haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

009. the nightmares

NINE—THE NIGHTMARES
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BUCKY STARED AT me. After a second, he shook his head. "No thanks," he answered my request.

"Why not?" I said, crossing my arms with an eyebrow raised. "It'll be fun. Besides, it's like I said: if we're going to be stuck together for a while, it doesn't hurt to spend time with each other."

His eyes were dark as he looked down, "I'd rather not."

I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth that his words caused. Trying to ignore it, I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear, thinking of an adequate response. But he beat me to it.

"I didn't mean it," he rushed, "not like that." Shifting his weight on his feet, he looked down at the floor again.

"Then what did you mean?" I asked, trying--and failing--to act as if the cutting words hadn't hit me. When he shook his head slightly, I huffed, "Oh, right, that's too personal, isn't it? I'm not allowed to ask you anything that requires you to say more than three words, is that it?"

His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched. "I don't want to talk about it," he said slowly.

Rolling my eyes, I gestured to the couch. "Fine, let's just forget about it for now. But I'm not going to treat you like a fragile piece of glass, remember?" Nodding, I retreated to the couch, reaching for the remote. It only took a few moments for him to follow my lead, carefully sitting down on the other end, as far away as he could get from me.

There wasn't really anything on the TV, to my dismay. It seemed like tonight was going to be just another failed attempt to spend time with Bucky.

Why does it even matter, El? A scornful voice interrupted my thoughts. It's not like he's going to be here for the rest of his life. One day he'll go back to Steve, his lifelong friend, and leave you alone, letting you think that maybe he wasn't aware of how you looked at him, and that you had to spend so much time getting over him—

But wait, that wasn't Bucky. It was Sam that left me.

Even so, my confused mind continued, he's not like Sam. He's done things that Sam wouldn't even think of doing...right? He's...murdered people. Done the unthinkable.

Unconsciously, I shifted further away from the one-armed man beside me, the arm of the couch sticking into my ribs. I held back a grimace. We probably looked like a couple of exes that were forced to sit next to each other after having broken up only an hour ago. The inevitable discomfort on our faces must have been comical.

When I dared to glance over at him, though, he had his head down again. This time, instead of letting his hair cascade down in front of his face, obscuring his sharp jawline from view, he'd threaded the strands carefully behind his ear, leaving his strong profile on display. His jaw sported the beginnings of a dark brown beard from days of neglect. His nose was long and pointed, a strengthening feature that gave his face a sort of defiance to  it. But even as I saw his strength, the softness to his lips didn't escape my gaze. They were fuller than I remembered, their light pink shade bright in the darkness of the living room.

I wonder what it would be like, to scrape my palm against his jaw, to follow the slope of his nose with my fingertip, to curl my hands in his brown locks, to feel the swell of his lips against—

Stop. No. This is no time for childish fantasies, El, I scolded myself, clearing my mind of its sinful thoughts.

Besides, he'd noticed by now. And he was staring back at me, for what felt like the millionth time since he got here. So I flashed a sheepish smile, feeling my cheeks burn from the embarrassment of being caught. Turning my attention back to the TV, I flicked through the channels in pursuit of something, anything to get my mind off of his confusing self.