Steve Rogers And Bucky Barnes Images

Time

Warnings - Blood, death, kinda angst, torutre, sadness.
*LONG CHAPTER*
UNEDITED

Steve laughs as he watches you spin around. He hasn't argued with you about doing this in eight months, and watching as you get soaked with a smile oddly relaxes him. You are genuinely happy by just dancing in the rain in front of the home he used to share with another woman, but it's just the two of you now. And he is slowly accepting that fact.

He can hear the dogs barking from the living room, and he looks back to see he has gotten distracted yet again watching how happy you are to notice he had left the stove on from dinner. He makes his way in easy steps to pet the small corgi before hitting the off button and listening to the beep as a confirmation before he is turning back to the window to see you have come up the driveway and laid next to your car.

Sighing, he moves out after changing his clothes into something he doesn't mind getting wet in, but not too suspicious for you to see. He lays down next to you and holds you hand as silence takes over the atmosphere. Only the rain is filling the void of your heart breaking once again, and you're glad Steve can't tell whether you are crying or not as it continues to pour down from the sky.

He knows, but doesn't say a word as he waits for you to come back inside. This is your therapy, healthy or not, but he's glad nothing negative has come out of it. So he just holds your hand, sitting on the driveway to be next to you as you silently cry of the loss that happened eight months before.

Days have slowly smudged together, he feels as if it was shorter, but so much has happened between this time, and now, he was leaving the home in just a few weeks, packing up to leave the memories that are killing him in his sleep.

Sleep that feels so cold on a bed so empty. But he has these meories with you that makes him hesitate, and he knows if he loses them, it will surely kill him.

When it starts getting darker, Steve finally stands up, you slowly going with him half asleep. He chuckles when your movements become sluggish, and after a moment of contemplation, his arms are lifting you up to hold you against his equally as cold chest that normally gives off warmth. A shiver brushes through you, and he walks faster into the house, shutting the door and moving upstairs to bring you to your room.

"Wash up, Potato," he mutters once setting you on your bed, kissing the top of your head before leaving with the door closed.

He makes way into the bedroom he used to share and opens the closet for dry clothes, ignoring the other side for the first time in eight months. How time goes by, he thinks as he grabs a long sleeved and some sweats, a towel now hanging over his forearm as he steps into the bathroom. So much time has gone by so fast, and he is scared you'll be the next one.

He wants time to stop, just for once so he can process. He knows this isn't grieving, but maybe it's something better.

If only he had enough time to figure out what it was, Steve would know what he was feeling, but he is too focused on how to slow down to even look into himself.

Time needs to stop.

Steve is rolling out of bed at the same time he does every morning, rubbing his face as he pushes the dismiss button on the alarm quietly going off. His hearing wouldn't need the volume loud, and he hated waking her when he got up so early in the morning, focusing on that for longer than he should've. He lost track of time with her, and now he has no more left. Just her ghost.

He looks over his shoulder to see the other side of the bed is still intact, made and perfect for if she ever comes back. He knows it will never happen, and has even fixed it a few times when he found you sleeping where she used to one night. He couldn't be mad when he had done it himself more than a few times every now and then, imagining her warmth on his body so he could find that feeling of comfortbility to sleep again.