𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 [on hold]

𝗳𝗶𝘃𝗲

-

The bottle on the table was empty by the time Bucky first realized he was no longer sober. Maybe, in another world, there was a version of him that couldn't get drunk no matter how hard he tried, seeing that his body and mind were enhanced like almost nobody else's in the world. But this version of him felt the warm tingle in his guts slowly, but surely. He gazed over at the woman sitting next to him on the couch, her hand graciously wrapped around the wine glass he somehow managed to find in his cabinet.

And God, she looked divine.

Her light brown hair was messy, falling out of her two braids in some places. Her hoodie jacket had fallen off one shoulder, revealing even more inked skin he almost couldn't take his eyes off of. She had her legs up on the sofa, sitting cross-legged to avoid the cold of the floors. Bucky noticed the reindeer pattern on her thick socks and categorized the following warm feeling in his chest as an effect of the red wine.

"I like your fridge," Noelle said, ripping him out of his thoughts. He turned to her, one brow arched.

"That's an...odd compliment," he grinned, his chest rumbling in a faint chuckle. The alcohol had loosened his tongue and mood respectively, as it always did―just like it made him softer, nicer, more open. Which was the exact reason he had suggested the wine in the first place.

"I mean, I like the Polaroids, and little notes you stuck to it," she specified, motioning toward the fridge across the room with her glass. "It looks messy and cute and... I don't know."

She clearly rambled on without knowing the words she wanted to say next. Bucky let the tip of his tongue dart out, wet his lips that still tasted like wine, even though his glass had been empty for a good five minutes by then.

"The rest of your place is quite, uh, stale," she continued, looking around. She chuckled, her nose scrunching, her shoulders shaking. "But still cute, don't get me wrong. Don't you have any decor? You could use a Christmas tree. Or some pictures on the wall. Maybe a shelf?"

She paused and looked over at him, as if she had felt his gaze on her. He just couldn't look away. He was mesmerized by her, the way she sat there so comfortably yet elegantly, the way she laughed, the way the tip of her nose moved as she spoke. For a moment, he felt the urge to reach out and brush that one stray hair that had fallen out of her braid entirely behind her ear, but he held himself back.

"I'm sorry for rambling, but it calms me a little. Distracts me from the storm, if you will. And the wine has that effect on me. Drunk me is quite talkative, but you know that," she said, her eyes traveling over his stubbly face a few times.

"I don't mind the talking," Bucky eventually replied, his voice quiet and raspy. "Yet."

He gulped heavily, his eyes jolting to her lips, before he said the next sentence.

"But it's not like I don't know how to shut you up, Doll."

Her face reddened as she turned away, brushing that strand behind her ear by herself to shield her from his gaze for a moment. He bit his tongue and stared at his metal hand, remembering the shape of her knee underneath it. Had he gone too far with that statement? She had just calmed after an anxiety attack, after all. And he was there, making implications like this?

Silence spread over them like a thick blanket. Neither of them dared to speak for a while. The only sounds were their breaths and the occasional howling of the wind outside, which always made Noelle wince. She stared into her almost empty glass, swirling the wine around in it, while Bucky's eyes were glued to the fridge. Specifically, to the Polaroid photo he'd pinned to it. An old one, with rough edges and the image slightly faded, just like his memories of this time. The time before he'd gotten captured. Before he had forgotten happiness for a long, long time.