Only the Good Die Young

Chapter One

'Y/n! You look... healthy.'

Those were your mother's first words as you walked through the door of your family home. She didn't exclaim how pleased she was to see you or ask how your flight was, no, instead she used her typical passive-aggressive euphemisms to subtly comment on your appearance.

This was going to be a long summer.

Initially you'd been adamant about staying in your apartment for the holidays, even on your own, cause all you wanted was peace and space. Then your parents threatened to cut you off if you didn't come home so, here you were. You sighed and traipsed upstairs. Approaching your bedroom, you saw the bolt haphazardly screwed to the outside of the door, the one your father had installed years ago after catching you watching 'ungodly' TV shows in the living room at midnight.

Ah, coming back here always felt like plunging yourself back into the deep, ice-cold pool of childhood trauma.

Pushing the door open, you saw that your room had been redecorated. It looked fucking dreadful. You glanced up at the wall and a little bit of sick shot up the back of your throat when you saw the WWJD cross stitch, one of your mother's originals no doubt.

...a long, long summer.

***

Your first errand was grocery shopping. Typical of your parents to insist on you coming home for 'family time', only to then hand you a three-page chore list, the majority of which required you to leave the house. You took your time wandering around the store, making the most of your temporary freedom. Even obnoxiously bright fluorescent lighting and the sickly smell of cleaning products was preferable to that crucifix-coated prison.

Eventually you made it to the checkout and started unloading the cheap wine and raisin snacks onto the conveyor belt. The cashier offered the usual pleasantries but you found yourself distracted, wondering where the billows of smoke blowing past the front window were coming from. You tilted your head, trying vaguely to catch a glimpse of the cause, but soon got distracted as you had to try and recall your mom's PIN number.

Stepping outside with arms full of grocery bags, your eyes followed the smoke downwind. Mystery solved. Huddled on the corner of the sidewalk was a pretty big group of guys in leather jackets, most of them with cigarettes balanced between their fingers. It was a pretty intimidating sight. Usually you'd just avoid such an obstacle, crossing the road or just heading in an altogether different direction, but they'd managed to plant themselves directly in your only feasible path home. You just kept your head down, gripped your grocery bags tight and gave them a wide berth.

Your heart almost stopped when you heard one of them pipe up.

'Well holy shit, y/n?'

You turned towards the voice. James Barnes. The two of you went to high school together but, apart from the occasional stilted conversation and reluctant group project, you'd never really developed any sort of relationship. Besides, he always hung out with people your mother didn't approve of.

And he was what, now? In a motorcycle gang? Figures.

'Hi, James. Good to see you.' You mumbled, breaking stride momentarily. His friends seemed to find that funny.

'You too but, uh, people call me Bucky now.'

Nodding slightly, you gave him a polite smile before moving off again. You noticed your face beginning to feel warm and your stomach involuntarily tensing. Sure, he was more handsome and less punchable than you remembered, but you had no idea why being in his presence was making you this nervous. Hurried footsteps sounded behind you and in a second he was by your side, his stride syncing up with yours.