Flowers in Your Hair [Hippie!Bucky BarnesxOC]

Prologue: I Can't Make it Anymore

April 7, 1967

NYC, outside Marymount College

Celeste stood staring at the brick building on the corner of E 71st and 2nd Avenue, the soft curls of her hair blowing gently in the wind. Her brown eyes were filled with tears, threatening to spill over as she gazed at the fire escapes leading up the side of the building. The awkward weight of the guitar case slung over her shoulder, and the duffel bag in her other hand, didn't matter to her. All she could think about was the guilt.

Her long grey coat kissed the back of her calves, a thick black sweater stretched right across her chest. The morning air was crisp and cold- the first blue sky after a long weekend of rain and thunder. She felt the sting of cold on her parts of her legs that hat were exposed, between the top of her black knee high boots and the hem of her short black skirt. She closed her eyes, feeling comfort in the darkness, and felt a familiar ache as she choked back all the feelings rising in her throat.

She spent the last weekend watching the rain pound against her bedroom window, wrapped in blankets in her 3rd floor walk-up. The droplets on the window cast shadows on across the twin bed, the fitted sheet barely attached at three corners. It had been like this for months; she didn't have the heart to fix it. Honestly, there were a lot of things she didn't have the heart to fix, let alone acknowledge, in the last few months.

The letter from the dean of students sat on the bed, untouched since she read the first few lines and let it fall beside her- "I am aware of your circumstances, but I regret to inform you that Marymount is no longer able to accommodate your request for a leave of absence..."

She took a deep breath in, her finger tracing the Marymount Manhattan College logo in the uppermost corner. "We recommend you reapply when you are able to commit fully to your studies..."

Celeste knew she was behind in her classes, but she didn't know it was this bad. The letter said it all. She stayed in bed, watching the rain and thinking about the weight of her actions. Or lack of actions, rather. At first, she was communicative about what was going on with her professors and her friends. Then, as time passed, she felt less and less able to explain what was going on in her brain- after all, how do you explain that guilt is eating away at your insides? So she stopped trying to explain it.

She didn't go to class, and she stopped attending meetings for the clubs she was involved in. She was active in the political scene on campus- Mom would be so proud, she scoffed to herself.

And then Monday came and the rain was gone, and instead of fixing the sheets on her bed- she took them off entirely. She packed everything up in the small apartment- books and clothes, her mother's typewriter, the assortment of mugs taken from various diners across the city.

She gently packed the small trinkets she had decorated her room with- memories of simpler times. A small ashtray, a few framed photos, and her acoustic guitar. It had belonged to an old friend, and he gifted it to her before she came to Marymount. She carefully placed these items in a box, and slung the guitar case over her shoulder.