This Is Stella's Reality

August 14, 2015

I hummed along to the radio as my knife roughly chopped cloves of garlic and my magic floated them over to a pan of sizzling garlic.

Parisian streets bustled beneath the kitchen window, but suddenly they weren't there anymore, then they were as the portal door moved around. I turned towards it just as Steve walked in. His face was downturned in a deep frown as he made his way over to me.

"Hello, love," I said sweetly, hoping to cheer him up. "What's the matter with you?"

He sighed and wrapped his arms around me and rested his cheek on my head. "Nothing," he mumbled. "I don't want to talk about it."

I laughed, "Well, is nothing wrong or is something wrong, but you don't want to talk about it?"

"The second one," he sighed as he stepped away from me and held my shoulders. His eyes glossed over my face, and a small smile pulled at the corners of his lips. "I'm happy to finally be back home; I don't want to drag work behind me."

"If you change your mind, you know I'd love to listen," I said simply as I turned back to the dinner I was cooking.

Steve lingered behind me, knowing I didn't want his help since he was not even remotely near being a decent cook. But he still wanted to be helpful, so I humored him and asked him to fetch various things for me.

Oh, could you snip some basil from the balcony? I believe there's heavy cream on the left shelf of the refrigerator, can you hand it to me? I could use those muscles of your's to open this.

He did it all eagerly, and I smiled every time I caught him restlessly waiting for my next request. "Bucky went to the store, would you mind helping him put away the groceries when he comes back?"

"Of course," Steve said quickly. "Do you want wine? Can I pour you some?"

I laughed, "Sure, darling, but only if you'll drink with me."

"I could use it after the fucking week I've had," he sighed. His voice sounded so tired. I felt the droop of his shoulders and the weight of his eyelids.

He handed me a wine glass, smiling softly as the dimming sunlight caught the blonde of his hair. He glowed like a mirror pointed at the sky. Golden and glittering in our quaint kitchen.

We clinked our drinks together and drank. The wine was sweet, rich and nicely aged. Our pantries were always stocked with quality goods, a perk of magic I suppose.

My mind tingled suddenly. Bucky was walking down the street and carrying a paper bag of groceries. Bread, some sweets Bucky craved, and some miscellaneous things.

"Bucky's coming," I said absently, remembering that Steve was beside me and watching the faraway expression on my face. I blinked back and looked at the pasta sauce I was stirring.

Steve grinned and set his wine glass down, practically skipping to the front door and flying down the steps.

From the kitchen window, I could see Bucky whistling and adjusting the bag in his arm as he moved to open the door to our building. Steve met him there, opening his arms wide as Bucky nearly threw the groceries to the ground and flung himself against Steve.

They were both smiling, and I could hear their roaring laughter and loud talking all the way from our second-floor flat. I smiled, watching them embrace and kiss each other over and over.

The sun and the moon meeting again, rising into each other's arms.

Their boisterous voices carried up the steps and filled the flat as they made their way inside.