𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 [on hold]

𝗼𝗻𝗲

(content warnings―depiction of depression)

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Bucky hated the winter. It meant stiff breezes, pulpy snow piled up by the curbs, dirty from the hundreds, thousands of cars rushing past it. It also meant his apartment needed heat, provided by the crappy, rustling radiator in his living room. The floor would be unbearably cold, too, meaning he would have to escape the hardwood floors and sleep on the couch.

He rolled over, pushing his small, flat pillow off the edge of the worn down sofa. Outside, snow had started to fall, gathering in little patterns in the window frames, keeping the unbearable sight of the busy street downstairs away from him. He groaned, his back muscles flexing as he sat up. Everything on him ached. His brown hair tousled, his shirt crinkled, his skin indented by the dog tag getting pressed against his chest.

Distraught, he nudged the pillow on the floor with his foot. He had never felt at home here, not even after hanging an old Polaroid of him and Steve on the fridge door, or after having a real bed set up in the actual bedroom, mattress and comforter and all. He wanted to shrink into himself, chase all the memories away that kept him up at night and made him clench his jaw so tight it hurt to release it in the mornings.

A glance to the microwave across the room told him the time. Shortly after eleven in the morning. He couldn't even say how many hours he'd spent sleeping since he's lain down the night before. His head pounded, temples pulsating. He massaged them with his fingers, one side warm, the other icicles on his burning skin. He sighed, clamped his eyes shut, and was tempted to fall back against the backrest, but his stomach rumbled with hunger. And he knew perfectly that he had nothing of great nutritional value in the fridge. What he and his hangover needed was pizza, maybe, or a good, soggy sandwich from that food stand down the street.

From somewhere, he heard dull Christmas music, festive and happy and annoying. Aside from the fact that it was November, this holiday simply reminded him how lonely he was. Not alone, but lonely. Occasional nights out with Sam couldn't keep him away from feeling unwanted in this world.

He was stuck in a rut, sure, but he also liked being able to do whatever he liked after everything he'd been through. Like reading his favorite books from before the serum had altered his body and Hydra his mind.

He glanced over at the very old, yellowed copy of The Hobbit and cocked his head to the side.

When Bucky finally got off the couch, it was half past eleven, and the snow had already begun its transformation into muddy piles by the sidewalk.

When he had brushed his teeth, having a stare down with himself in the dirty mirror above the sink, it was 11:35, and when he slid his aching legs into jeans and his arms into the sleeves of his favorite hoodie, it was 11:42. By 11:45, he had his shoes on, his jacket keeping him warm, and his wallet in his back pocket.

He opened the door to the staircase, making sure to take the keys, too, and locked the door behind him. The noise echoed in the hallway.

"Oh, morning," a slightly raspy voice ripped him out of his thoughts, and he turned around. His eyes widened at the sight. Long, brown waves, thick lashes, hips that his hands fit perfectly on, pink lips he knew the taste of. Tattoos peeking out from underneath her oversized, white t-shirt.

The young woman realized it only a second after he had. Her jaw dropped, lips popping open.

"Noelle," Bucky breathed, not believing what he was seeing. She stood in the doorway to the apartment across from his, in her pajamas. He knew she didn't live there. He had had enough fights with the nurse who actually did, a tall, slim woman with black curls whose name he couldn't remember.

"Shit," Noelle said, her voice as raspy and thick as he remembered it from two nights ago. Even in a huge shirt and gray sweatpants, she looked beautiful. He recalled the way she had looked in the dim light of the supply closet, all tarted up, her skin-tight, black dress showing off her curves. How her mouth had formed a perfect circle when she had clenched around his fingers...

"You're the grumpy guy from across the hall?"

He paused, his metal hand clenching around his keys. Of course, his neighbor had complained about him, when she had been the one playing the music too loud at one a.m. His lips were a thin line when he shrugged, his icy eyes glued to Noelle's face. The fact that he knew how her skin felt, how she tasted everywhere...

"Still not talkative, huh," she scoffed, her lips curling up. "Guess that wasn't the alcohol, then."

"There's not much to say," he simply replied, finally unfreezing from his position. Noelle laughed, and he noticed how she scrunched her nose when she did. Adorable.

"Sure," she teasingly grinned, winking at him.

"Great. I guess I'll have to see you around, then."

Quick steps brought him down the stairs, leaving Noelle behind him. His pulse was racing. Had she seen into his apartment, seen the mess that was his hallway, scattered clothes and empty food containers he promised himself to get out? He made a plan to clean his place up as soon as he got home and pushed the building's door open, letting the freezing cold of the day envelop him entirely.

He hoped it would cool his boiling blood down, get his thoughts away from the memories of the night with her.

Or the fact that he had been at the same bar the following night, just in case she'd be there again...

But this wasn't what he thought, right? It was mere attraction he had for her, wanting to drown between her thighs, feeling her breath on his skin, make her moan his name in ecstasy...

Because Bucky Barnes didn't do love, and one stunningly beautiful Noelle would not change that.

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