The Part Where It Gets Weird (3)

the part where it gets weird (3)

summary: you find yourself in a complicated situation that involved your feelings and a weird neighbor who seems to be avoiding you

pairing: bucky barnes x fem!reader

words: i have absolutely no idea

warnings: none? I think, maybe some descriptions of the feelings of loneliness and fear.

note: I have decided to go with the flow. on Wednesday I'll have the last exam of my semester and it is the most important one and I'm so freaking afraid of mess it up, but still I'm just gonna fill my mind with these two, and try to get good scenarios so that I can really be completely centered on these two. still, don't think that gonna happen. anyways, I hope you enjoy this part, and the Tumblr maybe lets it grow before deciding to let it die in the shadows. thank u for giving me the chance if you decide to read, I hope you have a great day and wonderful weekend! Also, English is not my first language so sorry for any mistakes!

(part 3 of how to break a routine in one year!)

Before you moved in and met Bucky Barnes, you felt you had fallen into a routine that was too monotonous.

Emmet disappeared during the blip. For a long time, you reminisced about that day, the two of you in your shared flat making dinner. There was a soft jazz tune playing that you liked to listen to when you cooked, especially on a date as special as your birthday, and even though your boyfriend wasn't that big a jazz fan, he always leaned against the doorframe leading to the kitchen to watch you move sideways, serene and happy. Really happy. You were very happy at that time, you were sure. You had the life you wanted, a partner who you loved and loved you and a great place to live with an amazing view of the city.

But then your nightmare began.

From one moment to the next, you were completely alone. You thought he had gone to the bathroom or to check his mobile phone, so you decided to continue cooking. It took you a while to react to the environment because the music didn't let you hear what was going on outside.

As time passed, you began to repress the memories you had of the moment when the mass hysteria started. There was screaming all over the building, and when you went outside, most of your neighbours were either crying their eyes out or just as static as you were. You didn't even really understand what was going on; one moment you were cooking and then you start hearing screams over the music. Your search for your boyfriend in the flat was fruitless and you decided to go out in case he had heard everything before you and had gone out first. But there was nothing for you out there.

What happened next when you returned to the flat you no longer remembered, nor the days, weeks or months that followed. You lived to work and only ordered food from home. You hadn't cooked since that fateful day and you tried to spend as little time as possible in that flat. It was considerably big, like a studio, once full of life and hope, but after a while you were unable to recognise it and the person you used to be before what happened. Most of the time you were only in the flat in the evenings, a plate of Chinese food on your lap or some foreign food while watching TV. The rest of the time, if you weren't at work, you paid for a room in a nearby hotel.

Sometimes you watched the news, but they always talked about the same thing: the collapse and recovery of the economy, investigations into the disappearance of half the population and how to bring them back, and a whole section devoted to people calling in to tell their experiences and share their feelings on national television. At other exceptional times, you went shopping. It was too sad and depressing to go out on the streets during the first few months, because everything was desolate and the few people you saw looked dead inside. When you came home with your shopping and took everything out to organise it, you realised that, time and again, you kept buying Emmet's shampoo and talcum powder. It took you a while to get out of the habit, and it was harder than you thought.

But there wasn't something there that sparked something in you and, after almost four years, you decided to sell the flat. You had already made up your mind, like everyone else, that Emmet was never coming back. That no one was coming back. And being in that place was making you wither, recently you didn't even know why you were still trying to get better. So you packed your bags and left the country. Your family and your closest friends were gone too. What better than to spend all your savings and start from scratch in another country?

You spent a year and a half in Italy when a person appeared in your living room. As confused as you were, neither of you said anything for several seconds. Then it happened again. You heard the shouting, the crying and some bad language, much more clearly than the first time, and reliving that traumatic situation didn't sit too well with you. The rest happened too quickly. You talked to the man, turned on the news, saw a whole shot of some city in the United States destroyed and as a caption: "the Avengers give us back hope".

You threw the remote control at the TV. A crack spread across the screen, you watched it furiously as the man stared at you in confusion. The faces of the Avengers who had died were flashing across the screen. You felt a ringing in your ears, too loud to hear what the reporter or the man in the room with you was saying. You moved on automatic to your room, in a matter of seconds you packed your bag and left the place. The next thing you knew, you were on a plane to the United States. You hadn't even processed what was happening, it was as if someone else was moving your body for you.

When you got to the block where you used to live, it was like a reality check. You spent the last year trying to pretend that you were fine, that you had really gotten better and moved on, but going back to that place struck a chord inside you, like a freshly opened wound. You could barely make it up the stairs to the fourth floor, your body heavy as if you were carrying a sack full of stones. Your heart was beating extremely fast when you reached the door and rang the bell.

An elderly lady opened the door for you. And though you tried, you couldn't speak. You felt suffocated and suddenly you didn't even know what you were doing there. The lady was talking, you knew she was saying something, maybe asking what you were doing there, but you couldn't even move your lips to say something.

Suddenly, you were inside the flat, but you didn't react. The lady had sat you down in her big armchair and put a cup of tea in front of you. You could see the smoke, through the air from the window it reached your face, but you couldn't feel anything. You felt numb.

The lady touched your arm and brought the cup close to your hands. It was hot. Too hot. You hissed and grabbed it by the rim. A deep silence soon came to an end. You began to think, ramble and remember. You looked at the lady as if she had all the answers, but all she told you was to drink your tea and try to calm down. It was hard, but after a few minutes you looked a bit more relaxed.

At that point, the lady told you that, if you were looking for the man who had appeared in the flat, he had left several hours ago. She told you that he hadn't said where he was going, but that he was probably in one of the makeshift shelters they had set up in the city to keep track of people who had turned up, or that he might be in a hotel or at an acquaintance's house.

You spent hours searching. You knew that Emmet had no one in this country besides you and, at this point, leaving the country for him would be complicated. It was almost two days since you started looking, in every hotel and every shelter. By the end of the second day, you finally found him. And you felt at peace, yes, you were glad that he was safe and sound, but you were not at peace yet. That same day, you were also able to communicate with your family living in Ohio; luckily, everyone was fine.

Soon after, you began to think that maybe Emmet should try to get back into the rhythm of his life on his own, because you were both living in a hotel without doing much of anything; however, when you suggested it, he suddenly seemed very scared and asked you not to leave him alone. You decided to stay and try to understand what he was going through, but after two months things were not getting any better. You were able to go back to your old job, but he was still locked in the room. You tried to help him get his life back on track, but he shut down every time you suggested going out, or trying something different. He just didn't want to.

When you realised that this was no longer healthy for him, you took his mobile phone. You knew he had been ignoring his mum's calls since he got back and you decided to call her and ask her to come over. The poor woman didn't hesitate to agree, desperate to hear from her son. She too had been missing for five years.

Needless to say, Emmet was angry with you, but only at first and, days later, he quietly accepted the fact that you wanted to move out on your own to a place closer to your work.

Emmet was left with his parents living in one of the houses they had in town and you arrived at the building where you met Bucky. It had only been a day since you had moved in and, after unpacking and organizing everything, you decided to turn on the TV. A Tony Stark news report came on in the foreground. Then you remembered what you'd been through and felt like throwing the remote at the TV again. You didn't think you would ever feel so much hatred against one person, or several people at the same time. You wanted to convince yourself that it wasn't really their fault that other intergalactic beings had problems with their planet, but with so much pent-up pain and suffering, you needed to take it out on someone or something. You never in your life thought you would say you hated the Avengers, but there you were, thinking just that.

That same night, sitting on your little balcony, you decided to have a peaceful night to yourself. You had organised the whole house with your posters, you had also called your parents again, you had prepared a dinner for yourself after so long and you had spent some time in the bathtub. Then you went out on the balcony with a cup of hot chocolate, just to watch the night.

You had been sitting in your long-overdue peace and quiet for some time when you heard the window of the balcony next door being opened. You noticed a short-haired man leaning against the railing, just looking out over the city. You guessed that this was your neighbour. You both stood there for a while before entering your respective houses, the man first before you. You thought a bit about what he looked like, you could tell he hadn't had a good night.

And well, it had been four months since that night. You still didn't feel in full control of your life, but you knew you were on the right track.

And Bucky… well, you felt he'd been avoiding you for a few days. Normally, during the week you'd run into him at least four times when you left your flat, but since what you'd talked about the day of the celebration in the building, you'd only seen him about three times in all that time. Maybe you shouldn't have been so insistent that he talk to you about his life - after all, he doesn't have to, right?

Arriving at your flat felt different with each passing day. You were getting used to the presence of the man who was silent 90% of the time, but who you knew always listened and kept in mind everything you told him. Bucky is one of billions, you were sure. He was a very honest and dedicated man, respectful, but slightly jocular, always lending a hand, even if he was hanging off the cliff. Moving to that place was one of the best things you could have done, and now you felt you could ruin a part of it by not knowing how to respect the boundaries of a person you cared about very much. Sometimes you were really surprised by that, how Bucky had become so important to you in such a short period of time.

What difference did it make if you didn't know his birthday? You mentally scolded yourself, riding up the building's lift with two bags full of freshly bought groceries and toiletries. That day officially marked four months since you had arrived. And it was also the day of your monthly shopping.

You had left in the morning (without meeting Bucky by any chance) straight to work, where you spent most of the morning busy finishing deliveries that were due the following week. At noon you finally left, walked to one of the supermarkets near the building and did your respective shopping. With a bit of hope, you bought some extra vegetables and meats to prepare something for Bucky that night, if you could see him after all this time.

The metal lift doors opened and you came face to face with a dark-haired man leaning against the door of Bucky's flat. You frowned. He glanced at you, nodded his head in greeting and said “good afternoon”. Politely, you returned the greeting and walked to the right in the direction of your flat. When you reached the door, you put your bags on the floor and started looking for your keys with more haste than usual. You wanted to get in quickly because you knew that if you stayed outside any longer, you would turn around and start a very embarrassing interrogation of this man who must definitely know Bucky. Because if not, what reason does he have to be sitting right outside his door?

As you pulled out your keys, tangled with your headphones, they fell out making a thunderous sound. It probably wasn't that loud, but within the emptiness of your head and the tension in your body, it had really sounded like a racket.

Why am I making such a fuss? He's just a friend of Bucky's… a friend… someone else who knows him… who knows things about him… who might know… where he is, or if he's okay…

“You know Bucky?” your body turned around, the keys in your hand that were about to open the door to your flat.

The man raised his head in your direction, watching you in a very peculiar way. You didn't know whether suspicious or intrigued.

“Do you know Bucky?” the man replied with another question, looking more intrigued than suspicious.

“We're neighbours,” you pointed to your flat.

“Yeah, but I mean, have you talked to him?”

“Have I talked to Bucky?” you frowned, your brain starting to work a mile a minute trying to decipher and process so many things at once, “You mean this week? Have I talked to Bucky this week? Because I haven't spoken to him this week. In fact, I think he's been ignoring me pretty much flat out and I understand that he's angry, but avoiding me isn't going to make anything go away and I've really wanted to see him so I could tell him I'm sorry for trying to meddle in his life, but I've hardly ever seen him these past two weeks, and the only times he's practically run off and I couldn't…”

At some point in your monologue, the man stood up and approached you. He tried to talk to you, but you didn't hear him because you were rambling, until you felt his hands on your shoulders.

“Calm down, kiddo. Breathe.”

You followed his instruction, but two seconds later you frowned, “I'm not a child.”

You shook your shoulders and backed away from the man, who raised his hands and took a few steps away to give you space.

“I just want to know if he's okay,” you demanded, your gaze on the wood of the floor and your heart racing, about to burst out of your throat.

“This morning he wrote to me,” the man began to tell you, and you looked up to hear his account carefully, “He told me he had some things to discuss and to come by. I hardly ever really know much about Bucky, I only find out what he wants me to know.”

You nodded in his direction, your head scheming again.

“Okay, I get it, I get it. If you're here right now, does that mean he's supposed to be coming?”

“Supposed to,” he gestured affirmatively, “I'm Sam, by the way. Sam Wilson.”

“Y/N, just Y/N,” you frowned at him, “Do I know you? Your name sounds familiar…”

“I don't think we've met, but maybe you've seen me on TV.”

“Oh, you're an actor?”

“Not exactly, I'm…”

“Sam.”

There it was. Imposing and rigorous in a way you'd never heard it before. The voice you hadn't heard for almost two weeks.

Sam turned around, and allowed you to watch Bucky stand in front of his flat door, barely inserting the key. You felt a kind of peace fill your chest, as your mind got rid of all the fog, and suddenly all you could see was the man. He was fine, he was healthy and definitely alive.

Suddenly, Bucky's friend Sam moved in his direction as he pointed at you, “You didn't tell me you had a friend.”

Bucky turned to look at you. He gave you a look that froze your chest. He had never looked at you in such a cold and ruthless and cutting way. You felt your throat close up with nervousness and you began to breathe faster.

“She's not my friend.”

Ouch. A stab to the heart would have hurt less. You stared at the man, who was struggling with the door to open it. Whatever you wanted to say to him to say hello, to let him know you were happy to see him, or that he was okay, disappeared from your mind in a matter of seconds. You felt that ringing in your ear that made you feel like you were losing oxygen. Why did Bucky Barnes make you feel so horrible and disposable?

“But you're neighbours,” Sam added, puzzled.

“So what? We're barely even acquaintances.”

“Bucky,” you spoke, your voice hanging on a thread. You didn't even know how you had found the strength to speak, but the look the man gave you when you said his name froze you from head to toe.

Finally, his door opened, and he turned to look at Sam, “Are you coming in or not?”

Sam turned to look at you, your gaze still focused on the man who ignored you like you were a crumpled piece of paper.

“Bucky,” you called back, and when he looked back at you, he didn't look as hard as before. His features had contracted a little, but he still felt reluctant to your presence, “Can we talk for a moment?”

The aforementioned looked at Sam, who shrugged his shoulders and took a few steps to the side. Bucky rolled his eyes, and focused on you once more.

“Now… now I really can't do this.”

“Please,” you leaned closer, “I know you're angry that I pushed you and made you talk about things you didn't want to, and I'm really sorry, I really am…”

“What are you talking about?” Bucky interrupted you, his brow furrowed in confusion.

His question puzzled you. You watched him, your face mimicking his in hodgepodge.

“From-from the time of the building celebration. When we were outside…”

“Ah,” Bucky seemed to remember, his head bobbing in assent, “What about it?”

“Well you-you left,” you stammered, not quite understanding the turn the conversation had taken. Bucky nodded at your words and, with a glare, urged you to continue, “And-and then, y-you've been ignoring me ever since.”

“I haven't been ignoring you,” he denied.

“What?” you blurted out between half whisper and half shout, “What do you mean, you haven't? I've barely seen you three times in the last two weeks. You sneak all over the place and you're doing that thing again of changing your departure schedule so you won't run into me!”

Bucky sighed. You noticed his shoulders slacken as he lowered his gaze.

“I haven't been ignoring you, remember I have a job? I've just been busier.”

“And my messages?”

“Ah, no,” Sam interjected, “Don't worry about that, he ignores everyone's messages.”

You shook your head, “Everyone's but mine. You always reply to me, or at least leave me in the dark. But these last few days I haven't had anything…”

“What?” Sam's voice was drowned out in a whisper.

“Y/N, we can talk about this more later. Right now I have something important to talk to Sam about.”

You crossed your arms over your chest, but said nothing. You stood watching the man who seemed to have completely softened his expression, too drastic a change to what you had seen when he arrived.

Sam approached the door, leaning out just to say goodbye, “See you later, Y/N, I hope we can all meet, another day. Preferably under different circumstances.”

“Just come on in,” Bucky nudged him with a shoulder and you couldn't help but notice his trademark black gloves.

The aforementioned stood in the doorway, his gaze focused on yours, just as you had your eyes fixed on his. He seemed to have a storm of thoughts and feelings going through his head.

“I wasn't really ignoring you, okay? It was just work. You'll be seeing more of me in a few days, okay?”

If he was trying to get an answer out of you, he definitely wasn't getting it. And you didn't really know what to say to him either. So had the last two weeks been a figment of your imagination? Was he really not ignoring you and you were just getting ideas?

Bucky clicked his tongue and looked at his watch.

“I'll write you later, okay? And we'll talk about it.”

And he gave you one last look before entering his flat and closing the door.

Needless to say, that “later” turned into several days of waiting. Within those days, you realised several things.

First. You didn't know how to handle your friendly relationship with Bucky going forward. You mean, you felt you had a good relationship before the recent events, even if you were the more talkative of the two of you, but lately you felt that distance had changed a lot of things about how you really saw Bucky. It's fine that Bucky doesn't want to talk about his life, but you felt you were in limbo just giving things away without getting anything in return. Was that selfish? Did it really make you a bad person? Sometimes you thought he was just trying to keep you out of his life, and that wasn't the best thought of all.

Second. That you had never questioned not knowing too much about his life, arguing that it was his decision when to share it with you. And yes, indeed it was, but what kind of things could be behind that curtain? Doing a short but effective investigation, you discovered that Sam Wilson was Falcon, one of the many heroes who helped fight Thanos and his army. That made you wonder too many things about Bucky: How did he meet Sam? What kind of relationship do they have? You'd come to the conclusion that they must work together, because you'd seen him a couple of other times on the floor since the first time. But what did it entail that Bucky was working with Sam Wilson? What was Bucky's real job?

And third, that maybe Bucky's recent behaviour had influenced the way you felt about him too much. In what way? You were still trying to figure that out. You hadn't felt this worried about not knowing about someone since Emmet disappeared into the blip over five years ago, and that was a lot to say. What was it, then, given that, that you really felt for Bucky? Brotherly love? Familiarity? Probably.

Yes, probably.

Day eight had arrived, after you'd gone into your flat and helped yourself to a nice plate of pasta, ready to marathon your favourite series of the moment, when you heard a soft knock on your door. You grunted under your breath, setting your plate down on the table in front of the couch you were sitting in. The mirror on the left side of the room, right where you were standing, facing the balcony, showed the full moon at its highest point. It was probably almost eleven p.m. What does anyone want at this hour?

You shuffled towards the door. You had a blanket wrapped around your shoulders and your plushest stockings brushed the floor. Your hand moved to the door handle, moving it almost lazily to open the door to see who was behind it.

“Emmet,” you muttered, your brow furrowing in time. The man in front of you gave you a half smile, almost forced, and waved back, “What are you doing here at this hour? You didn't write me that you were coming.”

“I didn't plan it, it was spontaneous. I went to do some shopping for the house and was passing by to come back, so I decided to stop for a moment,” he told you, his hands moving all over the place until they were inside the pockets of his jacket, and his body moving back and forth, from side to side, on the tips of his toes. He was terribly nervous, you knew. It was obvious. But why?

“Okay, I understand. And do you want to come in for a drink?”

“No,” he said quickly, his face suddenly getting serrated, “I'll be quick. Y/N, I think we should broke up.”

You stared into his eyes, staring into yours. You didn't say anything for several seconds. You repeated the words in your head a couple of times, thinking about what to say in response, but your mind was empty. Your mind was empty. And what was in your chest? Nothing. A strange emptiness. For a while you thought that, if the day ever came when Emmet told you he was done with you, that would be the day you would lose part of your soul and go with him; for those times when you felt he was so intrinsic to your life that the slightest thought of separation was unbearable.

Nevertheless, you just looked at him. Your expression didn't mutate for a moment, and the man in front of you frowned.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you replied quickly, “I mean, I understand why you say that. We also didn't spend much time together since… you came back, and when we are together, we don't have good communication either. Five years was too long.”

“I know. And I can tell you could have left me behind, tried to move on with your life… and I don't blame you,” he quickly added the last when he noticed you were about to refute him, “a lot of people thought half the people on the planet would never come back, and probably if it had been the other way around I would have thought the same thing. I don't want you to feel you have a responsibility to me. You don't talk to me directly, but my mother is incapable of not telling me something, especially if it has to do with you. You call her almost every day.”

“Is that bad? I just want to know how you're doing.”

“I'm going to be fine, Y/N, just like you. But I'm not going to keep you with me when I know you don't feel the same way you used to.”

Mmm, so that was it.

Your lips moved, you wanted to say something to him but you didn't know what. The whole time you had been separated from Emmet since the blip, at no point did you ever think about how you really felt about your boyfriend. All you thought about was that Emmet was back, and he was your boyfriend, so you had to make sure he was okay. Because you had to, it was your obligation as his partner, wasn't it?

“You don't have to answer me, but I want you to know that we'll be fine.”

“I'm sorry,” was the only thing that came out of your mouth.

“We'll be fine,” he repeated, and with a half-smile he turned and started walking towards the stairs.

And you stood there, standing in the doorframe watching the lift. Well, it had finally happened. The relationship that had become one-sided was over and you really didn't know how to react. Until that day, Emmet was your reason for keeping your feet on the ground. When he left, you wandered all over the place without a purpose: in the flat, in the supermarkets and in your job. If you didn't have your port to land, what were you going to do?

You never thought you would become emotionally dependent on one person. But, after everything that had happened, not having something to remind you of normality made you think you were going to go crazy. If you couldn't remember who you were before those five years, how are you going to know that you're doing well? That you're on the right track?

How are you going to know that you're okay, in this new world where there's a threat around every corner, and where the chance of dying from aliens was higher than winning the lottery? You weren't ready. You really didn't feel ready to face this new world alone.

If Emmet wasn't there, then what was your normality? What was going to remind you how happy you were before it all happened and that you could be happy again with hard work and dedication? What?

That wasn't the way you planned to spend the night.

“Y/N?” you heard someone say.

Bucky.

You looked up, focusing on the man standing in front of you with a puzzled frown.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” you replied quickly, without much thought, “Yeah, I'm fine. Why?”

“You look like you've been standing there for a while.”

“Ah… yeah. I was just going to lie down.”

“Before that,” Bucky spoke up, as you moved to close the door, “can we talk for a few minutes? About what you said the other day.”

“You already told me you've been busy with your work, what else do you have to tell me?”

“You don't know what my job is.”

“And why do I need to know?” You replied curtly, defensively, which caused a confused expression on the man's face, “I'm sorry, it's just… you didn't really pick the best night for this. Can't it be tomorrow?”

Bucky shook his head in assent, “Yeah, sure, I've got tomorrow off.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow then, Buck. Go get some rest.”

I've just published the part 3 of how to break a routine in one year! Just in case you want to check it out 💜

masterlist

It's not a big deal but I like to give order to what I write, so here it goes! (this is all bucky barnes btw)

connected but unfinished story loosely inspired by songs by taylor swift:

cowboy like me

invisible string

the feelings trilogy:

bittersweet feelings

mixed feelings

confessed feelings

other more independent things:

ivy

(in)dispensable

temporal infinity

cursed

disappear

patient zero

life goes on

how to break a routine in one year / part 2 / part 3

a piece of heaven

I'm sorry but the image of Kevin Feige just texting a frowny emoji to a teeny tiny teenager who keeps bullying him for not paying attention to comics is cracking me up

I want to read something angsty but all I find is angst with a fluffy ending, like?? Why can't I find some pretty crushing souls stories??? I WANT TO CRY, I WANT MY FEELINGS TO GET DESTROYED AND TO NEVER WANT TO EXPERIENCE LOVE AGAIN

(still read the fluffy endings ones tho, really endearing, love them all, love all of you writes, you keep me going everyday)

If someone can help me, thank you very much

strike two (4)

summary: you begin to analyse your friendship with Bucky as revelations appear around the corner.

pairing: bucky barnes x f!reader

words: no idea, more than 3k that's sure

warnings: mention of feelings of sadness and anxiety

note: i don't even know what's going on with my life these days. i've been with so much ups and downs that i don't think i can follow my life's pace anymore. why is it so difficult just to live? anyways, i still find comfort in writing even tho i don't enjoy music as much as i used to, and that's scary. i hope i still find some light in writing from now on, cause that would be the only thing that keeps me afloat.

i hope you enjoy this chapter!

part 4 of how to break a routine in one year

You hadn't missed the news that morning. And, in a way, you wished you had. Sam Wilson, aka Falcon, was handing over the great Captain America's shield; a simile object that brought back memories of bitter times. The supersoldier had become an icon since the defeat of Thanos, much more so than he was when he was frozen for several decades, living as a myth. He had been reborn to become a legend, and a constant reminder of all that you had lost. You saw his face everywhere, and Tony Stark's, decorating the streets of Washington; you couldn't even shop in peace without finding the face of one of the Avengers on a box of cereal or stamped on a cup of chocolate. The most mundane routines of your life had begun to become a constant martyrdom where every corner forced you to remember that you were someone that day that the you of five and a half years ago would not have recognised.

Ever since Emmet came to your flat, to do what was best for both of you that you could never have done, you felt that your chip of conformity and warmth had been burnt out. That same night, you had arranged to meet Bucky to talk the next day, you remembered it perfectly.

But even so, you couldn't find it in you to open the door when he knocked once; twice; three times… four times. Your feet were planted in front of the door, your whole body static and your heart hammering fiercely inside your chest even though you felt every limb of your body freeze. When Bucky knocked for the umpteenth time, you could barely remember him saying anything from the other side of the door. You remembered the sound of his voice, but you couldn't put together and make sense of the words trying to form a sentence. Your mind was scattered, but alert to any sign of danger. It was so difficult and overwhelming to be so unaware of your reality and the now, but at the same time to be so aware of everything your senses perceived in a matter of seconds. Your instinct begged you to hide, to flee to the comfort of your bed and lie under the covers and pretend the problems didn't exist and imagine that everything was magically solved, as you did for a long time during the disappearance of half the people on the planet.

But, in the end, you couldn't open the door. And you knew that Bucky had spoken to you for a long time from the other side, but you couldn't remember anything he had said.

Later that night, when you were more aware of reality, you sat on your balcony next to your cup of green tea, something you hoped would help you get some sleep that night.

What happened after those moments you did remember.

“Are you okay?”  your neighbour's voice alerted you. You turned in surprise to find Bucky facing you, his body leaning against the railing of his balcony, watching you warily as if at any moment you were going to run away.

At some other time, his intrusion would bother you, especially after that week, but you were feeling especially vulnerable that night, enough so that you didn't mind too much telling Bucky about your dilemmas with your eyes lost in the infinity of stars that adorned the night sky, afraid that he would suddenly think you were going crazy, or on the verge of an existential crisis.

At that moment, you didn't really care about much.

“Emmet broke up with me,” you blurted out suddenly, not really answering his question.

“Oh-” 

“But it didn't really bother me, or upset me, nor do I feel like the saddest or most unhappy person in the world. I guess I had seen it coming, but I didn't want to accept it because ending it would mean starting over in this world that's crazy enough as it is.”

You detailed the moon as your thoughts drifted back to the night before, to that moment when you realised you were clinging to a lost cause.

“I thought that… I thought I had it all figured out. Before the blip I thought nothing could defeat me and my perfect life; after the blip I thought I could fix it all by moving to another continent; when Emmet came back, I thought I could get back that normal perfect life that used to make me happy, it was a strange monotony, like the one everyone goes through at some point, but I loved it. And I couldn't get it back. Nothing I ever had I could ever get back.” 

You looked down to watch the green tea bag float inside the cup.

“And now all I have is this. Nothing. An extinct survival instinct. Everything I knew is gone and everything new… It terrifies me. I'm so scared.”

When you looked up again at the stars that adorned the clear night, you felt the tears running down your cheeks. You were not a fan of that feeling and sensation, preferring more the solitude that came with repressing every feeling of suffering in the darkness of a room. However, the knot in your chest was too big to hold in any longer, and in that moment, in that fleeting moment, you preferred to let it out.

If you really didn't have anything else, what difference did it make?

You breathed in hard, until your lungs ached, and let the air out heavily. You turned to look at Bucky, his gaze reflected an expression you couldn't decipher, but you didn't feel like it either. Before he decided to answer you, you took the floor again:

“What was it you wanted to tell me last night?” 

The man's expression was obfuscated by the sudden change of subject, but with his frown he didn't give the matter much head.

“I wanted to apologise to you, for my attitude over the last few weeks, it wasn't the most appropriate. But it wasn't for the reason you thought.”

“So... you don't mind me asking questions about your life?”

Bucky shrugged, his gaze turned to the city lights.

“I suppose I've been asked worse. A birthday never hurts.” 

You smiled at him, sincerely.

“However, there was a reason I had that less than exemplary behaviour.”

“I don't think you've ever been as forthcoming as you were tonight. Is it because of the full moon?”

Bucky tried to hold back a smile, but it failed terribly so he decided to avert his gaze from yours. He didn't like you trying to be funny at that moment because he was going to tell you something he didn't know how you were going to take it, and nervousness was taking over his body in a way he didn't know how to decipher.

“The thing is…” Bucky took the floor again, his forearms resting on the railing and his body pointing towards yours, hands clasped. He didn't know how not to look like he was about to explode, “Because of my job, I've had to do a few things these past days. And, also, during that time, I had time to reflect on our, um… friendship?”

The man frowned, as if the word wasn't the one he was looking for to express what he wanted to say, but watching your confused expression made him put those ideas out of his mind.

“My job was a complicated thing. It's not really something I'm proud of and there's a lot of things about it that I'm still trying to fix. But the things that made me think about our friendship were that, because of my job, I've made a lot of enemies. Too many. And I don't want you to…”

Bucky cut himself off mid-sentence, his heavy breathing beginning to heave. “I don't want one of those people to connect you to me and try to hurt you.”

He watched you, unsettled by your immobility. And yes, you were just watching him, because of everything he could say about it that he hadn't told you, that was the last thing you expected.

“My job was… I mean, I was…”

He fell silent again mid-sentence, his nerves winning out in his moment of bravery. He didn't know why he suddenly cared so much about what you thought about what he was about to say, when for a long time he didn't care that that was all that was talked and thought about him.

“You were the Winter Soldier.”

The stunned expression the man gave you after hearing your words was one you wanted to keep in your head forever; at least in those moments you needed to laugh. Despite the darkness, you could notice his small pupils and how he stopped the anxious movements of his hands.

“How did you…?”

“I was overcome with curiosity. I was more surprised I hadn't figured it out sooner. But Sam was what intrigued me much more, and since recently the news has been all about him it's very easy to find certain information on the internet.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows, slightly relieved that you hadn't taken it as badly as he'd hoped.

“If it's any consolation, I only found out about it about two hours ago.”

The man gave a half-smile.

“To be honest, I was also surprised you didn't already know. I mean, there's Avengers news everywhere all the time. And a few years ago there was a scandal… that just... phew.”

You let out a short laugh, your hands moving to set your cup with the forgotten tea on the small glass table you had on the balcony.

“I was never a big Avengers fan. I lived far enough away from the news and the networks to not know anything about them.”

“Oh. That's a good reason.”

“But it's not personal, don't worry.”

“Well, that's a relief.”

And that was true, it wasn't personal, but you couldn't help the strange feeling that stayed with you from the moment you found out, to the moment you woke up the next day and saw on the news that Sam Wilson had given Captain America's shield to the Smithsonian. Your mind quickly went to Bucky as soon as you heard the headline, thinking about how the man must have been feeling at that moment when you knew that this great hero had been his best and greatest friend in life.

But you didn't have to wonder for long.

When you left your house, just a few minutes later, you found Bucky coming out of his. You were about to greet him as you were accustomed to doing when you noticed his disgruntled face.

Yes, the shield.

“Hi,” you greeted innocently, not really knowing how to approach the subject.

“Hi,” Bucky greeted you back, drier than usual, but you didn't blame him.

You moved to his side as he approached the elevator and waited on your feet as you watched him out of the corner of your eye. His chest was rising and falling a little faster than usual, and you could hear how loud his breathing was. You decided not to look, but you could already imagine that his hands were clasped at the sides of his body.

“Going somewhere in such a hurry?”

“To see Sam.”

The lift doors opened.

“Oh, yeah, right.”

You two stepped inside and quickly Bucky pressed the first floor.

“And where's Sam?”

“About to get on a plane.”

“Oh.”

The lift stopped and Bucky stepped out taking large strides without looking back. With short but quick steps, you promptly approached him.

“May I join you?”

Your feet crossed and you felt the friction of a blow against a strong physiognomy. Bucky had stopped his long strides suddenly and you had bumped into his back for not looking more carefully.

The man turned around, his eyes darting quickly to yours. He seemed to be looking for something in your face that told him you were joking or hoping you would back down under his intimidating gaze.

“No. That's not a good idea.”

“But-” 

“I said no. Did you even hear anything I said last night?”

You opened your mouth to refute, but nothing came out of it because you knew you didn't have a good argument. You just wanted to go along with him and make sure on your own that it would be okay, that he would be fine.

Something told you that this outing in search of Sam would end with the two of you not seeing each other for a few days.

Soon, as if he could read the feelings crossing your eyes, Bucky softened his gaze and spoke again, “I know you're worried, but I can take care of myself. I have experience. And Sam will be watching, too.”

“You won't tell Sam that I expect him to take care of you.”

“No,” the man admitted without a hint of embarrassment, “but he will anyway.”

You sighed, your slumped shoulders shifting slightly in time with your discomfort. Bucky began to walk away, not taking his gaze from yours.

“I'll be back when you least expect it.”

“Text me!” you exclaimed as he was already reaching the exit.

The man raised his hand in response.

It was definitely going to be a long few days.

-------------

You didn't really expect Bucky to write you. Not at all.

Well… maybe a little.

A little bit, yeah.

Definitely.

Notwithstanding the fact that you weren't exactly expecting Bucky to let you know how his journey was going, it was clear that the last thing you expected was a message from an unknown number in your inbox, with a 16-second video of Sam stinging Bucky until he ripped the mobile phone out of his hands and the video cut out.

It was Sam's number.

“Hey, what's up? We just finished the day's work. We're in perfect shape, the bloodstains aren't ours, don't worry.”

“Who the hell are you talking to?” you could hear Bucky's voice, and you smiled imagining his frown.

Sam turned the front camera to focus on Bucky.

“There's sourpuss Barnes, safe and sound. Say hello to your girlfriend, Barnes.”

That's when Bucky took the mobile phone from Sam and the video ended.

You stared at the screen as the video restarted. Sam's words sounded strange, completely foreign, and an unusual, unfamiliar feeling spread through your body that you didn't really know how to interpret.

“Y/N?”

Your co-worker, Tania, snapped you out of your musings. You raised your head to look at the brown-haired woman sitting at the desk across from you, seeing you through her dark glasses, one of her eyebrows was arched and it didn't take you long to notice the folder in her hands.

“What's wrong?”

“Who were you talking to?”

You frowned.

“No one.” you replied as you locked your mobile phone without answering and left it face down on the table.

Tania shook her head slightly in refusal as, for some reason, your hands began to sweat as if you were on top of a roller coaster about to fall.

“You're up to something strange these days.”

“I've been exactly the same as always.”

“Look, we've only known each other for a short time, but your face and eyes are very expressive. A very detailed person could tell a lot about you just by looking at your expressions.”

“And you're that kind of person?”

“Maybe, I wouldn't want to give myself too much credit,” Tania batted her eyelashes with a fussy smile, her hands moving nimbly over her computer keyboard. “Did you hear about the meeting on Wednesday?”

“Yes,” you promptly replied as you resumed your work in front of your computer. An exaggerated number of tabs fluttered open as you moved your mouse, your brow furrowing as you remembered that you hadn't made much progress since you came in after lunch. Looking at the clock on the bottom right, it was fifteen minutes to three. Almost two hours and you'd barely made two paragraphs. Sometimes being a substancer wasn't as entertaining as it sounded.

“And you're going?”

You looked up to see your partner, her eyes fixed on the screen. You dug through your head for memories of the moment when the meeting was announced, but you couldn't conjure up a moment when they gave information about attendance.

“It's for managers only, isn't it?”

Tania gave you a look.

“It's open to all staff. Those on floor two can bring a chaperone, but only those who are chosen. Ryan told me it was performance based, but I think it's random.”

“And you plan to bring someone?”

“Mmm, I don't know yet. Things with Marc have been going well, but I'm not sure I want to go that far.”

Tania twisted her lips and gave you a look.

“You could be my plus one.”

You let out a wry laugh.

“I don't think I'll be attending. It's just business stuff, it's not an environment I'm too fond of.”

“Maybe you'll cheer up if you go with the person you were smiling at on your mobile phone.”

You looked up to observe her. As opposed to being intimidated, Tania lets out a knowing chuckle and, from the twinkle in her eye, you knew she wouldn't stop mentioning it for a while.

Good thing you were so good at ignoring those kinds of situations to avoid awkward conversations.

--

One thing that was also true was that you definitely didn't expect Sam to keep sending you pictures or videos of his travels doing God knows what.

It had been four days since Bucky had left. Four days since Sam started sending you those files; by that point, you had a whole folder of files you could make a birthday video out of, some of them of the men looking bruised and some of them of Sam flying and zooming in on Bucky's figure on dry land, and another of Bucky lying on the ground, with a pretty funny grimace on his face.

You knew Bucky must have been irritated by those videos, but you couldn't help but watch them with a smile on your face all the way to your flat. You replayed them so much that at one point you swore you saw a hint of laughter on Bucky Barnes' face. Unheard of.

You were getting closer and closer to home. The bus station left you only about five blocks away from what you had cautiously grown accustomed to walking. Sometimes the time passed ultra-fast when you walked them with Bucky, but when you did it alone, it was a good moment of reflection before you entered your flat and lay down in the comfort of your bed, where you tried not to carry the stress of the day… although it was very difficult.

A little less than a block away, you again came across what you had begun to notice just a few days before: the symbol of the Flag Smashers, an organised group that you only knew a few things about. It made you a little uneasy to see it every time you got home, but it wasn't as overwhelming a sense of terror or panic as the media wanted to portray it. It was more fear of what might happen to them.

When you entered the lobby of the building, you went to check your mailbox. There were a few people clustered together talking at the reception desk and their murmurs reached your position almost eight metres away. They weren't really trying to be quiet.

“I don't understand how you could accept a date with that man,” the super-recognisable voice of Mrs Tina Sawyer echoed throughout the room. You didn't have to think twice to know who she was talking about and, honestly, it made you nauseous just thinking about how many times those people could have met to talk about him like that.

“You're too hard on him, Tina,” an unfamiliar voice rebutted. You frowned as you skimmed through the few envelopes that had arrived in the mail.

“I'm just trying to be honest and objective. For God's sake, Leah, he left you alone on that date!”

Date?

“No big deal. It sounded like he had problems of his own to deal with.”

You heard a click of the tongue and deduced that it was Tina again, and you imagined with displeasure the grimace of indignation that must have been on her face. You still didn't understand how this woman could be so unreasonable and how she could treat Bucky, who had never meddled in her affairs and never put her name on his mouth, in such a way.

“I don't know anyone so foolish as to… -well, to be honest…”

The woman was silent. You prepared to put away your mail and head back to your flat without looking back, not wanting to listen again or even think about other people's foolishness.

“Oh, Y/N, dear,” Mrs. Sawyer called to you.

You closed your eyes tightly. You didn't have the patience to put up with that, so you just turned around and gave a polite smile to each and every person present; there really couldn't have been more than five people, but there were enough of them.

“Good evening, Mrs. Sawyer. And company,” you nodded your head slightly forward in salute, “If you'll excuse me, I'm late for my…”

“Wait. Just a sec,” Tina Sawyer walked over to you and grabbed your wrist to pull you closer to the circle, “Y/N, meet Leah, the woman who used to work at the diner next door. You probably know her. Maybe Mr. Barnes told you about her once.”

You couldn't help the scowl you gave Mrs. Sawyer. Your vain attempt to appear as formal and polite as possible was swallowed up by the hypocrisy in her eyes, and you were soon in a very compromising position to throw your purse in her face and run away.

Pull yourself together, you impulse of idiocy.

You turned to look at the aforementioned Leah, finding a woman with auburn hair and Asian features. Ah, you did know her. But definitely not from Bucky.

“Bucky's never told me about you. I'm sorry.”

You noticed Leah press her lips together in a line. She looked like she wanted to force something out of your mouth with her gaze, but you couldn't quite understand what.

“You see?” Mrs. Sawyer spoke up, “That man is a lout.”

“Just because Mr. Barnes doesn't want to share his personal life with me doesn't mean he's a bad man,” you grumbled angrily, your arm jerking fiercely out of the older woman's grip.

“But you're the one he talks to the most. Has he really never spoken to you about the possibility of a second date with Leah?” it was Mrs. Mildred who spoke, her face contorted in a genuine thrill of insecurity and concern.

“Never,” you replied without hesitation, “Just because we talk doesn't mean we tell each other everything.”

“That's true,” you heard the woman, Leah, say from feet beside you, “And you can really tell that Bucky is a person who has a hard time opening up to others.”

You frowned at the woman's words. And who did this woman think she was to speak so personally about him in front of these people? Did she really know him? Did she really care? Most likely she had only met him once, she can't know him as well as you know him, though it's not too much, but it's enough.

“Indeed, he is a reserved person. In every way,” you stressed without taking your eyes off Leah.

What did she know after all? They had only met once, right?

Hadn't they?

Your presence in that place, with every second, became more unbearable. Watching those people talk behind someone else's back was a heavy blow to your compass of morality, and you couldn't help the impending rejection you felt towards all of them at that moment.

On top of that, there was a strange pressure in your chest. It wasn't suffocating, no, but you felt it was only a matter of time before it became overwhelming.

Seeing Leah talk about Bucky like that, as if you weren't the only one he confided a thing or two in, made you feel very strange, alien, unfamiliar, or something you just preferred not to name because of how hard it would be to accept and cope with.

You knew there was something there, probably one-sided, especially now that you knew of Leah's existence; but there was something, you could definitely recognise a rather ambiguous feeling hovering at the edges of your tongue and in the curvatures of your heart.

There was something, something that was in great danger of becoming a gigantic mass of problems that would make your life more difficult than it needed to be. And the thought of it was painful, a sharp, piercing sensation you hadn't felt for a long time. The sense of anticipatory loss was running through your mind, as if preparing you for a situation that had a remote but not impossible chance of happening.

After all, what was there in you that couldn't be found in other people? You were a pretty ordinary person, especially in the eyes of someone who has literally seen all kinds of aliens. What was your real point in all that?

After that revelation, you knew that thinking about Bucky would cause you headaches from now on.

“But he's a good person,” you heard Leah say again, a smirk forming on her lips and her eyes lighting up with a memory, “I wouldn't mind asking him out the next time I see him.”

What was there in you that couldn't be found in other people?

I'm so mad that Tumblr isn't letting my story public, like really public. It is published, but was totally ignored that I just wanted to cry my eyes out, it took so much of me to finally wrote it and getting the perfect scene, one that I feel comfortable with, and Tumblr just lets it die??????

I, ME, MYSELF WANT TO D*E

This is depressing

I'm going on a hiatus again

If you see this, I really hope you would like to se my works and my last part published, "the part where it gets weird", a second part for "how to break a routine in one year". If you choose to give an opportunity to my work, thank u so so so much, I love you all

Except for Tumblr

Unless it finally shows my works again and not let me die in the shadows

Anyways, thank u for reading 💜