chrysalism. n.
the amniotic tranquility of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to waves of rain pattering against the roof like an argument upstairs, whose muffled words are unintelligible but whose crackling release of built-up tension...
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New York, New York. June 6th, 2017. 7:30 AM.
Steve grinned as he approached Bucky's front door, CD in hand. Ryan had passed it off to him after the set the night before, in their living room before Malone showed up: he'd tried his best to write 'from Malone' in his neatest handwriting on the CD cover, but he was still worried Bucky would catch him. All Steve wanted to do was give Bucky a little nudge to get closer to Malone, they were so obviously attracted to each other. Steve carefully placed the CD on the floor and lightly knocked on the door before slipping back down the hallway and out of sight.
Bucky stirred at the sudden sound of a knock. He scanned his bedroom and saw no immediate threat, and he exhaled. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, he was surprised to not have a headache, like he remembered getting before the Army. He grabbed a hoodie on his way to the front door, he tripped over a bag in the living room, one he recognized as Malone's. He kicked it under the couch, not knowing who was knocking, and continued to the door. Nobody was there, but there was a small, square case on the ground, with a note stuck to it. From Malone. He smiled, letting the door close behind him, but stopped short of opening it when he realized, he had no clue what this case held.
"Friday," he called, "what is this?"
"It is a Compact Disc, commonly called a CD. A way to have copies of an audio file."
Bucky stopped breathing. Although unlikely, he still felt it was possible for everything Hydra drilled into him for 70 years to still be there, all it took was the words, and he'd be right back where he started.
"If you insert it to the reader, I can tell you what's on it," the robotic voice suggested.
"Uh, yeah. Please. Don't play it yet, though," he stammered, fumbling with the CD case as he walked towards his TV.
"The file is called Secret.mp3, Mr. Barnes. Origins: Stark Studios. It's safe, sir."
"Okay," he breathed, "play it."
Slowly, the sound of acoustic guitar and piano filled his living room as he stepped into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee. He smiled to himself as her voice filled the walls, remembering their moments the night before. His face smiled, but his mind raced with doubts; before he could get too lost in thought, another knock at the door. Friday lowered the volume automatically as Bucky rushed to open the door.
"Why am I hearing myself at 7:30?" She was tense.
"I got your recording," he smiled. Her face dropped.
"What recording?"
"The one you," he paused in confusion, "someone left it in front of my door." Her face turned pink as she realized what had happened.
"I'm going to kill him. That song wasn't supposed to be reproduced. It was the test track, oh my god. It was supposed to be played for you the one time," Malone panicked. "It was supposed to be special." Then, a notification bell.
