He smacked into an upturned table. Paints, charcoal, and bits of clay spilled all over the floor. Cursing, he righted the table and dumped them all in a pile. His efforts were fruitless when Jane had already caught him in such disarray, but his brain was on autopilot.

"I'm sorry," he muttered as he hastily stacked some pages together. "I don't usually… okay, sometimes I do, but not like this. This is not like me at all."

Jane cracked a smile. "Ever the artist at work, huh?"

"Some people call it obsessive," Steve said.

"Well, who am I to judge?" Jane picked up a pencil he missed and dropped it in a coffee tin with the rest. "I just came by to see if you were up for breakfast."

"With you?" he asked stupidly. "I mean, what about Bucky?"

Jane's knees bent the tiniest bit. She really did look exhausted. "I was with him all night, but that technically wasn't allowed. Visiting hours aren't until eleven. So how do pancakes sound?"

Sleep would be better, at least for her. Steve kept it to himself and retreated to the bathroom to try and get himself into some semblance of respectability. He returned to find Jane holding his sketchpad. On the first page was the drawing he'd poured over last night. A woman holding her bruised lover, healing his wounds with her deep and undying love.

Looking at it in the light of day, it wasn't awful. Actually, it was pretty good. His four a.m. self even got Bucky's neck right. It was probably his favorite thing that he'd drawn recently, so of course, it would never hang in anyone's gallery.

"I see you were productive," Jane said, placing the pad down. "I don't think my hair is that neat, though."

"You have great hair," Steve said. At the door, he offered his hand. "Shall we?"

The best spot for breakfast was C&N's Bakery two blocks down by the thrift shop. With their mouthwatering crepes and freshly baked bread, they were something of a legend in this little college town. They also wouldn't be open for another hour, so McDonald's it was.

It was less crowded than he feared. This was one of the only locations in the state with an actual play place and the two children running around inside were mostly well-behaved. They didn't scream even as they went down the slide ten times in a row. Their mother alternated between watching them and texting. The dining room was otherwise just them and a few other patrons enjoying their daily dose of grease.

"How's your food?" she asked while cutting into her pancakes.

Steve looked down at his breakfast burrito. "It's better than eating paper."

Jane snickered. "Sounds about right."

They spent the next few minutes quietly eating until Steve grew tired of it. "How was he last night?"

"At the hospital?" Jane dropped her napkin on the tray after wiping her mouth clean. "Okay. He's expected to make a full recovery. No trauma or anything. The doctor said he should stop boxing forever, but that wasn't to do with his health. He just thinks all boxers need to stop forever."

"Fun guy," Steve said. "If Buck's dumb for getting in the ring, I guess I'm dumb, too."

"No, you're his favorite sparring partner," Jane said.

"Favorite punching bag," Steve replied.

"Right. I always get the two mixed up," she smirked. "But no, he was good. Slept for a while, but we talked when he woke up. A few reporters from the school paper tried to get in."

Steve scoffed. "Not even one night, huh?"

"I know. It's not like they didn't get enough photos at the arena." She stabbed her fork through the empty styrofoam. "He asked about you a couple of times."

"Me?" Steve asked.

"He wanted to know why you weren't there."

When they got to the hospital, the nurse on staff insisted only one person could be in the room with Bucky as they prepared to examine him. Steve stayed just long enough to learn that surgery wasn't needed and there was no paper bigger than a notepad around. Then it was back to the studio to throw up and start drawing.

"I'm sorry," he said, head down. "I should've stayed. Talked to them or something."

"It's okay," Jane said. "Really, it is. Trust me, I know how you feel. I was never going to make it as a nurse like my mom wanted. Hospitals are way too scary."

"Scarier than deep space?"

"Much scarier." They both laughed. It tapered off into more awkward silence. God, Steve hated that. "He wouldn't have given you any rest anyway. He wanted to bug you more about Paris."

Ah. Now it made sense. Aside from the fight, that had been the only thing on Bucky's mind these last few days. Every time they trained, or did homework, or breathed in the same general direction, it was the same.

'Did you say yes yet?'

'Why aren't you packed already, asshole?'

'Here's some useful French for you: Tu es un punk. And no, I didn't google it.'

Steve shook his head. "He's never going to let it go, is he?"

"He believes in you," Jane said. "He wants you to succeed. We both do."

That was the worst thing about it. Knowing she was right and all of Bucky's ribbing was just his way of encouraging him. It was one more voice in his head like a Greek chorus, giving him all the pros and cons of this decision. They ruined his focus during the day and left him unable to sleep at night. All of them sounded like Phillips or Bucky. Now they might start to sound like Jane.

"It's not that I don't want to," Steve said. "This is an amazing opportunity. I'd be the biggest idiot if I turned it down."

"But…" Jane said.

So this was how it all came out. At McDonald's over breakfast burritos.

"But what if it's the wrong choice," he said. "What if I go and it doesn't work out? Or I find out I'm really not cut out to be an artist. Or… I don't know, I wouldn't see you guys for months. I could come back and we… things might be different."

'You might be getting married or deciding to transfer to another school together or figuring out the real reason why I draw you and then you'll hate me.'

"Steve, there's no way that would ever happen," Jane said firmly.

"It could."

"It won't." She took his hand. "Back in high school, I was dating this guy, Donald Blake. He was my age but a grade ahead of me. Advanced placement, you know."

"Yeah," Steve said, staring at their joined hands.

"And I used to think he was the love of my life and we'd be together forever." Jane snorted at her naive teenage self. "Then he got early acceptance into Yale and decided he needed to leave everything from high school behind, including me."

"Sounds like a great guy," Steve said. He was tempted to fish for Don's address and phone number. Maybe he needed a more hands-on explanation of how 'great' he was.

Jane shrugged. "It felt bad at the time, but I learned a valuable lesson. Always know who your real friends are, they're the ones who will stick with you even when things start to change. That's how I know we won't drift apart, because you're the truest friend I've ever known, Steve."

Her sincerity was so palpable he wanted to cry. God, he was the fucking worst. "Friendship can fade. Buck and I have been friends for years, but I'm not going to pretend I'm his most important person. You're the one he really needs."

"He needs you, too," Jane said. For whatever reason, her eyes were shining. "Steve, I love Bucky, and I know he loves me, but he loves you, too, and he always will. I've known for a long time that you and I share him, and that's okay. I want to share with you."

It took Steve far too long to speak. Emotions overwhelmed him like the laughter of the child in the ball pit and the sizzling of sausage and bacon in the kitchen. Of course, Jane didn't mean that as anything more than what it was. She was Bucky's girlfriend. Steve was Bucky's best friend. Both were important, and she was right. They wouldn't lose each other over this. When he got on the place, they'd be there to wave goodbye. They'd write to him every week and be there to greet him when he got back.

That was enough. It had to be enough. "I… okay. Okay."

They didn't discuss it again. Not on the ride to the hospital and not in Bucky's room. He laughed at all of Bucky's stupid jokes about 'having an eye on him' and turned away respectfully when Jane leaned in to kiss him. Whatever conversations they had, he wouldn't remember them the next day. Not for lack of trying, he just couldn't hear them over the chorus.

---

Every year, twelve students were chosen from the senior advanced classes to have their work displayed at the Collegiate Art Festival. Getting picked was not only a massive honor but crucial to the hopes and dreams of any aspiring grad student. If a business or private collector with an eye for up and coming talent happened to buy a piece, that was just the icing on the cake.

When Steve got the letter confirming his acceptance into the show, he'd been happy. Even with Phillips's name on the letter, which read as straightforward and gruff as the man himself, Paris did not loom over him like a hungry jungle cat. In fact, he was in a relatively good mood for the rest of the week as he went over what pieces he might want to display. He told Jane and Bucky and they were just as happy for him, if not a million times more. The three of them were all smiles as they drank well into the early hours.

On the night of the exhibition, Steve did not smile. Others smiled at him as they complimented his work. They were all friends of Phillips, people he should've known the names of. Every hand he shook was professionally manicured or covered in rings. Champagne was served fresh at the bar and the clinking of glasses over instrumental smooth jazz was inescapable.

"Excellent work, young man," said an elderly woman in a shimmering silver dress. "Truly excellent. You have an eye for color. What do you think, Celia?"

The woman's granddaughter, a statuesque lady in a curve-hugging gown, hadn't looked at a single painting and instead gave Steve a coquettish grin. "I certainly do like what I see."

"I'm glad to hear you enjoy my art," he said before wishing them a pleasant evening and getting the hell away.

He had a dozen pieces on the wall, mostly his less graphic work. Bucky and Jane stared down at him from seven different spots and whether in color or black and white, the intensity of their eyes was undiminished. He did his best not to stare for too long. Instead, he focused on the Times Square piece from Advanced Painting II last semester. It was his first, and so far only, attempt at a cityscape and, in his opinion, nowhere near his best work. Phillips loved it and hung it on the wall himself, so it seemed Steve's opinion wasn't worth shit.

A few more guests stopped to compliment him or talk about buying a piece. Steve made conversation as best he could, thanking everyone for their praise and laughing at their jokes whether they were funny or not. Not a single one of them sensed his discomfort. Even Phillips wasn't glaring for once.

Shadows on the wall came and went. Students and patrons alike admired the talents of their peers. It was close to nine and the party was in full swing. Steve found an empty bench in the far corner under a light. White walls stretched deep into the heart of the building. One could get lost in here. He'd certainly come close more than once.

He was thinking about checking out Clint Barton's display- it was supposed to be really abstract and provocative- when two people sat on either side of him, caging him in.

"Excuse me, Mr. Brilliant Artist," Bucky had the biggest shit-eating grin on his face. Even the still healing black eye couldn't detract from it. "We were wondering if you'd share with us the deeper philosophical meaning behind your choice to shade my left ass cheek in gray right there-"

"Fuck off," Steve shoved him, careful not to be too rough. "Do you kiss Jane with that mouth?"

"All the time, my good man!" Bucky winked at Jane.

"Ah, what a day it's been," she said, faking a yawn. "I feel like I've done nothing at all."

Bucky gasped. "You've been with me all day!"

"That long?"

They stared each other down and the tension was mounting. At least it would've been if they weren't so obviously trying not to laugh. Jane cracked first, leaning into Steve to keep from falling over. Her fingers dug into his thigh. If he didn't know any better he'd think it was on purpose.

"You guys are both nuts," he said once he could breathe again.

"Then it's a good thing we found each other," Jane said.

Bucky had to lean over Steve to kiss her. It was just a quick peck, but even with the music and the talking and the clinking glasses, that split second smack of lips on lips was like a gunshot straight through Steve's ear.

They were gorgeous tonight. Not that they weren't already, but Bucky in his fitted suit and Jane in her floor-length purple dress left him all but speechless. He kept his chin up, staring at a drawing of Bucky on his knees with his head on Jane's stomach. It was one of the first they did together, and it took them an hour just to get the positioning right.

"If my knee gives, Steve," Bucky had said, "I'm taking it out on your head."

"Quit whining and stay still," Steve had replied while sharpening a pencil.

It was still one of his favorite pieces. Phillips thought it was derivative and good for little more than taking up space.

Every sketch, every painting came with a story only Steve knew. The one under the blankets.

"How is this comfier than my bed? It's not fair."

"Your bed is great, babe. Who else but you would have solar system themed bed sheets?"

"Says the guy who slept on Dragonball Z sheets until he was seventeen."

"Steve! What the hell?"

The one of them hugging.

"Let's try to be strictly professional here. Right now, we are not a couple, we are co-workers."

"Co-workers who routinely get naked together."

"Yeah, so pretty basic office stuff."

The one where Steve wanted Jane to swoon dramatically into Bucky's arms, but they kept falling over so he just drew them tangled up on the ground.

"You were intentionally messing that up, Jane. Admit it."

"I admit no such thing."

"Bucky, help me out here."

"She will admit no such thing, Steve."

"You know what? Next time I'm just going to draw a tree. How's that sound?"

"There isn't a tree on earth sexier than us and you know it!"

"I know," Steve whispered.

Jane looked at him. "You okay, Steve?"

He got up and stretched. "Just thinking about getting a drink. I have a feeling we're going to be here a while."

It was nine-thirty when he checked his phone. Another hour seemed to pass as the three of them worked their way through the crowd. Once or twice, Steve thought someone would stop him, but he refused to meet their eye or slow his pace.

"What is that sculpture over there?" Jane asked, pointing at a marble… thing vaguely resembling an animal. "Is it a goose?"

"Looks like a lion from here," said Bucky.

Looking closer, Steve sort of recognized it. Peter Quill wanted to create a statue in honor of his girlfriend. He ended up with something that honestly looked like a lemur to Steve and poor Peter was probably single now.

"I tried sculpting one time. It didn't work out." Steve shuddered at the memory. It took him weeks to wash the clay stains off the walls and he'd still find them in little nooks and crannies every so often.

"That must have been before you had us," Bucky said. "No way you'd have messed up otherwise."

"I don't know if that's you being encouraging or a cocky asshole."

"It's both," Jane filled in. "We all know it's true."

"And do you disagree?" Bucky asked.

When Jane didn't answer he kissed her lips again. Another peck. So simple and yet so passionate. Steve's entire body was electrified, yet he somehow managed to request a Dr. Pepper without a single crack in his voice.

"If I ever was going to try again," he said, just as cool and collected, "it would only be with you two."

Jane grinned. "And if we ever wanted to be sculpted, you're the only one we'd want to do it."

Bucky brought a hand to his chin. "I don't know, that goose-lion isn't too bad once you get used to it."

When they got back to Steve's exhibit, Phillips was there. On his arm was a fellow department head, Maria Hill. She was impeccably dressed, not a hair out of place. Her blue ball gown and matching jewelry suited her well. Steve never had her for more than one class, but she had a reputation for being a kind and encouraging mentor to those who were truly serious about the joy of creation.

Everyone else called her an ice queen, but that was beside the point.

She appeared to be gushing over the blanket drawing. Phillips tried his best to turn her attention to the cityscape, but aside from a noncommittal nod in his direction, he wasn't getting very far.

"The detail is amazing," she said, getting as close as she could without stepping over the rope. "Look at how well the lines flow together. The shading on the blanket. If it was in color, I might think it was real."

"Yes, it's very nice," Phillips grumbled. He caught Steve's eye and his frown softened. "Ah, and here's the man of the hour. Professor Hill, you know Steve Rogers."

"Good to see you again," she said, shaking his hand. "Sorry if this is too forward, but your work is the best I've seen all night."

Steve blushed. "Thanks. I like when people like it."

She smiled. "Well, I really, really like it. I can see why Chester picked you to study abroad."

Phillips' eyes narrowed as he stared a hole through Steve's skull. No matter where he looked, the old man was always in his peripheral. He knew why. The deadline was coming and Steve still hadn't given him an answer.

Bucky would have to do it for him. "Don't worry about this guy, he's still a little in shock over the whole thing. But Jane and I couldn't be prouder of him. It's everything he deserves."

"Yes, it is," Jane agreed. "I'm Jane Foster by the way. This is my boyfriend, Bucky Barnes."

"I know you," Maria said to Bucky. "NCBA champ?"

Bucky puffed out his chest proudly. "Also a part-time model. I think tonight that's the most important thing."

For a moment, Maria's face was blank, then her eyes widened. Behind Bucky was a drawing of him kissing Jane's neck. His eyes were open and staring at the viewer. At Maria.

"Oh my God," she gasped. "You guys are Steve's subjects, aren't you?"

Jane cleared her throat. "Yeah, I guess you could say that."

She had to let Maria shake her hand again, much harder this time. "Well, now I know why his work is so alive. All that passion just leaps off the page."

"I think you're exaggerating," Steve said weakly.

Unfortunately, Maria was a lot louder than she seemed to realize. Several heads had already turned in their direction. The old woman and her granddaughter from before were wandering over. The granddaughter (Sylvia, was it?) leered at Bucky before he took Jane's hand. Then she just sulked as her grandmother overtook her.

"Oh my, did I just hear you two are the sitters for Mr. Rogers?" She squinted at them through her glasses. "Well, I must say, you're both just as lovely as I thought you'd be."

"Yes, they are quite beautiful," said a man likely on his third glass of champagne.

"I wonder if they'd pose for me," one woman muttered to the man next to her.

"If they do, I get them next.," he replied.

At least a dozen people had crowded around them. Bucky and Jane were at the center of the mob while Steve was pushed farther away from them. Flashes went off as someone took pictures. Bucky had dealt with this while in the ring, so he knew how to shut himself off to ogling fans and nosy reporter types. Jane was not as well prepared. An introvert by nature, she all but hid her face in Bucky's coat as he took the brunt of the assault.

"Do you plan to model for him again?" someone asked.

"That's up to Steve," Bucky answered like a pro.

"Have you ever discussed with him your interpretation of his work?"

"Sometimes. We should really-"

"It must be great having friends who will model for you whenever you want," someone said. "I'm stuck paying professionals and most of them kind of suck. You can tell how much Rogers likes these guys from the way he draws them. He might even love them a little."

Steve ran. He might've cracked under the pressure long ago, but only now could he get himself moving. As he headed for the door, he tried not to be too obvious about it. Nobody saw his colorless cheeks or sweat lined brow. A waiter started to ask him if he needed anything, but Steve ignored him, mumbling an apology even he could barely hear.

It was a warm night out. The parking lot was nearly full. If he wanted to leave, he'd be looking for his car until sunrise. He stood on the sidewalk catching his breath. Inside, it was so loud, he could hear it through the cracks in the walls. So much laughing and talking. Talking about him?

The pavement curved around the building. There was a small rock garden in the corner with a metal bench dedicated to the school's first department head. Steve sat on top of the plaque, leaning as far back as he could without falling over.

"Goddamn," he muttered. He took as deep a breath as he could until his lungs were ready to explode. "Goddammit…"

A fresh sprig of rockcress had bloomed, coating the wall in purple. Someone had strung up lights, bathing the garden in a yellowish glow. A fountain would look nice here. Flowing waters to calm his nerves and ease the ache in his skull. Make him feel like himself again. It had been far too long.

"Steve!"

Bucky and Jane were running toward him. The buttons on his jacket were undone and she was wobbling on her heels. It looked like they'd had some trouble escaping their adoring fanbase. Jane didn't even bother to lift her dress as she ran. Now the hem would get dirty.

"There you are," Bucky said. "For a second, I thought you'd left us to the wolves."

Steve's mouth twitched. "You know, I think I kind of did."

"Yeah, but we forgive you," Jane smiled. "Couldn't blame you for wanting out of there."

He pulled his knees together as they sat down. For the second time that night, he was caught between them. They were outside in an open space and he could get up and walk away without any trouble, but it still felt impossible.

"So this is what being a famous artist is like," Bucky observed. "You had any art enthusiasts throw their underwear at you yet?"

Steve closed his eyes. "You always have to bring it back around to sex, don't you?"

"Not always," Bucky said, deeply offended. "Sometimes I bring it back to boxing. Or science. Or what a moron you are. All three are equally valid topics of discussion."

This would be the part where Steve rolled his eyes or called Bucky an asshole or even challenged him to a fight. Then Jane would laugh and tell them to stop trying to be macho. Bucky would pout and get a kiss. Steve would pout and get a friendly pat on the back. They'd go home and go to sleep, and tomorrow they'd do it all again.

Until one day, they wouldn't.

"I wonder if this is what Paris will be like," he murmured.

Bucky shrugged. "You won't know until you get there, but if those cheese lovers are as smart as everyone says, they're gonna love you."

A beat passed, and then Steve whistled. "An entire sentence and not one insult. It's a miracle."

Before Bucky could correct his mistake, Jane silenced him with a look. "He's right, though. They'll love you, just like everyone here loves you."

Steve glanced at the window, which was luckily empty for now. "I think that was more you guys."

"Nah," Bucky waved him off. "We're just the pretty faces. You're the real talent here, and if France doesn't see that, fuck 'em. I like Rome better anyway."

"I like Dublin," said Jane.

"Dublin is good, too. And Prague. I hear great things about Prague."

It was amazing how they did that. They made all the toughest decisions in life sound like choosing what shirt to wear in the morning. "Let me make a final decision before you guys plan our big European tour."

"Well, if we don't, you might never decide," Bucky said. "I swear, Steve, I don't know what you'd do without us."

He chuckled. So did Jane. Steve tried to, but numbness had spread from his toes to the top of his head. Staring at a single flower, he was all but immobile, his jaw hanging open, his eyes clouding. It wasn't the first time this had happened to him. Sometimes, when he was done drawing for the day and Bucky and Jane were about to leave, he'd sit on his stool and stare at the canvas. The sketch might be rough or messy or destined for the garbage can. Whatever it would become, in that moment, it was perfect. The only time he could let his feelings out. The only time he could say it.

"I do need you."

His voice was in his ears like an echo. It seemed to carry for miles. Everyone had heard him. The guests, his friends from class, his family back home. Bucky and Jane.

They had gone completely still.

Steve couldn't look at them as his chest grew heavy. The weight of those four words held him down, crushing his ribcage and flattening his lungs. The party was winding down, or at least he'd finally learned how to block it out. All he heard was the distant rattling of a car engine and their steady breathing.

He fought through the haze and then he was walking. There was nowhere to go but all the way around the building and then back inside to be accosted by more well-meaning but detached school figureheads. It suddenly didn't sound so bad.

"Steve."

That was Jane, or so he assumed. Strange to think he couldn't differentiate. "I'm fine."

They were in front of him. He couldn't go any further. He could turn around, but they'd be there.

"Hey," Bucky said. "You can't just leave us hanging like that. What are you doing?"

"I'm fine," Steve said again.

"That doesn't answer my question. And clearly, no, you are not fine."

"I am." Steve swallowed. Whenever he used to imagine this moment, he always thought his heart would be pounding. It wasn't. He couldn't feel it at all. "I shouldn't have said that."

"Why not?" asked Jane. "What did you mean?"

He stared back into her doe brown eyes. All the wonder innate to her scientist nature gathered into a single look.

"I meant…" he licked his lips with a dry tongue. "I meant I was wrong. I used to think I could capture your souls. But I never could, and I never will."

"Steve," Bucky said, exactly the way he always wished he'd say it. What a fucking bitter irony.

"I can't be what you are," he said, backing away. "I can't have what you have. It's too much for me. You're both just… too perfect."

He started to walk. After the first few steps, it was easy. Soon there was only the dull throbbing in his chest to worry about. It would linger for days, if not weeks or months. Maybe he'd feel it for the rest of his life as he poured his pain into his work. He'd become one of the great contemporary artists fueled by heartache and regret. Years from now, students would fervently debate why he chose gray instead of pink or why he suddenly stopped drawing couples after college.

Or maybe Bucky would grab him and whirl him around. "Steve, you are a fucking idiot."

Kissing Bucky was like fire. In high school, girls would whisper about which of the boys they thought was the best kisser. Steve, a late bloomer until senior year, was never on the list. Bucky always topped it. Most of them would never get a chance to find out for themselves, but the rumors abounded. Now, Steve moved his lips in sync with Bucky's, poking at his tongue and clenching his fingers around rock-hard muscles, and he could confirm it was very much true.

Bucky's hands found his neck. He pulled Steve's closer, effortlessly dominating the kiss. His teeth scraped Steve's bottom lip, his tongue sweeping every available surface. Steve couldn't fight him if he wanted to. When they broke apart, he felt like he had never truly breathed in his life. He sucked in air, and it smelled like Bucky.

But then there was Jane, in her purple dress with the ruined hem, watching her beloved make out with his best friend. There wasn't a trace of anger on her face. Not even surprise.

"You," Steve choked. His tongue was in a knot. "Is this you sharing?"

She smiled at him just like Bucky did. "If I am, then so is he."

Kissing Jane was like a dream. Like finding water after a drought. She was lighter than air compared to Bucky and Steve lifted her off the ground to give her better reach. Her body was soft yet her hands were firm as she ran them through his hair. They took it slow at first, finding the right rhythm before Jane's lips parted. She moaned into his mouth and he nearly lost his mind. So many times he'd drawn her, every slope and curve that her day clothes hid. To think, he used to content himself with just that.

"Wow," he breathed.

Jane held his hand as he let her down. Bucky took the other one.

"Yeah," she said. "Wow."

If there was ever a moment Steve wanted to draw, it was this. The three of them holding hands, forming a circle, bathed in moonlight. Happiness he never thought possible overwhelming him. It was all he could do not to cry. He squeezed their hands, laughing when Bucky tried to nudge him and couldn't quite make it. Jane's head was on his arm. She sighed like she never wanted to move from this spot, even though those heels had to be killing her.

The sheer simplicity of this moment was its true beauty, and when Steve returned to his studio, he'd have a million thoughts of how to capture it on paper.

He'd never draw a single one of them. This moment was theirs.

---

Freshmen

"Are you sure?" Steve rubbed his forehead as the woman on the other end rambled. "Yes, okay I… yes, I know it's an emergency. I'm not mad, I'm just… no, it's fine. I can find someone else. Thank you. Thank-"

The call abruptly ended, leaving him with dead air. He dropped his phone. It didn't break, but he kind of wished it had. He groaned and lowered his head to the table. The smell of hamburger meat and fries wafted in his nose but he wasn't hungry anymore.

Bucky was almost finished with his own burger when he noticed Steve's distress. "Problem?"

"My models just canceled on me," Steve muttered. "Something urgent came up."

Jane, munching away on a chicken sandwich, furrowed her brow. "Do you think she's lying?"

"No, it's not that," he said, digging the base of his hands into his eyes. "I just really don't need this right now. The semester is half over and I feel like I haven't done anything worthwhile."

"Didn't you paint an entire ocean scene in two days last month?" Bucky asked.

Said painting was currently hanging on the wall of his studio with a glowing B minus. It was Steve's new inspiration. That is, it inspired him never to be so generic and lazy again. What the hell was wrong with him anyway, mixing that shade of blue with black? Jesus...

"Yeah, I guess I did," he said, putting on a brave face. "Don't pay attention to me. I just like to complain."

"That I already knew." Bucky raised a drink to him and easily dodged when Steve flicked a french fry in his face. "If it helps, I'm really pissed at Jack Rollins today. Did I tell you about him?"

"I don't think so," Steve said.

"He's this asshole I'm going to destroy after I get done with Brock Rumlow next month." Bucky rolled his shoulders. "Anyway, he was hogging the best punching bag all day yesterday and then he ripped it. I had to use a spare from the back room. Fucking shithead…"

That sounded exactly like what Steve was dealing with. Actually, it was kind of funny.

"I got in an argument with a classmate about the partial impact theory if that counts," said Jane.

"Only if you crushed them with facts," Steve grinned.

Jane made a token effort to appear blase, but her smirk shone through. "I may have broken his brain a little bit."

Bucky hugged her and kissed her cheek. He didn't seem to care about the mayonnaise stains around her lips at all. "What you guys need is a vacation," he said. "I think we all do."

Jane hummed. "My uncle is giving a speech at the Smithsonian in July. I bet he could get us tickets."

"A whole weekend in DC?" Bucky asked.

"Let me guess," Steve snorted. "You were hoping for Hawaii."

"If you knew what Jane looked like in a bikini, you would agree with me."

Jane rolled her eyes, squealing as Bucky grabbed her. The waitress walked by and Steve thought about calling her over. He didn't think those two would be finishing their meals today. A better man would've looked away, and Steve almost did. Then the light caught on Jane's hair and streaked across Bucky's skin. The resulting colors were beyond what Steve could describe with words. He suddenly wished he had a pencil.

"Thanks for cheering me up, guys," he said, pushing his last, lonely fry into the ketchup, "now I just need to figure out where to get some new models."

He nibbled on the fry until it was gone. When he raised his head, Bucky and Jane were whispering. Their eyes flicked briefly in his direction, but they didn't stop. Whatever Bucky was saying, Jane was clearly unsure of it. He took her hand, brushing her knuckles in a way Steve knew she liked. After a moment, she nodded, and they broke their huddle.

"If you're up for it, Steve," Bucky said, "we have an idea."

---

Juniors

Steve loved airports. He hated them, too.

They were perfect for an artist on the go looking for interesting things to draw. Already he'd spotted a man walking seven Pitbulls, a woman playing the bongos, and a pair of identical twins in matching dresses playing with identical Nintendo switches. If his sketchbooks weren't all stored in his checked bags, he'd be sketching right now. All he had in his carry-on bag was a paperback book and a tiny notepad without a should've packed smarter than this, but in his defense, he'd been in a hurry that morning.

He watched the screen, counting down the minutes before boarding. He was in group nine, the last group to board. That would give him plenty of time to hold Bucky and Jane's hand like a toddler, watching couples and family members alike hug their loved ones goodbye with tears in their eyes. This was what he hated about airports. The arrivals were nice, but the departures stuck with him.

"This is it," he muttered, sitting up straighter. "I'm really doing this."

Jane looked at him. "Are you nervous?"

"Not as much as before," Steve said. "Not as much as last night anyway."

"You were tossing and turning a lot," Bucky said, rubbing his neck like he was actually in pain.

Steve elbowed him. "I didn't hear you complaining. You seemed to like that I couldn't sleep."

"I'm a man, I can't help it," Bucky declared.

The flight attendant had the microphone, but she hadn't turned it on. Another employee was talking to her. If it turned into a long discussion and delayed takeoff for a few minutes, that wouldn't be so bad.

"Did you get the key to your apartment?" Jane asked.

"The landlady will have it for me when I arrive," Steve said.

"And did you remember to pack enough clothes?"

"I counted them this morning."

"Do you still have that French phrasebook I gave you?"

"Always and forever." He whipped it out of his pocket, showing off the many marked pages.

Jane rewarded him with a kiss. It was quick and her mouth stayed closed, but Steve's whole body tingled. He didn't think that feeling would ever go away and he didn't want it to.

"It's going to be great," Jane said, kissing his hand. "You'll be great."

Steve hugged her tight. "I know."

"Quit hogging," Bucky snapped, grabbing Steve himself.

The man with the dogs was staring at them in confusion and a little disgust. Steve gave him a friendly wave as the intercom turned on. "Attention passengers, we will now begin boarding Flight 3668, non-stop to Paris. At this time, group one is welcome to board. I repeat: group one is welcome to board."

She had barely completed the announcement before group two was up. Then groups three and four. At group five, Steve stood. He waited at the end of the line, his stomach sinking as the number climbed higher.

"A twelve-hour flight," Bucky said. "Hope you don't get bored."

"I doubt it," Steve said as group seven joined the line. "I'm more worried about you guys being without me until January."

"Now there's cause for concern," Jane snickered.

Bucky put an arm around Steve, a rare tear leaking out of his eye. "I don't know what we ever did without you."

Their foreheads touched as Jane hugged Steve from behind. He could get lost like this in the warmth they radiated. Part of him wanted to demand they go home now, get in bed, and never come out, but then the flight attendant's voice rang out.

"Group nine, you are welcome to board. All groups are now welcome to board."

The line was moving too fast. Jane and Bucky set up a perimeter around him, not letting anyone else near.

"Call as soon as you get in," Jane said, "I don't care what time it is."

"I care," Bucky piped in, "but you can call us anyway."

"Ticket please?" the flight attendant said, eyeing Bucky and Jane as they hugged Steve one more time and backed away.

"Remember, the second you land!" Jane called out.

"And write us every day or I'm coming over there to punch your lights out," said Bucky.

As the woman scanned his boarding pass, Steve kept his eyes on them. He mouthed three words and they mouthed them back.

Walking down the ramp, he heard the door close behind him. It made him wince, but it lacked the finality he once feared it would. His bag wasn't as heavy either. He carried it with ease down the aisle to his seat. It was a window seat just like he'd hoped. The businessman in the aisle seat stood up to let him through. As the plane taxied out, he watched the airport shrink behind them. If he looked closely, he could see the outline of a man and woman, hands joined as they watched him go. They'd be standing in that same spot four months from now, ready to bring him home for good.

"Got someone to see you off?" the businessman asked.

Steve smiled. "Yes, I do."

He pushed his seat back and closed his eyes, allowing the hum of the engine to lull him off to sleep.