The ghosts we hide (Winter Soldier x OC)

Fifty eight

Guess who's back bitches 😎

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His blue gaze is simultaneously captivating and enthralling, igniting my stomach with both butterflies that dance in a flurry of excitement and a blazing trepidation that burns close to fear.

Not fear of him - I stopped fearing him a long time ago.

No. Fear of what I feel for him.

Neither of us moves, we just stand, staring as the world spins slowly around us. But as more time wears on, the nerves in my stomach start to consume my body inch by inch.

What am I going to say to him?

The sound of his voice gives me a few more seconds to decide.

"You left."

His statement is a simple one, yet I spend what feels like an age trying to decipher his features and read how he's feeling. As far as I can tell, there is no anger or hidden malice there, only a light humour and something heavier, hidden.

I let out a sigh, catching his eye again as I bite the inside of my lip.

"I stayed long enough."

He quirks an eyebrow at this, a small smile tugging at one corner of his lips as he folds his arms across his chest. It takes more strength than I'd like to admit not to admire the muscles that ripple during the movement.

"You could have stayed longer." He shrugs.

"I needed some air."

Bucky's eyes bore into my own, causing my cheeks to ignite with embarrassment until I can no longer bear the heat and am forced to look away. Swallowing down a lump, I turn again to the punch bag now hanging limply at my side.

I'm aware of my every tiny movement as I swing my hand back for another punch, too preoccupied with the suddenly awkward feeling of my limbs to care that my knuckles are screaming in protest. The bag swings backwards on its chain, travelling a decent distance in the air to showcase the power in my hit.

I can still feel his eyes on me, following every tiny move as I punch again, trying and completely failing to block his presence out.

He's just a man; I kill men.

So why do I feel so nervous?

I try my best to block out my whirlwind of emotions and my erratic heart as I focus on my powerful hits against the bag. Despite the situation, it feels good to be able to exert my frustrations on a lump of sand and plastic.

The bag starts to jump wildly on its chains again as I punch harder and harder, my paranoia from being watched fuelling every muscle in my body, making me hyper aware of each movement. I'm sure he's watching me, I just don't know exactly where he is anymore.

I line up another swing, pausing momentarily to let the bag settle itself again.

"Your hands are bleeding."

I'm sure if I had a soul, it would have left my body.

Adrenaline rushes my veins, jolting me as I turn to scowl at the super soldier whose unhelpful observation almost made me jump out of my skin.

My glare wavers mid formation however, once I realise just how close the man is.

He stands just inches from me now, looking down at my heaving figure with gleaming blue eyes. I curse myself silently, my forced nonchalance at his prescience allowing him to sneak up on me unnoticed.