starving for touch.

~~~~~~~~~~

The flower shop was emptier than usual today. You had told both your employees to take a day off seeing as though only one person had come in and it was now nearing closing time.

The sun was starting to go down earlier, as it was Autumn. You owned the corner shop which had flowers lining the windows outside in baskets and a rack holding buckets which were full of bouquets. On the inside was a bookshelf covering one wall which was filled with magazines and books about gardening, flowers, plants, and a couple about coffee. A round table was in front of the door with candles, pots, vases, and other local things. 

A large rectangular table was in the middle of the room with much more flowers and decorations. Under the side window, were taller flower plants in pots. The front window had two round tables with small house plants.

You were behind the counter tapping your nails on the wooden counter top. Under the counter were little fridges with glass doors that were filled with different types and colours of flowers that were not arranged into bouquets. The counter behind you had a roll of brown paper, parchment paper, and a few pairs of scissors. There was a white sink with a silver facet which matched the quartz counter top behind you. There was a watering can and more gardening tools in one cupboard, file drawers in another, and one for your personal notebooks and sketching pencils for doodling and drawing out arrangement styles. 

Lately you had been catching yourself up on the recent news with what happened in Washington, DC. The Avengers had been a big thing lately and you were trying to stay up to date. You didn't think anything dangerous would happen to you. Your part of the city was quiet and friendly.

A notebook was open on the counter and you were writing away in it. A few flower drawings were scattered and a sticky note with your shopping list was covering a small journal entry. Your handwriting littered each page with reminders and recipes. One page had sheet music for a melody you wrote on the piano. 

You heard rain drops on the side window and looked to see if your outdoor display was covered. When you did look, you saw a man, about 6′1, looking through the flowers. He was wearing a leather jacket, which was zipped up halfway, with a grey shirt underneath. His jeans were light blue and he wore a dark red baseball cap which covered most of his face. 

A bell above the door rang as he came in and wandered through the store. You normally wouldn’t stare at a customer but you couldn’t help it. His hair covered the side of his face but you could see his strong jawline, blueish-grey eyes, and even his lips.

You looked away and listened to the jazz music playing from a speaker in the corner of the store. The rain continued to pour harder as two more people came into the shop a few minutes after.

The man with the black leather jacket came to the counter and when you looked up, his eyes widen a bit and his bottom lip fell slightly. You smiled which made your eyes light up and your skin glow. 

He smiled a bit back and handed you a bouquet of lavender coloured roses with a decorative white pitcher. You turned around and began to wrap the flowers in brown paper. The music continued to play and you hummed along. 

He watched you fiddle with the paper and fix up the flowers. You were treating the flowers in a delicate manner and he admired that. He hasn’t know care or kindness for a while now and he missed it. He had forgotten everything about himself and he was so confused about his life and purpose. Slowly, he would piece together memories but the name Bucky still didn’t feel right. 

You turned around and grab a paper bag. Taking the flowers in your hand you remember too put a sticker so that the paper would not unwrap. You go through a door behind the counter that leads to a room with storage and a few fridges full of flowers. After a few seconds of digging through drawers you found a box of stickers. 

As you were in there, the man glanced at both the people in the store. He tightened his jaw and furrowed his eyebrows. He unzipped his jacket completely and looked to a black pocket knife in his jacket.

You walked back out and his posture loosens. A smile forms on your lips as you greet him again. Placing the sticker on the paper and putting the flowers in the bag, you glance a bit towards him and see a small red patch on the lower part of his shirt. He sees you looking and covers it up with his leather jacket. You feel this sudden urge to help him when his eyes lock with yours. Out of the corner of your eye, you see one of the men reach into their pocket. 

He sees the expression on your face and knows what's about to happen and before you know it, he is flinging a knife across the room. You grabbed your cup of coffee on the counter and poured the hot drink on the man nearer to the counter. Quickly, you duck down behind the counter and take a small sip, of what’s left, to calm your nerves. You hear the man swearing from the burning liquid. 

The blue-eyed brunet tried his hardest not to destroy anything in your shop but found it rather difficult. As he threw the knife in the air and caught it again he saw your face peaking over the counter and your lips pressed tightly together. 

He managed to knock him out hard with his fist and you cringe. That is going to be one nasty concussion, you thought to yourself. You looked up and see the one man you poured coffee on pointing a gun at you. 

He ran over and tackled the man on the counter. He sees your eyes close as he holds the man in place. You hear a gun shot and flinch. The sound of hard metal hitting the floor rings in your ears and big arms wrap around you gently. 

You open your eyes and see the man lying away from you. Beside him was a gun and the other mans black knife. You swallow thickly and look up seeing blue eyes and pink lips. You sigh and see that he has a few cuts across his face. That shirt of his was also covered in more blood. 

The man quickly lets go of you and begins to pick up the things that fell to the floor and put them back. He finds a dust pan in one of the cabinets and begins to sweep broken pieces of glass. You grabbed a cloth and wiped up the coffee on your floor. Once you finish, you look over and see him dumping the broken bits into the trash and putting the flowers that fell over in an empty vase. You take the flowers and fill the vase up with water. Behind you, were the roses that he bought and you decided to put those in the white jug with water too. 

He leans against the counter and watches you fill the vases. His eyes trail your fingers and then up your arms. You turn around and he stares directly at your chest. His face goes bright red and turns hot but you were completely clueless to it. You go closer to him and look him in the eyes.

“You broke my sink.” You stated. He opened his mouth and then instantly closed it. You sigh and start walking towards the back room. You turn around and look him over. You could see red patches on his shirt. 

“I have a medical kit upstairs, if you want?” 

He wanted to say no but couldn’t. You weren’t even being persistent but he just wanted to be near you. Your dress hugged every inch of your body and he found it addictive. Every time he thought about that he would get mad at himself. You were a complete stranger and it was inappropriate. 

The stranger nodded and followed you through the back room. Up a flight of stairs was a wide hallway. Your washing machine and a bunch of cleaning supplies was against one wall. You dug through the closet quickly and found the kit, which you handed to the man. You opened the door for him and he stood inside your home awkwardly.  

The walls were cream and the kitchen had light brown wooden cupboards and white marble counter tops. Orange pots and pans filled one cupboard while white dishes filled another. Above the coffee maker was a cupboard filled with tea and coffee. A few large mugs were also in there. 

Your red carpet in the living room went perfectly with the brown leather couch and brown wooden coffee table. The coffee table was stacked with books and candles. A lighter lay beside one of the candles which smelled like vanilla. Across from the couch was a white fire place with a gold mirror resting on the top. Book shelves lined one wall beside the fireplace while the other walls were large pained windows with white curtains. 

Across from the kitchen was your bathroom with a stand-in shower and circular bathtub. A fern was in one corner of the bathroom beside a small window. Your drawers were filled with white fluffy towels and hygiene products. 

Beside the kitchen was a circular stair case. You walked up and looked over the railing to see the man laying a grey blanket over the couch. He sat down and tried not to get blood on the blanket. You walked past your bed which was covered in white sheets and decretive pillows and blankets. In your closet you pulled out a very big oversized crewneck sweater. It was plum purple and made of wool. 

Walking back down the stairs you turned on a kettle and put two mugs out with green tea packets in them. You sauntered to the couch and leaned towards the man. He swallowed thickly and you stared at him.

“I don’t know how to do,” You waved at his cuts, “that... so umm.”

He shook his head and pulled his shirt up. You handed the man what he needed and held his shirt up for him. After painfully watching him sow his skin together, you handed him the cup of tea. You took some cream and rubbed it on his cheek, where a cut began to scab over. 

For some reason, he was confused as to why he wanted you so close. He didn't trust people and yet, he wanted needed to trust you. Your touch was soft and caring. Your eyes glowed and he loved the smell of you. He could get a whiff of your perfume and all the other scented things you use. It was addicting, he thought. You handed him the purple sweater and he slipped it over his head. It was very big on you and somehow it was, almost, too small for him. If the man had wider shoulders by a centimetre, the seam would have snapped.

An hour had past and you were refilling his mug of tea. The brunet looked at your bookshelf from the couch. He had no identity to himself except that he loved the idea of reading a book. One book in particular caught his eye. It looked old but he went to take it off the shelf. The cover read The Hobbit.

“That one is the original 1937 book.” You stated with a grin on your face. “I have the new one but I always prefer that one.”

He handed you the novel and looked at you with a begging face. You sat on the couch beside him and opened the book. Each word left your mouth and he was obsessed. Each sentence you formed he recognized. But from where, he had no idea. You read and read for so long, you lost track of time. That being said, you fell asleep on a pillow and he pulled the book from your hands and continued to read. 

He flipped each page. The novel felt like a comforting blanket that hugged him close. So close that he felt something in his chest. A heavy loss. Something was missing when he read this book. 

Your figure laid beside him when he realized. His name. He could remember his name. The man, Steve, had called him Bucky. But he could remember now. Bucky was a nickname. James Buchanan Barnes was his full name. Sergeant Barnes was something that felt much too formal. He didn't like solider or Soldat. The name Bucky now didn't feel like a strangers name that the man had called him. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

chapter one

chapter two