The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Fifty seven

The first thing I'm aware of when I come to is that I'm warm. Warmer than usual - cozy even. I don't open my eyes, too comfortable to care what time of day it is, and instead snuggle deeper into the mattress.

Except when I shuffle, what I'm lying on doesn't give way like I'm expecting it to, instead my head presses into something solid, something definitely not pillow like. But while it's not as soft as I thought it would be, it's not uncomfortable.

Mildly confused, my brain works half heartedly for an explanation that's just out of reach, one I could easily obtain if I'd just open my eyes. But I don't, the will power escaping me.

I haven't felt this contented in years, and something tells me that as soon as I realise the cognisance that's hovering above me, the moment will be ruined.

Taking in a deep breath, a familiar scent fills my nose as I turn over.

Or try to; something stops me. I try again with the same result.

Begrudgingly, I finally open my eyes. There is an arm wrapped around my waist.

My heart picks up as I look at the limb, the pale flesh looking smooth and muscular buried there in the sheets as it snakes around my middle. I stare at it for a moment in utter shock, my still sleep filled brain lagging in its efforts to work out how the hell someone got into my bed, and more importantly, who the hell they are.

Cautiously, I follow the arm up it's toned length to a broad shoulder, taking note of a mass of brown hair before I finally focus on the face just inches from mine.

Bucky.

The events of last night come rushing back in one huge wave, realisation crashing mercilessly through my mind and flooding every neurone. The memory of Bucky's head tucked against my chest as he sobs is burnt into my brain, along with the feeling of falling asleep in his arms, my cheek on his chest.

He's not in my bed, oh no. I'm in his.

I glance at his face again, taking in his soft features that aren't forming a scowl for once. He looks so peaceful when he sleeps. Beautiful even.

His arm twitches against me, drawing my attention to the pale skin of his limb, the muscle evident beneath it even now. I have a sudden urge to touch it, to run my fingers along the surface to see if it's as well built as I think it is. I want to know how his skin feels, if it's as soft as I image it to be.

But then I realise what I'm thinking and swallow hard, shaking the thoughts away.

I shouldn't feel like that, I can't.

But I feel safe with him.

And suddenly I'm overwhelmed with both the unfamiliar feeling gushing in my stomach and the intense fear I feel in reaction to it. The only things I can think of are the conflicting emotions confusing my brain until I can't think at all.

All I know is I need to get out of here. Especially before he wakes up.

If my brain is scattered now, how the hell am I going to cope with those two blue eyes studying my every move, taking in each and every tiny action and reaction my body makes?

I need to be able to form a coherent thought, and I can't do that around Bucky. Even if he's only asleep. Just lying there. With his arm around me...

Stop.

The only problem now is leaving the room without rousing him. But it's a problem I can focus my erratic thoughts on, so in a way I'm grateful for it.

I sit up excruciatingly slowly, being careful not to make any big movements as I slide into a sitting position. I pause momentarily, evaluating my options on how best to A. Remove his arm and B. Climb over him to get off the bed. I would have to be on the side of him furthest from the door.