𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐘𝐎𝐔 [on hold]

𝘀𝗲𝘃𝗲𝗻

-

She had left his apartment hours ago, and yet, Bucky could swear he could still smell Noelle, her scent lingering in the air around him. He caught himself inhaling deeply now and then, his gaze falling onto the couch, right where she'd been sitting. And where they'd...thrown all of his principles overboard.

The storm was long gone. It had howled, rattled the hinges, all night. By the time Bucky had woken up from a surprisingly uneventful sleep, he had found Noelle draped over him, one hand on his shoulder, her head on his chest, her other hand in the nape of his neck, drawing soft circles in the short hair there. And even though he didn't want to admit it, not even to himself, he realized how comfortable he felt. How...at peace.

Now, with this new day dragging him more and more hours away from the sweet pleasure that was Noelle's presence to him, he felt particularly empty again. Hollow, absent, drained, he leaned against his kitchen counter, sipping on a hot cocoa he'd made from one of these little plastic packets Sam had brought him once. It tasted bland, gray, just like the world outside seemed to be in the lack of direct sunlight. Clouds were still hanging low over the city, a few snowflakes met the ground here and there. Only large piles of muddy snow by the sides of the roads reminded the people of the storm last night.

His back ached from sleeping halfway leaned up against the backrest of the couch. He was grateful Noelle hadn't asked him about his bed. It would have been quite awkward for him to admit he'd never slept in it before. Now, his back cracked when he stretched, and he flinched every time. He decided to skip the workout for that day and take a walk. Get that damn girl from across the girl out of his head.

What had happened between them the night before, had been somewhat of a mistake. Not that he fully regretted that they kissed, or that he had her on top of him within minutes after that. It was only a part of him that screamed, scolding him for letting her too close again. There was no way any of this would happen again, and he'd told her.

How her shoulders had dropped when he'd implied it... His heart stung in agony. The last thing he wanted was to hurt that beautiful girl, and yet, he seemed to do it over and over again. Every little stab more painful than the one before.

How could he not have just smoothed over her pain by saying he didn't know the answer to her question? Her eyes, all glassy and shimmering amber, hadn't let him. How bright her eyes had become, flooded by that ray of hope he'd given her... Another sting pierced his heart, and he chewed on his lower lip, not daring to move.

"Fuck," he grunted, ripping himself off the counter eventually, putting the empty mug in the sink, and going to his dresser to get out of his sweats and t-shirt. He needed to cool off. Get fresh air, forget about how hot and steamy the atmosphere was when she was near. Forget her stupid smile, too. Her goddamn beautiful, stunning, cute smile with the nose scrunches.

There was no way he'd actually give in and let her take over his mind again. He had lots of other things to think about. A present for Sam, for example, or tomorrow's lunch. Even getting new toilet paper was supposed to be more important than the tattooed girl from across the hall.

Ten minutes later, Bucky was outside. Warmed by a woolen hat, a matching scarf, his thickest jacket and boots, and even gloves to avoid stolen glances at his metal hand peeking out of the sleeve, he trudged down the street, his icy eyes fixated on the pavement a few feet ahead. It was loud, busy, and cold.