fugue // stucky

8. Unreachable

The chill from the icy floorboards seep into my cheek, and I jolt awake. I'm guessing it's the next day, maybe the morning after. My cheeks flush with embarrassment at my outburst last night. I hope that man is okay.

Silently, I prod over to my phone, which fell onto the floor during my struggle. I press the on button, but it only shows me the no battery signal. I groan, having no idea what day it is, and plug it into the charger next to my bed.

I decide to take a shower whilst it charges, washing away dirt and grime. My soap bar is almost diminished, I make a mental note to buy one soon. I step out of the shower and into the icy air. The cool settles into my skin and I moan as goosebumps rise. It feels good. I've always been fond of the cold. I feel my muscles relax as the temperature literally chills them. With a throaty sigh, I pad over to a small pile of clothes. Yesterday I didn't fold them like I usually do, because I guess I wasn't expecting to get attacked.

Quickly, I'm dressed in a loose deep maroon v neck and dark distressed jeans. I shake a towel over my head and stretch. Hopefully today will be less eventful.

My phone dings, signaling its power on. I run over, waiting for the stupid company logo to fade. Immediately I spot the date. It's been two days? My brow furrows. Surely not. I'm not hungry, and I don't have to use the bathroom. It's almost like my body is used to being out of function. I shake my head and look at the notifications.

Five missed calls from Steve. Steve? Steve! Is Steve okay? I begin to panic, noticing the time was last night. He's also texted me a bunch. My fingers fumble to find the call button.

The phone rings and rings, and finally, a scratch is heard before he picks up.

"Bucky-"

"Steve!" I cut him off immediately, "are you okay? Where are you? What's happened?" My voice is coated thickly with panic. 1930s Bucky is taking over. He doesn't do that often.

"I should be asking you? What happened? Why haven't you answered me?" He sounds fine. He won't answer any of my questions and it's making me nervous. I start to put on socks.

"Uh, I had a little mishap last ni- a few days ago," I correct myself, still not believing it's been two full days of me on the ground, "and I was.. unreachable," I mutter, "for lack of a better word."

"What happened?" He seems calmer, but still a lot more tense than I'd like him.

"Can we meet up? I'm worried about you," I explain breathlessly, tying my shoes.

"Yeah, um, Buck, you do know it's two o'clock right?" He sounds confused.

"Yeah," I say, slipping a light leather jacket on and clipping my backpack in place, "hey, babe- bud," I fix myself, furrowing my brow, "can you just tell me your address? I don't want you on the streets," I bound down the metal stairs of my building.

"Yeah, of course, babe," he mocks and laughs crisply, then gives me an address. He lives near Brooklyn. I can figure it out.

"Shut up, it slipped," I laugh, 1930s Bucky is living vividly right now, "I didn't mean it in a-"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," his voice is light, "hurry up, some weirdos are out right now."

"I can handle them," I smirk, "see you soon."

"Safe journey," he hangs up.

My feet are quick on the seemingly always wet sidewalks of New York. I sigh in a breath of crisp air and sigh it back out. The city is a lot more eerie than it was this time two days ago. I only spot about ten cars and a handful of people on the way to Steve's building. I ring up and the doors buzz open. This structure is old fashioned with technology I'm very familiar with. It must be the same exact way it was in 1925. I smile, nodding at the elevator caddy.