fugue // stucky

14. Buzzy

"You trust me, right?" Steve says in the silent darkness. I look over at him. He's looking at the ground.

"More than anyone," I mutter, staring back down at my cold metal hand, "including myself."

"Then why didn't you say anything?" He sounds kind of angry. I feel like a kid getting scolded.

"I didn't think-"

"Didn't think what, Bucky? That I care about you? That I'd be hurt? Bucky-" he's yelling and I curl into a ball, trying to melt into the couch.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, his voice quiet now, "but if you would have pulled that trigger, I wouldn't have been able to handle it," he confesses. I'm still keeping my head down.

"I wouldn't have," I admit. I don't think I could've brought myself to do it because of Steve.

He sighs and moves closer to me on the couch. I don't know whether to move or stay still.

I feel his arm pull me into him and suddenly I'm relaxed. I sigh and rest my head against his chest.

"Please, never ever think of doing that again," he says lowly. I hear it in his chest more so his mouth. I giggle a little and can practically taste his confusion.

"What?" His chest rumbles again and I laugh louder.

"Your chest is all buzzy," I explain and he chuckles, bringing his free hand up to comb my hair out of my eyes.

"I'm glad you're here," his hand rubs against my bare arm.

"Me too," I look up at him. It's there again. That connection. His eyes are so intense I feel entrapped by them. I feel myself being pulled towards him. Towards this beautiful and emotionally strong man. He blinks and looks at me through his long blonde eyelashes. I sit up straighter so I'm eye to eye.

"I'm sorry I did that. Can we forget about it?" I whisper desperately.

"I'd love to," he chuckles and I stare at the way his eyes crinkle and twinkle. I wish I were that cute.

"Do you need sleep?" He asks and I feel his breath on me.

"I do. I really do," I laugh lowly and he nods, walking out of the room. He's gone and I can breathe again without being smothered by the raw chemistry in the room. Is it just me? Does he notice it too? What does it mean?

He comes back moments later with a pillow and blanket, "you can sleep here, or I have a guest bedroom.. which I guess is yours now. Or-"

"Here is okay," I smile and he frowns.

"Alright," I stand and he hands me the objects.

"Thank you, babe," I chuckle and he flushes scarlet.

"I- um, goodnight," he mutters and scurries into his room.

I fluff my pillow and black out as soon as my head hits it. It's probably half past three.

***

My second time staying over, and my second time waking up before Steve. I sigh. For someone who's so physically active you'd think he'd wake up before noon. I glance at the clock next to the television. Ten in the morning. It's earlier than I thought.

Should I make him breakfast again? My heart tells me yes, but maybe wait a little later so he can wake up on his own. I find myself quietly sitting on the couch, staring at various places around the room. This is my home now. Rather, my house. I furrow my brows and realize that I only feel like I'm staying the night, and leaving later today. I'm not, though.