haven ; 𝐛. 𝐛𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬 , 𝟏

012. just checking in

TWELVE—JUST CHECKING IN
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"LEAVE IT ALONE, it looks fine," I rolled my eyes at his constant movements to adjust the way his freshly trimmed locks fell on his broad shoulders. "It's gonna grow back in, like, two weeks."

Standing in the kitchen, he stayed near the edge of the kitchen, closer to the hallway and watched as I made grilled cheese sandwiches for the both of us. Though I turned my back away from him, I could still feel his brilliant blue eyes on me as the sandwiches sizzled on the frying pan. 

"I haven't gotten a haircut for seventy years," he replied. "Forgive me for being a little attached to my hair."

I set down the spatula and turned to face him, crossing my arms with a growing smirk on my lips. "Was that a joke?"

He didn't reply, but his mouth turned up at the corners, setting a flurry of butterflies loose in my gut. Stop letting your hormones act up, I cursed myself silently.

I wasn't sure when his eyes became so bright all of a sudden, or when his glimmer of a smirk became a necessity in the day, or when his mere presence became so comforting. Perhaps it was that little, seemingly empty sentence he uttered only an hour before.

You deserve better than that.

He obviously didn't realize how significant those words were to me, as he'd just gone on with his day, quiet as usual. But I couldn't stop looking at him. 

Perhaps he was more than what the past made him out to be. Perhaps.

When I finished the sandwiches, I reached into the refrigerator to pour each of us a glass of milk but came up empty. "Looks like we're having water," I mumbled to myself, hearing my father's disappointed voice in the back of my head, telling me that a job, any job, was a necessity to living alone with no one to provide for me. Shrugging off the memory, I grabbed two glasses and filled them with water from the sink. 

Sometimes I wondered how I was still able to pay the bills just off of what I managed to save throughout my life.

As I sat down at the kitchen table with our measly meal, Bucky raised his eyebrows. "What?"

Scowling, I grumbled, "Sorry it's not a five-star gourmet meal made by Gordon Ramsay." When his face scrunched into an expression of confusion, I waved a hand in dismissal. "Never mind."

He shook his head and began eating but I didn't touch my food, unable to let it go. 

"It's not like I haven't had jobs before," I said, "I just prefer living off of the plants I grow. There's nothing wrong with that."

Bucky looks up at me in mid-bite, a string of melted cheese swaying from his lips to the sandwich. His eyes flick away from mine, staring in question around the room, obviously unsure of how to react.

"Right?" I continued, picking up my sandwich. "I'm just independent. I don't need anybody's help."

He nodded, swallowing before saying anything. "If it helps you sleep at night."

I rolled my eyes. "I wasn't looking for any sass from you, Barnes," I mumbled, taking a bite. A few seconds passed in silence. "Sorry. I didn't mean to bring you into any of my daddy issues."

Bucky shrugged. "Everyone's got issues. Don't apologize for it."

I grinned softly. "You know, you're really wise when you're not...brooding."