Amnesia

C13: Sick

When the sun shown into my eyes, Steve was still asleep. I turned over to face him, but his back was still facing me.

The breeze from the window we left open was growing cold with morning air, so I pulled the blankets farther up towards my face.

Steve's hair was reflecting the sun, leaving the mess of little blonde strands to stand out.

His blue shirt was pulled tightly against his shoulders, leaving every outline of his back to show. Unknowingly I put my hands on his shoulders and started to trace my way down the lines, feeling their every move as he breathed in and out. I ran my fingers along the muscles that traced his spine, surprised that he hadn't woken up yet.

He is so...

Perfect.

Wait what? Bucky stop it.

I hesitantly brought my hands off of his shoulders and returned them down before my own chest.

I turned to look up at the ceiling as I bit my lip contemplating whether or not to get my lazy ass up and close the window.

The conclusion was yes.

Grumbling quietly to myself I reached for the covers and threw them off quickly, bombarding my skin with chills.

Ugh.

As I set my bare feet down on the cold floor, I hissed, making sure the wood knew I temporarily hated it.

I quickly pattered over the small distance towards the window and pulled it shut with a loud thud. I winced, looking behind me to make sure I hadn't woken up Steve.

Behind me, he stayed curled up in a ball under all those blankets, sleeping with a silent snore.

Lucky.

I rubbed over my face and yawned as I crept towards the end of the bed, leading to the door out.

I was about to reach the door when bam.

My head hit the wall.

I tripped over Steve's shoes on the floor and went spiraling forward, the rest of my body falling to the floor.

Damnit Steve.

With the sound of me hitting the ground, Steve bolted up in bed, looking around.

"Bucky?"

"Yep down here." I mumbled raising a hand and waving.

You'd think for an ex assassin, I'd have better skills with maneuvering rooms without being heard, let alone tripping over shoes.

"What are you doing?" He rubbed his face in his hands.

"I'm hugging the floor, what does it look like I'm doing?"

"If you wanted a hug, you didn't have to go the floor..." he mumbled confused at my sarcastic comment.

"No you idiot, I tripped over your shoes."

"Sorry." He whispered.

I huffed, lacking the inspiration to get back up. The floor was a lot more comfortable once it was warmed up. I turned my head around, looking around at things from ground level.

Huh, Steve's got a lot of shoes.

Then I found a blade I had stuck under his bed when we first moved in. I had always been paranoid that someone who come for us, and when they did we would be armed no matter where we were. I shrugged and finally coughed up the urge to get up.