"I kneel into a dream where I am good and loved. I am loved. My hands have made some good mistakes. They can always make better ones." - Natalie Wee
Bucky has to spend six months locked up with a stranger.
His teammates went on an international pres...
"...Right. So you and I are good, then." He smacked the button on the timer before it finished its first beep. "How old are you?"
You scoffed. "What, are you going to card me?" You kept your gaze on him, eyebrows raised as you took another sip— defiant, challenging him to stop you. But before his indignation could bubble to the surface, you swallowed your drink and answered.
Hm. Maybe you did look that old. Bucky hadn't given your age much thought before this. Sometimes, like when you were working on your computer, you looked older. When your eyebrows were drawn together, the laptop screen reflecting on those glasses that helped with your headaches, you looked like you could hold your own in any boardroom. But those serious moments were few and far between, and your day-to-day self was much harder to read. You dressed in comfortable clothes, and your hair was usually messy— well, his was, too, so that didn't tell him much. You had offered him a hair elastic the other day when he was complaining about how his hair stuck to his face in the gym.
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"It's not long enough. It won't work," he had said with a shake of his head. His hair came to just below his chin, an awkward length, long enough to annoy the hell out of him and too short to pull back.
"Well, don't do all of it, just half— here." You pulled the elastic from your wrist and passed it to him. "Just put it up— no, not like that, take half— run your thumbs above your ears and pull up—"
Bucky was trying, but he couldn't figure out what the hell you were telling him to do despite how you mimed the motions to him. His hands were uncoordinated behind his head and he was getting frustrated, his cheeks growing hot.
"No, don't, it's like this— ugh, can I—?" You held your hand out for the elastic and he dropped it into your palm with a little more force than necessary. "Turn around— bend down, you're so goddamn tall—"
Bucky turned his back to you and dropped to his knees. You raked your nails across his scalp and he had to choke back a gasp, his eyes suddenly wide. The tiny hairs on the back of his neck stood straight up and goosebumps bloomed down his arm and back. It only lasted half a second before you were tugging on his hair unpleasantly, his blissful expression replaced with a wince, but he was glad for it. He didn't know how or why your touch felt that good, but he wouldn't have been able to hold it together for much longer. With one final tug you snapped the elastic into place. You tapped his arm to tell him to climb to his feet, and he followed you into the bathroom.
"Look! Man bun," you said proudly as you gestured to the mirror. "Well, a half-man bun. See, I told you it'd work—"
"I used to wear my hair like this," he interrupted. His voice was low and monotone as he held eye contact with his reflection, the memory flooding back.
You stared at his reflection open-mouthed, your eyebrows pulled together in confusion. "Then tell me, Barnes, why the hell was that so difficult?"
