Secretive - Bucky Barnes

24 || Swim

[Nova]
The next day, Steve and I meet in front of the tower early, before the meeting starts in which we are going to collect all the information we got on Damon Schmidt. For Steve's and my part, everything we found has been a crumbled little piece of paper right below his mattress, a number written on it in the colour of blood: Seven. 

The others, too, found slips of paper with Numbers on them, all of them one-worded. And because it would be too much figuring it out without having all of them in our front, we agreed on coming together for a conference. Schmidt did not start anything else yet, so we hope for good there will not be any news in the next four hours.

The day is not really a nice one. It is very windy; the black curly hair of mine flying around my head like having created its own mind, although they are tied into a ponytail. For April, I would consider it as cold, and the sky is as grey as the sweatpants James wore last night, so not really all too bright. It looks like heavy rain just waiting for us, and the smell of it already thickens the air.

Not that it would make either Steve or me return from the bet.

He walks towards me casually, dark jogging pants and a navy-blue sweater, emphasizing his eyes. Blonde hair perfect as always, not even the heavy wind piping next to my ears able to ruin its style. Wearing nothing but seriousness as usually, he finally stops in my front, his breathing as relaxed as it possibly could be. »Mornin'.«

It is rather grumbled, and I raise my eyebrow at this. »Good morning. What's the matter?«

»Nothin'.« he turns next to me, facing the concrete wall that is completely empty but for the depressing colour. A little foggy everywhere else, I can make out the first turn we are going to take before finding a spot long enough to test who of us is faster.

Crossing my arms in front of my own, light pink sweater, I do not let him go as easily. »Spit it out, Rogers, or we're going to meet in the box ring up there instead.«

A quiet, low chuckle erupts from his thinned lips while looking down, before facing me again. The Serum must have done well for him; since I know him, I did not see the tiniest pimple. Neither did on James. He hesitates another second, blue, blown eyes finding a place to rest on behind my head. »You were with him last night, weren't you?«

My brain pauses for a second, as does my breathing, before taking the job on again. Finding a rather comfy position for my crossed arms, I hope he cannot make out the blush and heat crawling up my cheeks. 

Jokes on me. I am pale. Of course, he sees, although it is glowing instead of turning red now. »He didn't scream.« America's Golden Boy adds, his deep voice almost rumbling like a warning for the incoming thunder, yet so quiet I almost think it is soothing. Unpredictable, like mother nature.

»Well, we had a lot to talk about. Breaking up isn't always something of a few words.« My heart starts seeking for stitches the moment the words come trembling out of me, but it is the truth. I need to be as distanced as possible to James when wanting to cure him entirely and well. I cannot let myself get too attached and risk to falsify the data he is going to hand out to me.

At this, Steve's cerulean eyes meet mine with such intensity, I am almost taken aback. He cocks an eyebrow, tilting his head a little as if not quite understanding. 

I am definitely not willing to let this conversation last any further. »Let's get started before we're going to get all wet.« Sooner than I finished talking, I head forward along the street, starting to jog against the wind.

Thirty minutes later, Steve and I finally find a place big enough. We landed in some kind of unknown park with a wide meadow in the middle, at least five hundred feet long, in the middle of New York. The clouds above our heads have started to get a little darker, while neither Steve and I are exhausted when we arrive, although Steve really tends to have a quick pace at running.