while you sleep | bucky barnes x reader

chapter three

Okay -- that little pep talk you had given yourself was slowly dying as you walked into work the next day. Suddenly, nervousness was replacing it all, washing over you quickly.

You didn't exactly know what to say. The extent of conversation you'd ever had with Steve was reserved to you saying "here's your order" and he'd promptly respond with that shining smile and the most meaningful thank you.

Bringing up the fact his ex-assassin best friend was your long-lost was just not... coffee shop chatter.

You were trying to ponder it during the morning rush. Mindlessly making lattes and frappes, you worked on some kind of script that could be thrown together. Your thoughts were interrupted by the bell over the door ringing. This wasn't unusual giving it being early morning but for some reason your eyes shot up — landing right on the man you were anticipating.

As always, he looked so casual yet so large waiting in the back of the line. Eyes wandered over him shamelessly but Steve genuinely didn't seem to notice. He kept his eyes forward, browsing the menu as if he ever got anything but a large black coffee. You just knew it because, well, it was the easiest order you ever served up. Like the world giving you a break.

Knowing his order brought some advantage for you. Since he was one of the few people actually ordering straight-up coffee in the morning -- the show was quite frequented by college students and young entrepreneurs -- you simply didn't start the coffee pot that morning. Your plan was to start it right after he ordered giving him a wait time of about thirty minutes. Possibly annoying for him, a great chance for you. He'd be forced to wait at the bar and you could chat. Chat about what, though, you still didn't know. You couldn't exactly dive in.

But you weren't given much more time to plan. Steve was at the cashier before you knew it. You waited, watched as he paid, and then clicked the coffee pot on.

You walked over to the pick-up area. "Sorry," you said. Steve turned to you. "It's going to be a few minutes. I had to put on a new pot of coffee but you're welcome to wait at the bar area."

Steve gave you a small smile. "That's fine," he said and made his way to a stool. Your plan was rolling out perfectly. Now if you could only figure where to take it from here.

You leaned against the counter, watching the pot brew and waiting for another order to come through. Secretly you had hoped some big, ridiculous latte request would come in but so far the customers and seemed to die down. You couldn't do much but stand across from Steve who was looking around at the decor.

The machine was about halfway full when you finally decided to open your mouth to at least say something -- but Steve beat you to it, cutting your words completely in shock.

"Is everything okay?" He asked. Your eyes widened.

"Excuse me?"

"Sorry," Steve coughed and readjusted his posture. "I just meant, you look like something is bothering you. Are you okay?"

You couldn't do this today, you realized. Your brain suddenly went on a mission finding some lie to pop out.

"Yeah, yeah," you dismissed his comment with a wave of your hand. "I- I Just... Didn't sleep well last night."

Alright. Your lie suddenly was dripping with subconscious truth. You cringed at your own words, rubbing your forehead with two fingers. This was the dumbest idea you had ever had and now you were forced to see it out as the coffee pot suddenly felt like it was brewing at half-speed.

"Oh," Steve frowned but leaned forward, a bit intrigued. "Unpleasant dreams?"

You sighed, "You could say that."

"Were they from..." His words trailed off unusually. The discussion of soulmates was wildly an accepted one. Some bonding or eager to tell one another, typically in hopes that one could lead them to their significant other.

Steve, however, seemed leerie about the subject. You were certainly in the same boat about it. That let you relax just ever so slightly.

"My soulmate?" You blurted out the question. Steve nodded, slowly. "Yeah, they were. He... he hasn't seen very nice things in his lifetime."

It felt so weird talking about Steve's best friend while Steve most likely knew nothing about who you were referring to. It was like a giant weight in the conversation for you. You wanted to blurt it out, wanted to maybe meet your other half and just see what everything was about, see who he really is but it felt so heavy on your chest.

Steve sighed, his gaze dropping to his hands that were resting on the counter. "No, I don't think he has."

Your stomach dropped. Did -- Was he -- Did he know who you were talking about? Steve no longer would meet your gaze but your eyes grew wide again in possible realization. Or maybe you were just being absolutely paranoid. Perhaps he didn't even hear that and you misheard him --

DING. The coffee machine rang making you jump in surprise. You forgot for a second where the hell you two even were. Steve's eyes fell on you again but you quickly turned to the coffee, refusing to let him see your blushing, flustered state.

He knew, he had to know, or at least he guessed. But how could he know? Steve wasn't in yesterday, he wouldn't have witnessed your panic. Did your co-worker tell him? When the hell would she have done that? Maybe... Maybe Bucky knew... What did he know then of you? And if he did, why wasn't he here? Steve knew you so what was happening...

Your mind was a maze. A painful, winding maze. You could feel yourself trying to make it through the thoughts and theories but nothing was working. You forced yourself to push it all down, just for the rest of your shift.

Continuing on, you quickly filled Steve's to-go cup and placed it on the counter. He didn't take it right away, opting to stare at it for a second. You pretended not to notice and instead began grinding espresso beans for a latte order that came in.

"It'll get better," Steve said, making your motions still completely. Such a simple thing that could mean so much. Was he offering comfort? A taunt? Your brain was back at it again.

You forced yourself to look up, wanting so badly to say just one more thing, maybe even plead and confess it all, but he was already gone. You felt like crying as you went back to brewing the beans. That unmistakable, inescapable tinge of heartache filled your chest once again.

***

It'll get better. Steve's words ring in your head tauntingly as you laid in bed that night. Staring at the ceiling, you had been trying to fall asleep for over an hour now hoping this "better" Steve spoke of was right around the corner.

So far, though, no luck. Tonight's flicks were of an older kind, thankfully still not as powerful as the more modern ones, but the images didn't get any better. They were fading, sure, but violence and bodies, a horrendous combination produced horrendous results. The feelings behind it went straight to your soul.

You gave up even trying to decide what the hell this memory could've been from. You didn't want to register the potential victim's faces. You didn't care about the scenery and whatnot.

The better had not come yet — whatever the hell that actually was which Steve had promised.

He knew something. Something very deep and useful for this situation. It was laced in his words and written on his concerned face. Or maybe you were going crazy.

The more you thought about it, the less it all made sense.

There was just that hope you were able to go off of now. That hope of "better." That hope of fate.

Hope was your only weapon against the heart wrenching memories flooding their way into your brain as your eyes were forced to give in, too heavy and defeated from today.

It was maybe all you had at this point. The whiplash of life was certainly throwing you a new one.