I don't know how much time had passed. My heart was finally steadying, my tears drying. Then—the front door of the building creaked open. Footsteps approached.
Shit. Who is that?!
"Everything okay here?" a voice called out.
"Yeah. Get lost," Bucky's husky voice snapped back.
"Mam, are you okay?" The man ignored him.
"I said she's fine." I heard Bucky's boot squeak as he stood up.
I need to say something. He can't get in a fight. The cops will come. We'll both be caught—me dead, him in jail or worse.
"Bucky!" I choked out, forcing myself to move.
I tried to stand, but my legs gave out—shaking from fear, running, and training. I collapsed.
Bucky caught me in an instant. His face was just inches from mine. God, I must look like a drowned, pathetic rat.
"Grab onto me," he said firmly.
I clung to him, arm around his neck. He lifted me like I weighed nothing. I buried my face into his collarbone, breathing him in—not cologne, just him. His scent calmed me. My tears stopped.
Before long we were at my apartment door.
"Uh… I don't think you want to see my place. It's kinda rough right now," he muttered.
"I, um... lost my keys," I admitted.
"I'll fix this later." Before I could ask what he meant, he adjusted me in one arm, swung me around with ease, and—with his metal arm—ripped the deadbolts out one by one.
Somehow, the door stayed intact.
Inside, he clicked the light on and gently shut the door.
"Can you stand?"
"I think so." He set me down but kept his arms ready just in case.
"You should change. You'll catch a cold."
I nodded. He turned to leave, but I grabbed the moment.
"Can you... stay? Just for a bit?"
He paused. "I'll be right back."
"Okay," I whispered, fidgeting. My whole body still trembled—cold or fear, I wasn't sure anymore.
Bucky stepped back to me. Gently, he pulled me in. His lips brushed my forehead—a soft, warm kiss.
"I'll be right back. I promise, just change."
That calmed me more than I expected. I tilted my head up, realizing just how tall he really was. I felt small next to him.
He stepped out, and I rushed to the bathroom to change. My options were... limited. I threw on a baby-blue sweatshirt with a worn-out pancake graphic and illegible text, plus black biker shorts. Better than soaked jeans.
When I came out, my head felt light, like I wasn't fully in my body. Everything was hazy.
Then—something landed on my head.
"It's just me."
"Bucky?" I turned. He stood behind me, the thing on my head, a towel. Groceries bagged on his wrist.
"You need to dry your hair."
"Thank you." I hurriedly rustled it through my hair and patted my way down to the ends.
He moved to the kitchen and unpacked food: mici wrapped like hot dogs in bread, a small container of sarmale, and—of course—a few plums.
"I'm out of beer. Got milk though."
"Is it warm?" a chuckle in his voice
"I hope not." I smiled. It felt good.
We ate in silence. Him at the counter, me at the table. The fridge, thankfully, worked—but the plumbing was shot. Bucky found out the hard way trying to get water.
He ate like he hadn't had a full meal in days. Honestly, I was impressed. Explained how he was built like a tank. After we finished, he cleared up, milk glasses went into the sink to be washed when the water returned. Everything else was just containers we threw out
"You want to talk about it?" he asked, leaning on the fridge.
"You make my fridge look small," I muttered, forcing a smile.
He looked at the fridge, then back at me with a smirk.
"I think you should sleep. It's late."
"I can't. No locks, no security."
"I'll stay. You can sleep."
He picked up the plastic chair I had just gotten up from and wedged it under the doorknob.
"Yes, because that will stop so much," I deadpanned.
"It'll buy you a second or two," he shot back.
I curled up under the blanket. He slid down the wall across from the bed, his body facing me but his glare locked on the door.
"You're sleeping there?"
"I wasn't going to sleep."
"You, uh... want to?"
He glanced over. I lifted the blanket. "Join me. It's more comfortable than the floor."
"I'm used to the floor."
"Just because you're used to something doesn't mean it's right."
He studied me. "Are you sure?"
A real smile spread across my face. "I wouldn't have offered if I wasn't."
Without a word, he slipped out the balcony door. I heard metal snap.
He returned with a rod in hand.
"Is that from my balcony?"
"Yeah. Just to be safe. I'll fix it later."
I laughed. Loud. Like actual joy.
"Get up for a sec," he said.
I stood. He kicked off his boots and slid into the far side of the bed. Then he wrapped the rod around his metal arm and a pipe above the bed—anchoring himself.
"You won't hurt me," I whispered, suddenly sad that he thought he might.
"We don't know that. Better safe than sorry." He placed his gun on the windowsill.
"I don't think that would stop you anyway," I muttered, crawling in beside him.
The bed was tiny—barely enough room for both of us.
He extended his arm. "Best I can do for now."
I nestled myself against his chest, letting the warmth of him surround me. His hand began to slowly trace down my back, and a subtle shiver rippled through my spine at the contact. He finally let it rest along the side of my stomach, and suddenly I was overcome with self-consciousness.
I don't see myself as particularly attractive—unlike him with the kind of body like it was carved by Apollo himself, with the intention to make Adonis green with envy.
Without thinking, I subtly inhaled, sucking in my stomach, silently praying he wouldn't feel the softness hidden just beneath my sweatshirt.
His heartbeat echoed steadily in my ear—calm, even. Like a lullaby I didn't know I needed. Just listening to it brought a sense of safety I hadn't felt in what felt like forever.
Then, a gentle tap of his hand against my side.
"Breathe. You're safe," he whispered.
His voice rumbled softly through his chest, more felt than heard. I guess he thought that's why I was holding my breath. Maybe he wasn't wrong.
I tightened my grip on a handful of his red shirt, clinging to it like a child grasping a blanket, like letting go would make all of this vanish.
"Pull your legs up on me. It's fine."
I hesitated. I didn't want him to feel my weight. Stupid I know, but I like him. I don't want him to see the me I see in the mirror.
"I'm fine like this."
I feel his head lift from the pillow looking down at mine pressed into his chest trying to hide my expression from him.
"No, you're not. Pull them up before I do."
The first time he ever ordered me. I obeyed. I curled my legs over his, entwining them like laces.
I was asleep in minutes, my eyelids heavy.
Just before the darkness took me, I whispered, "Thank you."
I think he said something back—but all I felt was the vibration of his voice through his chest as I drifted off.