The man with the gloves [bucky barnes ff]

10

Disclaimer: I'll be switching POV's throughout the next following chapters more frequently and there won't necessarily be an order like there was in the previous chapters.

Also this chapter will be quite short compared to the last one but the next ones will hopefully compensate for that.
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BUCKY'S POV

I observed her as she waved the guy goodbye. They looked like they were close but not too close, given that they didn't even hug each other. Maybe they went out on a date? That'd at least explain the makeup and why she came home that late. When she walks up to the front door, she's rummaging around in her purse, probably looking for the keys. At least that's what I assume since she stops right in front of the door. It's dark outside so she probably can't even see that well.

"It's open." I speak into the dark. She immediately looks up and turns around, trying to find out where the voice came from. I can't quite see it but her eyes widen and her jaw clenches, probably because she's startled. When her eyes meet mine though her tense expression relaxes a bit and instead turns into a small smirk, followed by a soft laughter.

"How come we're always meeting like that?", she asks.

I raise an eyebrow. "Like that?"

"Yes. Out of nowhere. you suddenly turning up when I expect it the least. If I didn't know any better I'd assume that you are stalking me, James." Her arms are crossed and she's taking a step closer to my direction.

I take the cigarette out of my mouth and blow out the toxic smoke into the thin air.

"I have better things to do than stalking you." I came here because I couldn't sleep again, and the beer was empty as well and so were the cigarettes. So I had to go to a store and buy some. I usually just smoke them in my apartment, even though it's not allowed, but I felt like going for a walk and getting some fresh air anyway.

"I am just messing with you." She leans against the wall in front of me. "Are you hungry? I have some leftovers."

Just now I noticed the plastic bag in her hand. I shake my head. I already bought something from the diner earlier.

"Thanks for the advice," she speaks up again, "with the alcohol? From that store you recommended."

"Did he sell it to you?"

She nods.

That's what I thought. She doesn't look twenty-one. Not the slightest. But she's a paying customer and that's all those people care about. "Are you drunk?"

"I just bought it as a gift. But it was useless. They already had more than enough." She explains. "But no, I didn't drink. I didn't know half the people there so I figured it might be foolish to become so careless."

Maybe I am prejudiced against her generation, but I didn't expect that answer. She's a young college student, living on her own with no parents in a big city like New York with a vivid nightlife after all. I wouldn't have been surprised if she was drunk. Guess I underestimated her.

I nod in understanding and take a last pull on the cigarette, put it out and toss it in the trash can next to me. "Is he a friend?"

I usually don't have conversations this long and when I do I barely ask questions but rather answer briefly but maybe it was the beer from earlier kicking in or my tiredness that made me want to have an actual conversation with somebody. And that somebody being her is just a coincidence.

"A friend of my cousin's. We met yesterday." She explains, still leaned against the wall. "When the party got boring, we went to grab something to eat and he insisted on taking me home."