Only the Good Die Young

Chapter Eleven

Your parents' voices only faded into the distance once the two of you had turned the corner. You couldn't help periodically glancing over your shoulder, convinced that you'd eventually catch sight of a sprinting, fiercely angry, middle-aged bitch wielding a modestly heeled shoe in one hand while her golden crucifix pendant slapped against her sunken chest. Your mother would make a damn good horror movie villain.

Bucky was quiet. You didn't sense any anger from him, he wasn't squeezing your hand particularly tight or stomping his boots against the ground any harder than usual, he just seemed deep in thought. Was this... progress?

He unlocked the street-level door and hoisted both of your suitcases up the stairs, disappearing into the darkness at the top before you'd even had a chance to cross the threshold. By the time you'd made it into the apartment, your clothes were littered all over the place and he was yanking a pair of your best underwear up over his jeans.

"The hell are you doing?"

"I like these."

"Yeah? It's a shame you've stretched them beyond all recognition, then."

"I didn't mean on you."

You gave him an unimpressed frown and moved to snatch them off him, but he was a slippery little fucker when he wanted to be, making you chase him around the front room for a good ten minutes before you managed to get a decent grip on your property. They were pretty much unusable by this point, but it was a matter of principle.

You were pretty shocked at how good a mood he seemed to be in. You'd expected fireworks, maybe an hour-long tirade about how much of a fuckin' asshole your dad was and how he should'a laid him out on his own lawn, but it almost seemed like he'd forgotten the whole ordeal. Maybe he didn't see the old man as enough of a challenge for a full-on brawl? Or maybe he'd finally realised that it just wasn't worth it? Whatever the reason was, you weren't about to question it.

You debated properly unpacking all your clothes but eventually reasoned that you were moving soon, so there was really no point putting the extra strain on Bucky's rickety old wardrobe that could barely manage the weight of his three t-shirts and two pairs of jeans. Instead, you spent the next couple of hours tangled up with him on the couch. It was so nice just being able to relax and decompress after such a shitty situation, usually you'd be arguing or cleaning his wounds. Hopefully this would be the new norm.

You were slowly drifting off, letting the stress of the day melt from your body, when Buck unceremoniously jolted you back to consciousness by jumping up and proclaiming his next great idea.

"Alright," he started to pace, "there's gotta be somewhere nice in this stinking town. I'm gonna take you out on a proper date."

"A proper date?"

"Yeah, somewhere fancy. S'about time I treat you how you deserve to be treated."

"You don't have to do that, Buck. I'm happy with takeout on the couch."

"I know you are, but you gotta let me spoil you sometimes."

A warm, sleepy smile spread across your face. "Sounds good."

"You're damn right it does," he reached out an arm, abruptly dragging you off the couch and towards the bedroom, "c'mon, let's get you dressed."

***

You kept trying to guess your destination from the route Bucky was taking but you came up blank, the only time you'd ever been to this part of town was when you were fourteen and your dad brought you along to collect a life-sized, wooden virgin Mary statue that he'd bought from a seedy guy at church. The creepy fucking thing stood at the bottom of the garden for years before termites finally hollowed her out and made her crumble like Sodom and Gomorrah.