Red Liquorice and Paintings | Stucky

Chapter 14

A/N: Wow I'm awful at updating. In my hiatus, however, we received the movie, and I only cried a lot. 

I wasn't even considering continuing with this story about a week ago. I had completely forgotten about it, really, until I went for a look into my Notes on my phone and saw the rough draft of Chapter 14. So, here it is, the some-what completed Chapter 14.

I also gotta say, I feel very, very happy when I wake up and see so many hearts being sent my way over this measly fanfic. You're all so sweet in the messages you send, and it makes me so happy to just distract myself for a while to talk to some of you.

I'm lonely and need people to talk to. Someone just say hi to me. We can talk about trees and polar bears and the state of the world's ant populations. 

Bucky refused to take Keith's advice and talk to Steve. He was stubborn like that, and had nothing to talk to Steve about. It was Steve who ignored him that whole time.

Only, Bucky wants to know how Sarah is. Bucky wants to ask if he can come back around, back to the calm of the Rogers house, where he can smile and laugh, and be around people who truly make him happy.

Only Bucky is stubborn. So he bunks school for as long as he can. He leaves the house in the morning, the rumble of his bike under him, and his bag on his back, but not full of school books. His mom waves him off, Pierce looming over her shoulder like the dark, rumbling storm cloud he is, sucking all of the life and light out of anything close enough to him. The piece of shit.

Bucky just kept riding, snapping the visor of his helmet shut and tore off.

.

Steve sit in French, the fourth period of the day, and patiently watches the door. Bucky hadn't been there yesterday, or the day before, and the day before that, but Steve still has a little hope that he would turn up so Steve could apologise. So Steve could salvage the mess of his mistake.

Steve drums his fingers on his desk, the plans for his next painting lying in front of him, just waiting to be drawn. If he can't apologise with words, he can apologise with paint, and with each and every brush stroke.

The teacher stepped into the class last, and shut the door sharply behind him. Steve's heart sunk. He really was hoping Bucky would show up.

"Steven." A soft voice whispers from his left. Steve glances at them. Jennifer. Of course.

"Jennifer." He says, and watches her eyes brush over his face thoughtfully.

"You okay? You look a little lost." She says quietly, still leaning close to him. Steve looks to the blonde ringlet which has fallen into her face, and and then back into her pale eyes.

"I'm fine." He lies and then offers a smile. Jennifer doesn't look like he believes him at all.

"Steve-"

"Mr Rogers. Miss Falsworth." A crisp voice calls out with a French accent. Steve's eyes snap to his teacher, and he obediently doesn't say anything else.

Jennifer shoots him more glances which he feels on the side of his face, but refuses to meet them. Instead, he looks down at his rough draft of his next painting, and adds in a couple more lines and details. He absently chews on his lower lip, and gets lost in the drawing.

He misses Bucky, and it's Steve's fault he isn't here. He should have just let him in, but he didn't want Bucky to see his ma like that. So sickly pale, but recovering slowly. He wanted to keep that from him, and so he did. He tried, and hoped that Bucky would understand, but obviously he took it the wrong way. He must've thought Steve was ignoring /him/, which hurts to think about. Hurts to think that he did that to Bucky.