Chapter Thirty Eight

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"That's disgusting and petty

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"That's disgusting and petty."

Bucky had passed out last night rather quickly once the tears had stopped falling

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Bucky had passed out last night rather quickly once the tears had stopped falling. I couldn't exactly pick him up and drag him back to my room he's made himself ever so comfortable in so instead I placed a blanket over him and stole back my bed for the night. The only problem? Getting out of it the next morning. I'd sunk so far into the sheets I just don't have it in me to haul myself out.

However, the smell of something delicious fills the room and I find myself curious. Rolling out of the tangled sheets I take a second to clear the fog from my mind before padding towards the bedroom door. Brushing aside the white curtain I peek through the glass pane to observe Bucky sliding pancakes from a paper container onto a plate. Two placed on either plate with a couple cherry red strawberries. I feel a smile tug at my lips watching Bucky bend to check the orange juice in either glass is even. Crouched behind the kitchen counter analysing the volume intently. The crinkle in his brows and roll of his lip was the softest thing I've ever seen.

Hearing me open the bedroom door Bucky's blue eyes perk up to meet mine. Offering me a smile as I approach the island bench, Bucky comments "I I was preparing to drag you out of bed."

"You did the next best thing", I remark, placing my head in my hands leaning over the pancakes "You bought food."

Smirking, Bucky pushes one of the plates towards me "Consider it an apology."

Grabbing a knife and fork, I raise my brow, "You've got nothing to apologise for. We've all been there."

"Even you?"

"Even me."

A soft smile etches onto Bucky's face as he bites into a strawberry, "I had a memory of cooking. I'd been really good." When I raise my eyebrows Bucky nods beside us "I'd thought I'd have a go at breakfast but... well..." Following Bucky's line of sight towards the rest of the kitchen I feel my lips part slightly surprised. Across the sink and counter lays batter and flour, an open egg carton still on the sink beside a mixing bowl of something creamy and lumpy. Whatever was in the bowl is strewn slightly cooked over the stove top whereas the pans contained something... something that's now extremely black. Not just burnt- black. Noting the unpinned fire extinguisher beside the stovetop I peer slowly back to Bucky who scratches anxiously at the nape of his neck "I mean I stopped when I'd created a fire."

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