Your eyes scanned over the words on the page as you reached over to grab your water. The story seemed to be getting better and better with every metaphor that was thrown into the void, your brain working hard to put the puzzle together. You were determined to find out who killed this man's wife. Your bets were on the man himself.
As you turned the page to the next, you find yourself coming back to reality for the first time in a while as you heard the front door to your Brooklyn apartment open and close. Rattling was heard as you were sure it was the heavy gear falling on the hardwood floor leading up to your shared room.
The door opened to reveal Bucky standing with his shoulders slouched and a look on his face that you know does not mean "happy".
You sat up, setting your open book face down on the bed to save your page as you looked up at him with a knowing face.
"Do you want to talk about it?" you asked, not wanting to make him talk about it if he didn't want to.
He shook his head "no" and made his way towards his side of the bed. His arms went up to pull his shirt off and proceeded to take his uncomfortable jeans off, which he had been itching to do.
As he pulled to covers back, you leaned over to bookmark your place and set the book on the nightstand. You flipped the switch to turn the lamp off and turned around to face Bucky.
"C'mere" you murmured, him already knowing what you meant as he leaned over to rest his head on your chest. Your legs tangled themselves together as if they had a brain of their own.
Your hands wrapped around his head, running your fingers through his hair, humming slightly to a song from a musical you watched together not too long ago that you'd soon became obsessed with.
He felt soothed. This is what he loved about you. You made him feel like no matter what else was happening in the world, no matter what war he was coming from or on his way to, you were always able to make him feel safe.
