✔𝚨 𝚸𝛐𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 ➳ 𝚩𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐲 𝚩𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬

Chapter 34

The boy with the tired eyes
sets himself aflame every day.

he moves like winter, and
with his star-map skin and hoarse, barely existing, laughter,
you want to tell him that
his smile makes your heart skip a beat
his touch sends a shiver down your spine, and,
his eyes gives meaning to the world

you remember
his chapped mouth unravelling you
and before him, you didn't know that
poetry could exist in a pair of cold hands,
like yours

'I never cry' he said
but when he explodes, he explodes
and when the time is right
he drowns in the saltwater with the rest of us

He'll find out soon enough
how you worry too much about things that don't matter
how he used to trail his fingers through your hair
how he acted tough but he's secretly soft like you

You know he's scared, but just this once,
go on and let him fall.

Don't worry; you'll catch him

Melora knew about the darkness inside of him, she didn't act like any of it had never happened, but that never kept her from stealing glances, looking without hiding, watching him as if moons and stars, whole galaxies, were in his eyes.

There was the slight feeling of being a lost puppy, just trailing behind him. Bucky let her follow him. She knew he couldn't understand why he was doing it himself. It was in his eyes when he looked at her, like he couldn't figure her out.

Because she was there, hands open, taking him as he was but for the life of him, he couldn't understand why. They had left the states almost immediately. He had gone to one place before, a museum.

Only one question had allowed itself to slip from his lips. Was that me? The man? She answered truthfully. It was hard, reliving the pain while she told him about the Howling Commandos. Holding herself back was so damn hard.

He was standing in front of her, needing help and all she wanted to do was swing her arms around him, hug him and never let go, but there he would never allow something like that. Not now.

Melora unlocked the door to their room, watching as he backed down from his fighting stance when she entered, and he sat back down on the floor. She walked over to the small kitchen, putting down the various groceries.

Maybe it was too soon to give him the book. She stared down at her own thoughts, the book she had published. It was strange how sharing it with the one whom it was about felt like the greatest task while sharing it with the world was the easiest.

Bucky was watching her from his seat against the wall, sitting on his thin mattress. His notebook was lying beside him. Memories were coming back, returning in dreams or through words she said.

He had already seen the book, so she walked around the kitchen and sat down on the small broken-down couch, turning it between her hands.

"What is it?" He asked, deep voice. He had been sleeping or crying again then.

"The book," she said with a thick voice herself, trying to hold herself back and keep herself calm. "... it's the book I wrote about the man. Found it on a shelf... you don't have to read it if you don't want to."

Bucky searched her eyes, his eyebrows puckering, and what she wouldn't give to just see him crack a small smile. He stretched his hand forward and she slowly passed it.