You're Losing Me

Maroon

"The rust that grew between telephones, the lips I used to call home, so scarlet, it was maroon..."

--

You creak a bleary eye open, lifting your head off Bucky's chest. You gently nudge Bucky, "Hey."

"Hmm," Bucky sleepily groans, refusing to open his eyes.

"What time is it?"

He sighs, his voice raspy with sleep, "Dunno, why?"

The sun filters through the window, cascading down onto the hardwood floor you'd both evidently dozed off on. "The sun's coming up."

You chuckle as both of Bucky's eyes whirl open to the soft light flooding the room, "Oh shit, really?"

"I think we giggled ourselves to sleep."

He wipes his eyes, chuckling, "I guess so."

Your lips linger on his. He softly smiles against your mouth, signing in contentment. "How'd we end up on the floor anyway?"

"That cheap ass rose you brought last night? No offense."

"I stole it from my roommate, no offense taken." You look up at Bucky with a cheeky grin, "And let's not graze over the fact that a couple bottles of wine knocked us on our asses."

"Well, not exactly," he sheepishly chuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. "Liquor doesn't really affect me. Super soldier metabolism, remember?"

"Oh my God," you groan, exasperatedly rubbing at your temples. "So you were sober while I was acting like a wine drunk idiot."

"No, no! Don't be embarrassed, I thought it was cute."

"I think we have very different definitions of cute."

"We were having fun, and you sat on the floor, I wanted to sit with you."

"See? That's cute."

"It was a good night. I had fun, and I hope you did too."

"Clearly a little too much fun." You remembered passing the night with your feet in his lap, laughing like he was your closest friend. "I swear I'll never drink again."

You wake with his memory over you. Just like always.

Your mouth feels like it's full of cotton, but considering you remember very little of the night before, you don't feel nearly as bad as you thought you would.

You creak open a bleary eye, surprised that no raging migraine awaits you at the sunlight filtering in through the curtains. You settle back into bed and relish in the comfort and familiarity, for the first time in months, the pillows beneath your head feel right, the blankets soft and cozy just like the ones in your home.

That's when it hits you like a ton of bricks.

Home.

Flashes of you drunkenly stumbling down the hallway leading to your apartment rattle around your skull.

"Oh no," you mutter to yourself, jolting upright. You look around to find yourself fully clothed in the dress you'd picked for your girls night with Nat and Wanda except for your shoes. You find your soft comforter gently laid over you. But most importantly, you find Bucky sheepishly standing in the doorway, a large glass of water and aspirin in hand. "Oh God."

He sucks in a breath, softly exhaling, "Hi."

"Hi."

He awkwardly clears his throat, "How - how do you feel?"