“Shit,” Sam says, staring at the thin golden ring on his finger. He blinks quickly, like he’s pushing through it all: the hangover, the too-bright sunlight, the pure insanity of this moment. Bucky watches the dark curl of his eyelashes, staring for just a second too long.
Sam blinks again, then starts to laugh. “Shit. Well, I guess we’ll have to file for annulment.”
And maybe it’s the leftover buzz of the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way that Sam has started to feel like safety to him, but something makes Bucky blurt it out; he clears his throat and says, “Yeah, or we could just stay married.”
[Sam, Bucky, and a long road to peace.]