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And yet
It’s late in the afternoon and the sky is beautiful, with clouds thin and white as lace. The view of New York city from the Watchtower is breathtaking. Something out of a dream. The dream of a little girl who imagined that, one day, the love of her life would ask her to marry him. And the man is here and the girl as well. But Bucky is not asking for your hand.
“She said yes.”
Three simple words. But not the ones you wanted. For all the joy they’re bearing, they’re punching holes into the very fabric of your soul. And yet, you smile bright as the sun, your eyes shining. He will never know. You hug him tightly, patting him on the back. And he’s laughing, hugging you back, his eyes lit with happiness.
“Oh, Bucky, I’m so happy for you!” And that’s the worst. Because every word that makes your heart bleed is true. You want nothing more than his happiness because you love him so much. Even if his happiness is not with you.
You don’t remember how you came to be his best friend. Shared moments of quiet at first. Sharing interests, a book, a coffee. Sharing silence when the world was too loud for him. Lending him your calm, his head in your lap when everything was too hard to bear in his mind. Walks late at night to watch the stars. Telling each other what you think, arguing ‘till the door slams, reconciling in front of a diner. And yet, you were always just friends.
You remember when he brought her. Shy and blushing, holding onto him as if he was her lifeline. And he had come right for you, and she had said, in her soft voice, how much Bucky had spoken about you. You had been surprised, but you had kept your smile. Because he wanted you to meet her. She was a fragile, little, thing, with a soft smile and wide eyes, stylish like a doll. As far from you as could be, with your loud laugh and functional clothes. She was delicate like a sweet flower where you were strong like a young tree. And so different from Bucky as well. And maybe this was why he chose her and not you.
And so you kept smiling, because Bucky was smiling to her, holding her like a precious thing. The most precious of all.
“I trust you. You’re my best friend. You don’t know what it means that you accepted her.”
Can a heart break multiple times? Yours did, again and again. But you keep being kind to her. Slapping John in the head when he made some inappropriate jokes, being there for her when Bucky was away on a mission. She even calls you Big Sister. You hate it. Because you envy her. And yet, you’re still here. But not for her. For Bucky, always for him.
And then, one day, Bucky requested your help for something very important. And your heart cracked again, for you knew what it was. And when he brought you to this jeweler, your heart faltered. And yet, you went with him, knowing that you would help him choose. Because he loved her. And she made him happy.
And now, you’re here, a glass in your hand, smile plastered on your face, celebrating with everyone in the team. Even Mel and Valentina are here, and Valentina even paid for the champagne. Bucky is smiling, eyes twinkling with joy. The light in him is beautiful to see, even if your heart is like ashes under this sun. And yet, you keep your smile for him and you keep laughing at his jokes. Then, he comes close to you, putting his arm on your shoulder. You smile up to him, the weight of his arm another shard in your heart.
“I owe you so much.” You arch an eyebrow, surprised, “you’ve taught me how to love, how to be myself again.” And there is so much emotion in his eyes. He chuckles softly, “and she loves the ring.”
The corner of your lips tremble but you hide it behind your drink. “Don’t mention it.” Because it hurts too much to hear him say this. Because it brings questions that it’s too late to answer. But he will not know.
He smiles softly and leans to kiss you, oh so gently, on the cheek, the stubble rough against your skin. He blushes slightly and suddenly hugs you fiercely. You hug him back, because you can’t stop it. He is so happy and he wants to share it with you. You can’t ruin this for him. Not after all he went through. And yet, it’s killing you inside.
“She is organizing everything! Every little detail.” He smiles again, eyes lost for a moment as he looks at you, “Soon I’ll be able to give the invitation. You’ll come, right?” For a moment, his eyes are searching yours. But you keep the pain hidden and you just chuckle softly.
“As if I could ever miss the wedding of my best-friend.” And yet, your mind treacherously changed it to the man I love.
~~~
The mission had devolved into disaster so quickly it should have been comical. But you are in no place to laugh. Not when your voice is choked by your tears, not when your heartbeat is a drum without rhythm, not when you’re so terrified at the idea of losing Bucky.
Because now this man, the self proclaimed Nightmare King, is here, holding Bucky’s life in his hands. Each and every one of the other people on the mission is trapped in their own realm of debilitating fear and terrors.
And Bucky, your Bucky, is not immune. Even though the Nightmare King is right beside him, smirking as he is preparing to end the life of the man you love, Bucky’s eyes are staring in nothingness. Ugly sobs are wracking him, his body shaking. You can hear him repeat, over and over again, “No. No. No. No.” He is barely breathing, as if each word is stealing his life away, as if his heart has been ripped away.
You have no strength left to try to imagine what he’s seeing. Every muscle in your body is shaking so hard you barely can hold your own weapons. But you cannot let Bucky die. So you fight, inch by inch, crawling your way towards the two men. Tears of terror running along your cheeks, your only thought: I cannot lose him.
Yes. He loves another but he is alive and happy. And you can still see him and the twinkle in his eyes when he sees you. Losing him to another still means being able to watch him smile, to feel the warmth of his hugs. Even if it hurts. You welcome this pain, as long as Bucky is happy. But if he dies? Then the world would be a cold and empty space, where the sun would no longer warm your soul. And this man is trying to snuff out Bucky’s light.
You cannot let it happen. So now, shivering and sickly, you’re terrified and sobbing abjectly. And when the Nightmare King sees you, crawling towards him, weapons barely drawn, his smirk slowly disappears, replaced by a mask of incredulity.
“No. NO! That’s impossible! You should be prone, lost in your Nightmare!!”
“T-This… This i-is m-my n-nightmare….” You hiccup, finally standing on wobbly legs, the rage fueling your limbs, fighting off the effect of the fear. You straighten, staring him down. “B-but I promised myself to never let it happen.” And you charge.
When thinking back, you knew you were lucky. The so-called Nightmare King was probably taken by surprise. Or maybe he was so sure of his powers, he didn’t prepare a back up plan… Or simply, once his concentration had wavered, his powers were no longer affecting the others. You’ll never know. Because once you start fighting him, he does not stay long. He pushes you away, taking advantage of your weakened states and turns on his heels, fleeing.
You stumble back, swearing under your breath. At the same time Bucky snaps out of his stupor, his eyes suddenly on you, wide, confused, questioning. Then all the others, one by one, come back to reality, shocked but ready to fight. And fight they did, pursuing the man through his stronghold.
Bucky checks on you but you shake your head, “I’m good. Go get him. GO!” he nods and, with one last glance at you, he sets off after the guy. You are too shaken by your experience, too ashamed of how you felt. So you stay behind. And when the others pass you, you nod and show the other people trapped around you. You’ll stay behind to help them evacuate. That will be your excuse. Because you can’t be at Bucky’s side right now.
~~~
Morning in the Watchtower. You hear them as you finish packing. They talk in low whispers, loud exclamations quickly snuffed. They let you sleep, you had seemed so worn out after this mission. You hadn’t argued and went straight to your room, already knowing what you would do in the morning.
But you know, you hear them, wondering how you resisted, what power you had been hiding. Because you had none, until now. And they are excited to know more. And you hear his voice, Bucky, low, tense, asking them to calm down. You wonder if he is curious as well, you assume as much. You know him too well.
The silence falls like a slab of cement as they see you passing with a suitcase. You had hoped to leave discreetly, even though you knew it was futile and maybe even unfair. None of them did anything wrong. You’re the only one to blame. They’re all looking at you, exchanging quick glances between each other, confused. And Bucky, face pale, eyes searching, stands slowly. And you know you should leave now, before it’s too late. But you can’t.
And so you wait for him as he walks briskly towards you.
“Hey, what’s up?”
His voice is soft, a bit shaky. You hadn’t spoken since the day before. You can still see in your mind the moment you thought he would die. You look down. You can’t face him. The pain is too deep, the fear still there. The nightmare cracked open the walls you didn’t know you built around your heart. And now you cannot hide anymore how you feel.
“I have to go.” To your surprise, your voice is calm, if quiet.
“No. Wait. Wait a minute.” His tone. There is something akin to panic. You hate yourself. He has done nothing.
“Bucky…” just saying his name is agony. You shake your head, try to smile but it falters, quivering at the corner. You turn, it’s time to leave but his hand finds your arm. There is no strength in his grip but there is warmth. And it burns through your clothes. And yet, you still.
“Speak to me.” His voice wavers, “Please?” and you hate yourself because you know you’re going to hurt him.
“I have to go, Bucky. Please, let me go.” And you finally look at him, eyes pleading. And in his eyes, oh so blue, you see it, the hurt, the confusion. And it’s bittersweet. Because you know he cares. But not in the way you need.
“But you saved us!” “Yeah! That’s a cool power!” “We need you!” “Who’s going to make the coffee now?” They are all speaking over each other, too surprised, too confused by your desire to leave them. For a moment, you feel dizzy, torn apart. And Bucky. He is watching you, trying to piece this together.
“Tell me. You are my friend.” It’s barely a whisper. Now, he is the one pleading with you. And you regret doing this, it’s not his fault. And he deserves the truth. Even if it destroys what’s left of your friendship. And even though you know it’ll hurt him. Because Bucky is a good man. And yet, you’ll tell him.
“There is no… I have no power, Bucky. I was terrified. But not by an illusion.” You stop, the scene still so vivid in your mind, “I was living my worst nightmare.” Your voice wavers, eyes wet. You add, soft enough that he’s the only one hearing, “Seeing the man I love almost be killed.” Your voice dies on the last words. And your eyes search his, hoping he will understand. Praying you won’t have to say it out loud, in the end.
But he frowns, confused and, maybe, somewhat betrayed. And the look on his face twists a knife in your heart. His hand slides, lifeless, from your arm. You thought you couldn’t be hurt anymore. And yet, your heart finds another way to break.
So you say it, finally.
“You, Bucky.” You don’t say that it has always been him. You don’t need to add another layer of guilt as you see it, slowly rising, in the way his jaw ticks, the way his eyes widened. And you want to take the pain away, to swallow it in yours. You can take it. You will always take it from him.
You go on, “I’m sorry.” And the words are like jagged glass into an open wound and they twist slowly. And you have to close your eyes for a moment, to not break right there. And yet you keep speaking, as if now that your heart is broken like an eggshell, everything you held close can’t help but come pouring out.
“I love you Bucky,” and you see him flinch. Your heart falters, and you’re surprised it’s still beating, it hurts so much. And yet you go on, “I love you so much that I want to see you happy, because you deserve to be happy, to have the best of what life can offer. You deserve everything and more…” your words die in your throat at the sight of his face, stricken and pale. You know you have to leave, now, because you can’t keep hurting him. And so you take his cold hands in yours, in this last moment where you’re close to him. Because if you can, you will still save him.
“Would you do something for me?”
And even after everything you told him, he doesn’t hesitate before answering, “Anything.” And it breaks your heart, as if there were still splinters left to shatter.
“Grab life by the throat and be happy. The happiest you can be. Have the best life ever! Marry, have kids and grand-kids. Get the life of your dreams and more. Take it. You deserve all of it, never doubt that.” He says nothing, his eyes wide, never leaving your face. And yet you find the strength to smile again. “Do that for me, okay?”
You keep smiling as you wave to the others, looking at you in stunned silence. And you walk away, holding the pieces of your soul close to you. You cannot break now, you have to leave, to go away, to stay strong so that Bucky will not be hurt even more.
And the city of New York passes in front of you as your cab drives you away from the Watchtower, from your life there, from your friends, from Bucky. And then there is the bustle of the airport and you still keep your peace, your hands tight against your chest, hoping the pain cannot be seen. And once you’re nestled in your seat in the plane, rolled into a ball against the airplane window, you’re too afraid to let it bleed and so you tighten around yourself, hoping you’ll hold.
And then, you see through this new cab’s window, the landscape rolls, towards your home, and your mind is blissfully empty. Your cell is in your hand before you can think, ready to send a message, like you did so many times before, to tell him you arrived safely. You freeze, fingers hovering. You can’t. Not anymore.
And then you arrive, and you pay and everything is mechanical and slow, as if your life has been caught in some time slowing machine. And you turn, and your childhood house is waiting, warm light pooling on the darkening ground as the sun sets behind the hills. It smells of hay and horses and the sounds of the cab leaving you here is like a final goodbye.
You feel the snap behind your ribs the moment your mother appears on the stairs. And when she calls your name, startled, surprised, you know you’re going to shatter. And then…
Your father is here, hugging you so fiercely that, for an instant, the agony in your body is still. And you don’t remember how you ended up in his arms. And the warmth around you finally seeps through your cold mind. And you shatter.
The sobs are ugly, rough, wracking your whole body, as if being punched. They don’t understand, you didn’t tell them anything. And yet, they don’t ask questions, they just hold you through it all, until you fall asleep on the couch, exhausted, drained by your tears.
When you wake up in the morning, the pain is still there. Worst of all, it is everywhere. And your mind reels in horror at what you did. For you’re sure Bucky is wounded. You betrayed his trust, and left before his wedding. And in the moment, all you can see are the blue of his eyes when you left, like a sea of despair. You should never have spoken.
And so you ask your parents for work, any work. To bury the guilt and shame and pain under sweat and dirt. And it works for the day. And when you swing the ax and the wood splinters, you do not think. And when you work in the field, your back is stiff under the sun, your mind is empty as the cloudless sky. And yet, when the sun sets and the long shadows of the night are pouring through the cracks of life, the emptiness in your chest is howling and you do not know how to close it.
And so you sit with your parents in front of the old TV. And your mother has made your favorite meal, and you feel as if the child in you is slowly taking your hand, to bring you back to a place where the hurt is allowed to be less loud. And your father brings chocolate bars and drinks. And while the child never drinks, you recognize those moments from your childhood. And you spend the evening, and then the night, hiding behind the child you were. And you finally fall asleep in your mother’s arms.
And each morning, you begin anew, the same routine. And slowly the pain becomes a companion, not jagged teeth ripping everything inside you. It is almost comfortable. You even find the strength to explain to your mother and father. And they do not judge you. They do not offer empty words of comfort or promises of healing. Only the solid shoulder of your father, the warmth of your mother’s hug.
And so you go on with life because this is how it is. And yet, the guilt is still there, tainted by the yearning. For you miss Bucky but it’s heavy, it’s a weight. Like an addiction. You know this love hurts you and yet, you miss him. And yet sometimes you feel free, for now there is nothing left to hide. The cut is clean, there is no turning back. But sometimes, it feels as though you are missing a limb.
The ghost presence of him is in everything you see, everything you eat, everything you read. For you told him you would come here together. You told him you would show him your life here. The slow mornings with the smell of your mom’s waffles. The days of work, fueled by the warmth of the sun and the laugh of your father. The soft evenings, where the sky is so clear, the stars seem within reach. But he is not here to share with you the beauty of the light, the scent of the smoke, the sound of the rain. Bucky is far away… and yet, you feel him everywhere you are, in everything you do.
As time passes, bitterness begins gnawing at the pain. The wedding should be soon. While you refuse to watch the calendar, you know it in your bones. And yet, there’s been no invite. And the absence is burrowing in your soul. Did Bucky choose to not invite you? Would it be too much for him to see you again? Or maybe he is trying to protect you? And not knowing is the worst, because your mind is aflame with anger that he made the choice for you.
The thing is, even if you don’t know what your choice would have been, you would have preferred being able to decide yourself. But the calendar tells the story. And now, it is over. And it hurts, a throbbing pain, ever present.
Until one day, you are out, cutting wood. The ax is flying, an extension of your arms, each strike, rippling through your muscle, feels like life trying to worm its way back into your heart. You stop, breathing hard. The landscape is beautiful around you. The sun is young, the air still fresh from the morning. Birds are chirping and the smell of the wet earth is like an invitation for a lazy walk. And yet, your chest is tight, as if your memories of him are trying to crush you.
Then anger comes, you feel the pressure, behind your ribs, your eyes, in your throat. Until you scream. You scream for the unfairness of it all, for the path never taken, for the guilt you’re still bearing, for the love that refuses to die, for the fact you still want to live and be happy. You scream until you’re raw, until it hurts and slowly you sink on the ground, kneeling under the pain, and the regret. And yet, it feels lighter.
You can breathe now.
And the days that come after are a little bit sweeter. And it is as if your smile has found its way back, small and hesitant, but here nonetheless.
And one day, you decide to go for a long ride. You told your mother and father. You spent the day out, rediscovering a world for yourself, without Bucky. It is still painful, but there is space for peace now, finally.
~~~
Later, when you come back, you feel at ease with yourself for the first time in a while. You dismount, relaxed and you whisper soft words to your mare as you bring her close to the front porch.
This is why the sight of the bike jars you, as if you have been struck by lightning. For a moment, you’re torn. A sudden burst of joy, warm and heady like a strong liquor, and an icy blade ripping through your soul and heart, both at the same time.
What is he doing here? And then comes the realization that he may have come with his wife. You freeze, heart in your throat. You cannot face them. Not yet. Not now that you’ve only just learned to breathe again.
So you slowly back away, as if facing an enemy. But your body is fighting itself. You’re shivering as a part of you pleads for Bucky to come out so that you can see him one last time. But the other part is screaming at you to flee the pain. With an effort, you’re finally able to turn, walking feebly back to your horse.
Breathing hard, you lean against her neck, the warmth of her body is like a wall against the pain of your heart.
Footsteps. You freeze, your mind blank, your heart beating like a bird trapped in a cage, blood rushing in your ears. And yet, when he calls softly for you, you hear it.
You close your eyes, holding onto the saddle as your legs weaken under you. You stay hidden behind your mare, grateful for her strength when you’ve none left, unable to move now.
You hear Bucky’s boots on the dirt. He’s moving slowly towards you. You should go away, leave but you can’t, rooted on the spot by the sheer need to see him. It is visceral, you can feel a physical pull towards him even though you can’t see him.
You see gloved fingers appear over the neck of the horse, carding through her mane. Your mare is patient. She does not move, her ears picking towards the new presence, mildly curious. Your eyes, on the other hand, are glued to those fingers, slowly sliding out of view while you hear Bucky’s footsteps as he moves around your horse. You’re frozen in place, a hand still on the saddle, as he finally stands in front of you.
To see him is like a cold shower. Your heart splits in two. And yet, a part of you feels complete again. There is no smile on his face but there’s no anger either. His eyes are searching yours for a long, silent, moment. You drink in his presence, his scent, burning his image into your mind for he will disappear again, and you will stay behind bereft, empty once again.
He takes another step, stops, then turns to look at the horse beside you, patting her neck.
“She looks like a good mare.”
Your mind is blank. Your body is in a state of panic, ready to bolt and still unable to move, like a rabbit in the headlights of a car.
Then his eyes come back to you.
“You never told me.” His voice is soft and yet you feel something like pain underlying those simple words. You try to find something, anything to say. But for all the words flailing in your head, there’s only one coming out.
“No.”
His eyes never leave you. You are not sure what to read in them but you see shadows below them, as if sleep has escaped him for a long time. Your heart twists. You had never wanted to hurt him. A tear rolls down your cheek and you’re surprised you still have some left in you. You wipe it quickly but you glimpse the flicker of anguish in his eyes. He has seen it. And the guilt twists deeper in your heart.
But then, anger rears its head, like a snake awakened by your mixed feelings. You clench your fist. He sees it and his lips curve slightly into a half-smile. It fans your anger. You want to yell, to scream at him, to shake him and erase this smile. You want to show him the bleeding gap in your chest. It’s so strong you’re panting. No. Bucky didn’t know. He’s innocent.
The thoughts are like ice sliding along your spine. You lowered your eyes, slowly, tired now, the last dredge of anger draining everything.
“You let me choose someone else.”
His voice is barely a whisper. And you’re not sure you heard him correctly. You look up and realize he has closed the gap between you. His hand has slid slowly along your mare’s neck, a mere inch from your fingers. You notice that, if you stretch your hand, you could touch his, if you wanted.
But then the words echo in your mind. They slowly crystallize in your heart, twisting like a butterfly in a web. The silence is too much and not enough all at once.
“And yet, here I am.” His voice, low, trembling slightly as his eyes bore into you. And you shake your head. When you speak, trying to bring normalcy in this moment, your voice is small in your ears.
“I don’t understand.”
“You robbed me of my choice.”
“I-what?” you blink, confused for an instant. Until something snaps in you. Maybe it’s back into place, maybe it’s finally breaking but the anger comes back, stronger this time, bitter as bile. And your voice slices the air.
“I did nothing. I was just your friend. You chose not to be with me first.”
Each word is venomous. You thought you had healed, but seeing him now is like reopening the wound, digging in it. You square your shoulders, ready for a fight. But Bucky’s face has gone pale as his shoulders sag. Yet, he does not avoid your eyes. To your surprise, he nods.
“You’re right.”
But those words do nothing. They’re bland and empty. They mean nothing. You snap.
“Why are you here?”
This is the right question. You need to know, to understand. And much more than that. You need to heal. You have the right to be free of this pain.
“I miss you…” the admission unsettles you. He says it in a small, almost child-like voice. You frown, shake your head.
“You are… you were my friend…” when he corrects himself, he winces, as if pained physically. “You were my safe place. My perfect piece of the puzzle.”
Is this an accusation you hear in his voice? You clench your teeth, seething. And then, you spit it, years of jealousy in a few words.
“You chose her.”
He closes his eyes, lowers his head. Strangely, you don’t feel better. Seeing him defeated in front of you does not bring you any relief. Finally, you ask again, gentler this time.
“Why are you here?” and not on your honeymoon. Those words you keep. They are still too painful, even to think.
Bucky opens his mouth then closes it, he looks at the sky as if trying to find the right words among the stars. He takes a deep breath and, with his eyes on you again, he whispers.
“I need you.”
You stay rooted on the spot, your eyes wide. Your heart is thudding loudly against your ribs, almost painful. You want to deny, to punch him, to slap him… He must see the fury in your eyes because he closes his hand on yours. His touch both soothes and hurts you. You yank away your hand while your mare snorts, nervous.
Bucky takes a step back but he’s still watching you.
“You cannot say that. Not after…” you gesture vaguely, away from your home… There are so many things. He does not have the right.
“I know.” He takes a breath and, releasing it slowly, he says, “I realize now I was a coward. I was so terrified. I said nothing.”
No. It wasn’t possible.
“What does that mean?”
“It was easier. You were there. Always at my side. You stayed, whatever I was putting you through. I thought… that it was better to say nothing than telling you how I felt and then… losing you.”
You do not react. You feel empty, your mind buzzing strangely. Bucky frowns. He wants to touch you but you hold your hand up. And he stops there, looking desperate, maybe waiting for you to say something. But you cannot speak. Not yet.
“All those years?”
He nods, his eyes are shining now but you push again. You need to know.
“What about the wedding?”
Bucky winces again and looks away. You feel cold all over but then he whispers in a huff.
“Canceled.”
You stay there mouth agape, the word impossible to understand.
“Do you know what the Nightmare King showed me?”
You blink and close your mouth with a snap. You’re confused again by this change of conversation, you shake your head. You don’t know. But your heart is beating so quickly, as if it knows something you keep denying.
“You. Leaving me.”
The ground must have opened under your feet because you feel yourself slide. You don’t hear him moving, you don’t see anything. But suddenly, you’re on the ground, his cold vibranium arm on your back, holding you upright, while his thumb gently rubs circles on your hand. You try to breathe. He’s too close, you’re too hot. Bucky says nothing, his eyes on you, waiting.
You can smell him. You can feel his warmth. You want to crawl under his skin, you want to become one with him. It has been so long. “Bucky…” you don’t know what to say. Even saying his name is painful and yet, it feels good.
“I should have spoken sooner. I should have…” his whispers falters, his mouth in your hair and you close your eyes, letting the words slowly sink in. For the moment, you do not answer. You stay there, immobile, hearing his heart thumping strongly, a mirror of yours.
Then you feel it. Bucky is shaking. And you slowly come to realize what he must have done. As if reading your thoughts, he adds voice breaking,
“I hurt you. I hurt her. I hurt everyone. It’s what I always do. I wanted to spare you. I always wanted…” his voice falters then he whispers “But in trying to spare you, I only made your pain worse.”
You say nothing. You don’t need to add to his anguish. Besides you’re exhausted beyond what you thought possible. Then you realize your parents must wonder what is going on. They are probably waiting in the house, unwilling to bother you. You move.
Bucky’s reflex is to tighten his hold but then, as if realizing, he releases you slowly, as if regretting.
“Help me stand.”
He nods and you cling to him as you both straighten up. Your mare is there, looking at both of you with her dark and limpid eyes. You laugh. And Bucky looks at you, a bit surprised.
“She must think we’re crazy.” He turns to look at the horse and he exhales a tired laugh. But then, he turns to you, his eyes serious and sad.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
You look at him. His eyes are red rimmed, his hair a mess, although it could be from the ride on his bike. And because you know him, you know he must hate himself right now. Because you can imagine her now, lonely, left behind. You know how it feels. You want to forgive him unconditionally, and yet this is not what you say.
“It’ll take time. I’ll need to relearn trust.”
He swallows thickly, you see his throat bobs. He looks away, his flesh hand coming quickly as if erasing something from his face. And you remember who he is. What he has gone through. Of course, it’s not an excuse. But it is a reason.
You close the gap between you, putting both your hands on his chest.
“But I would like to hear you say it.”
Gingerly, Bucky puts his hands on your shoulders, his eyes are roaming on your face, you wonder if he sees the tears, the pain. Probably. And yet, you see the corner of his lips slowly tug upward, a faint smile. Slowly, he leans towards you.
Your heart beats so strongly, the blood rushes in your ears. Your knees are wobbly under you and your fingers cling to his shirt. And when his lips finally touch yours.
There is a moment when the whole world ceases to exist. Only the warmth of his mouth, of his hands against you, is real.
You open your eyes, not realizing you had closed them. And Bucky looks at you, as if you were the most precious thing in the whole universe.
“I love you.” Those three words. You waited so long, you lost hope, you left and tore yourself apart, thinking you would never hear them. And yet, here you are. In his arms.
“I love you too.”
You hear him take a deep, shaky breath. As if you finally allowed him to breathe again. But he’s not the only one. You feel whole. But not as before. There are wounds to heal, and corners to smooth. Both of you will need to rebuild.
And yet, you’re hopeful now.
Later, you leave on the back of his bike for the road trip back to the Tower. Your parents seemed happy for the both of you. Even though your father gave Bucky the look. You almost choked on your laugh while Bucky only ducked his head and promised he would take care of you.
You’re holding tight on to him, your arms around his body. You’re slotted against him, savoring the closeness, the warmth. His hand finds your thigh from time to time, as if checking you are real and here with him. In front of you the sun is slowly setting, painting the landscape in red, purple and blue.
You know there will be lows and highs. That the road ahead of you will be difficult. And yet, you are ready to take on this challenge. With him, together.