Say my Name-rewrite

"Steve, I cant. You know why."

Bucky's POV:

I take a deep breath as I stroll away from Maya, the taste of bourbon still lingering on my tongue. The burn helps, for a second, but then the questions start creeping back in. 'Why did I do that?'

Another sip, hoping it'll settle the unease tightening in my chest. It doesn't. Instead, the anxiety builds, gnawing at me, reminding me how out of place I feel here. In the regular world. I'm not used to this. These interactions. 'Why was I that forward with her?' I can't stop the thought from repeating. It wasn't like me. Not anymore.

But there's something about her. Something that pulls at me, even when I know better. This underlying, deep-seated need for control she has—it's unnerving, but it's also familiar. And maybe that's why I can't shake the feeling that she'll see through me. Sooner or later, she'll figure it out. It's what she does for a living, after all.

Still, I can't stop thinking about her. It's like a magnet, this subtle, invisible force drawing me in. And for the life of me, I don't know why.

'Bullshit. You do know.'

My mind calls me out, sharp and clear, cutting through the haze. I know exactly why I'm drawn to her. It's that overwhelming desire—this need—to watch her let go. To watch her give up that control, but only to me. There's something about the way she carries herself, so damn put-together, so unshakeable. I can't stop thinking about what it would be like to break through that. To see her fall apart, unravel, because I'm the one doing what no one else has managed. The idea burns through me, making me want it even more.

But I can't.

She works with us. She's part of the team, for now. If I cross that line, if I let this thing between us turn transactional... because that's all I can give, it's going to blow up in my face. Maybe in both of our faces. The thought alone should be enough to pull me back, to push this idea out of my head for good.

And yet, I'm still here, walking away from her, bourbon in hand, the thought of her giving up control playing over and over in my mind. It's a dangerous game, and I'm not sure I can stop myself from playing.

I sit in the dark corner, the shadows my only company for most of the night, my eyes drawn to her. I can't help it. The way that dress clings to her hips, the way her soft brown hair falls around her shoulders, catching the light just right... It pulls at something deep in me. Stop it, Bucky. You can't, I think, trying to snap myself out of it. But I take another sip of my drink instead, the burn doing nothing to help.

"Uh oh, I know that look," Steve's voice cuts through my thoughts, and I tense up. He slides into the seat next to me like he's been watching me the whole time. My jaw clenches as I swallow hard, keeping my eyes on my drink.

"You like her," he says, matter-of-fact, as if it's the simplest thing in the world. I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, my expression unreadable.

"She's a beautiful woman. What's not to like?" I reply, keeping my voice even. Neutral. The way it should be.

Steve shakes his head, that damn smile tugging at the corners of his mouth like he knows better. "So? What's the problem?"

I scoff, the sound harsher than I intend, and take another sip of the amber liquid swirling in my glass. "Steve, I can't. You know why."

I don't have to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes. He doesn't get it, not really. He's always had this way of seeing the world in black and white, good or bad, easy or hard. But it's never that simple. Not for me. Not anymore.

"Maybe try something different? Maybe... get to know her first?" Steve says, his voice steady, but I can hear the hope behind it. He's trying to push me, like he always does, trying to make me take a chance.

I don't answer right away. I can feel his eyes on me, watching, waiting for me to say something that'll make sense of this. But he doesn't get it. Not really. He doesn't know what it's like now. He knows my habits, though. How they've changed since we were kids, since everything changed. And he knows how scared I am to let anyone get close now. To let someone in and show them who I am. Who I've become.

Because no woman would ever accept me for that. For this.

I take a breath, staring into my glass, the amber liquid swirling around like it has the answer I don't. It's not about wanting to control everything. It's about survival. It's the one control I have left, the one thing in life that I still get to choose. Every interaction is transactional because I need it that way. Keeps things simple. Clean. No chance to hurt, no chance to get hurt.

Like Maya. I keep it in check, stay in control. I can manage that. I can manage her.

But this part of me—the part that wants more, that biological need still kicking around inside, reminding me I'm human no matter how hard I try to forget—it's there. And it's messing with me.

"You think I can just... do that?" I finally mutter, my voice low, a bitter edge to it.

Steve shrugs, his tone still soft, trying to break through. "It doesn't have to be like before, Buck. You don't have to keep everyone at arm's length."

I want to believe him. I really do. But letting someone in... that's a risk I'm not sure I can take. Not again. Not now.