paragon: (cw ☆ 092)
Steve Rogers ([personal profile] paragon) wrote in [community profile] pineslog 2017-04-13 07:44 am (UTC)

[ For him? Yeah, he knows it was more than just sharing cake. But he kinda figured it always would be and there was nothing for it, at least nothing she'd have to worry about — that doesn't mean he's prepared to assume the same for her. He may know a little something about setting himself up for a fall, but that's one he's still trying to get up from, let alone . . .

Let alone what she's saying to him now.

Sometimes hope feels an awful lot like heartache, like lancing a wound. He glances away from the road toward her, trying to determine if that's what this is. He trusts her, knows she wouldn't lie about this, that he hadn't understood what she was trying to tell him, but that's not the problem. It's one of the few times in his life that he wasn't able to trust himself, and in the end he couldn't blame her for wanting no part of a relationship like that. So he doesn't have an answer for her right away, doesn't know if he's even allowed to call it all square with that. His brow is furrowed, and it doesn't exactly lessen any when he looks away from her again toward the road, turning the wheel into their driveway and lifting his hand to press the button for the garage before he realizes halfway there that it won't work. He breathes out and parks instead, looking at her again.
]

Let's get inside.

[ Wherever this is going, it's not gonna be in this car with his heart keeping fast time with the noise of ice striking the metal. He looks away from her and curls his fingers under the handle for a brief bracing moment before he opens the door to it, getting out and slamming the door behind him. He doesn't head up the walk, though, instead coming around the front of the car until he meets her, reaching for her shoulders and drawing her in close to him again. Not quite letting himself feel anything but the familiarity of moving together in a way that came with long practice well before this place. He makes quick work of the lock and closes the door behind them, the wind and hail and rain still a cacophonous sound against the walls and ceiling but suddenly distanced, muffled. He can hear them both breathing, and he lets her go, letting his arm fall to his side, swallowing. ]

It was Bucky's turn to do the laundry. The towels are probably still in the dryer.

[ He's not at all unaware of the room to their left where he's been sleeping alone these past few weeks, but he goes right, down the hall to the laundry room, pulling open the dryer with its usual slightly unpleasant shriek of metal, his movements only somewhat visible in the dark. (Absently, he remembers that there's a candle and some matches in the bathroom next to them that he can grab.) He straightens up with two towels, handing one to her. They're still warm. ]

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