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PHILADELPHIA | 2014 SAFE HOUSE
Over the next two days, I'd spend my time in my room working, while Bucky would stay in the living room, doing whatever he does. I'm not sure what a 97 year old could find himself occupied with today. But nonetheless, he didn't bother me unless I came to him, and he stayed almost completely quiet.
I'm not sure where to go from here with him. This is usually the part where one of us tries to break the ice. It's usually me.
I sighed, closing my laptop and getting up from bed, before leaving my bedroom to join Bucky in the living room. He was sat on the couch, watching something on my other laptop.
"What are you watching?" I asked, walking to the fridge.
"A documentary on Captain America and his childhood best friend, Bucky Barnes," he said, adding fake enthusiasm behind his name. I pursed my lips, taking out the bowl of fruit I was keeping cool.
"Did you sleep last night?" I asked, sitting the bowl down on the coffee table in front of him.
"I got a few hours, not much," he answered.
I figured he slept little because he wasn't comfortable. Sleeping on the couch is never comfortable, neither is the floor. But the only other bed was mine—one that I'm not ready to share with a man I hardly know.
"You should have some plums," I suggested, sitting next to him. "They help with memory."
He scoffed, leaning forward to take one from the bowl. "Thanks."
I looked down at my hands, listening to the video play, despite the volume being low. "We should do something today," I spoke.
"Like what?"
I shrugged, "I don't know. I'm bored."
"Sorry, I'm not good company," he mumbled.
I rolled my eyes, "You know that's not what I meant. You haven't been to a restaurant in what? 80 years? Let's go out to eat."
Bucky sighed, "What if someone recognizes me?"
"Technically, you're dead, so," I shrugged. "All white guys look the same anyways, no one's going to connect...you to him," I gestured toward the laptop.
Bucky stared at me blankly. "I'm not hungry."
"Then, let's go to the movies."
"I'm not a movie person," he replied.
"Then, let's go to the beach."
He shook his head, "Sand's a bitch to get out of my arm."
I groaned, rolling my eyes. "Let's go to Dave and Buster's or something."
