Inspired by/based on this post from @siancore
Bucky blinked awake slowly, then grimaced. His mouth was dry, his head was aching, and he was still alone.
Yeah, he and Sam had fought the night before, and from what he remembered, it was worse than usual, but, still it was normal. The fighting anyway; after the past few weeks or so, it was practically routine.
But waking up alone wasn’t. No, they weren’t technically committed to each other, but he and Sam were pretty consistent with each other. No matter how bad a blowup they had, they always seemed to end the night in each other’s arms, except last night apparently.
Last night, when Bucky had been spitting mad and itching for a fight, again, all because Riley didn’t know how to leave well enough alone, again.
Last night when Bucky had finally snapped and done the kind of thing that couldn’t exactly be taken back.
Even so, he’d tried. Once he had arrived home and the full weight of what he’d done, and what it could mean, hit him squarely in the chest, he’d tried to mitigate the damage. With his heart beating overtime he’d sent no less than a dozen texts to Sam, each one more desperate than the last. Each one left pointedly on “read.”
But it was a new day, and their disagreements, while often and even sometimes lengthy lately, had never been particularly silent. Well, at least not since they’d started hooking up anyway, so Bucky tried again.
So, what, you’re not talking to me now, Wilson? Very mature.
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