#how do write

Passing one unmarked door after another, you follow his lead. The conversation shared between you and him nothing more than simple small talk. Mentions of the weather draw your attention toward the floor-to-ceiling windows on your right. The picturesque vision of upstate New York in all its autumnal splendor giving you pause.

Beautiful is the first thought to come to mind. Rolling hills and dense forest as far as the eye could see—a welcome change from busy city skyline. You linger for a time, trying to place the odd rush of nostalgia that comes over you, when the gentle call of your name pulls your attention to Bucky once more.

He stands only a few short feet away; in front of a door toward the end of the hall. By the time you manage to hobble your way over, he's already punched in the code for the electronic deadbolt. A soft melodic chime resounds, followed by the solid thunk of the turning lock. With one hand he pushes the door wide open and holds it there as he steps aside, allowing you to enter first.

A rather spacious room greets you on the other side, the walls painted in a muted tone of your favorite color. "This is...mine?"

"Yeah, it is." He lingers at the entryway for a minute. Observing from a far as you move about the room, eyeing books and posters with some level of uncertainty. As you busy yourself with the collection of books piled up by your beside, he takes a step forward. "Nat's in the room next to this one. So if you need anything..."

Hardcover novel in hand, you simple stare at the unfamiliar title. "And you?" Fingers running across the gold foil lettering used for the author's name, you look up at your guide. "Where would I be able to find you?"

He takes a moment to set the tote bag containing your most coveted snacks on the desk. "I'm at the other end of the hall. Last door, can't miss it."

Right next to Steve's room, you think and are immediately taken aback. As far as you knew, this was your first time setting foot into the new Avenger's Compound. You didn't have the time to acquaint yourself with the building's full layout, let alone what room the others were assigned to. So then how..?

"You should get some rest, Doll. It's been a long morning." His voice cuts your train of thought, and you find that at some point Bucky has moved for the door. "I'll swing by to check up on you later."

You nod, setting the book back on the shelf where you found it. Sending him off with a wave and the best smile you could manage, you watch him go. The door swings shut behind him, lock clicking into place seconds latter.

Alone, you turn to the spacious room before you.  Everything very much how you remember it; minus one or two items.  There were books on your shelf you couldn’t quite place, and a jacket you don’t remember owning draped across the back of a chair.  Worn brown leather, with a hint of musk.  Was it Steve’s?

Setting the garment aside, the row of photos taped along the vanity catch your attention. There was no rhyme or reason for their order from what you could tell; just a handful of favorites you felt like displaying.  Like the photo taken of you and your mother a day before the big move.  She had been so afraid of you living by yourself in a bustling city like New York, yet she still made a point to support your future endeavors every step of the way.  

For you, it had been two years since that teary final parting at the airport, but in reality it was much longer than that.  The accident, according to Dr. Belos’ explanation, had taken two years from your memory.  Meaning a whopping total of four years had passed since your departure from home.  You would have to make it a point to visit again, soon as things settled down over here that is.

Moving along from the pictures of family and old friends, a series of landscape shots make up some of the other snapshots that had been posted up.  Places like Times Square and Manhattan Island.  Within a week of landing, you made it a point to see as many tourist destinations as you could. A whirlwind, sightseeing tour that ended with a picture right across the street from your new place of employment: Stark Tower.

A more candid shot of you and Natasha hangs beside it.  The latter frowning as she looks into the lens of the camera, but not resisting in the slightest to your arm draped around her shoulder.  It had taken a lot of begging and bribery of fresh baked cookies to get her to sit with you.  As a result, it was the only picture you had of the two of you together.

Birthday cards and faded notes follow, each one signed with a name you recall with fondness.  Yet the one that truly brings a smile to your face is a card covered in far too much purple glitter.  You reach for it, recalling that it had been an attempted glitter bomb prank by Clint that had taken an unexpected turn for the worse.  Sure it had gone off like he planned, but the volume of the contents he poured in had been slightly off.  Months later, and you were still finding pockets of glitter on your belongings.

“That Clint.” You chuckle, flipping open the purple sparkling card with one hand. What greets isn’t the messy scrawled words of ‘happy birthday’ you had been expecting, but a picture.

A picture of Bucky Barnes.  Sound asleep on what appeared to be the very couch only a few feet away from where you stand.  

Confusion rushes in.  Had you taken this yourself?  How?  When?  

You try searching for an answer, an explanation, but the sudden throbbing of your temple doesn’t allow for much progress.  After a few short seconds of struggling and failing to find a reason behind the pictures existence, you set both items aside on the vanity.  The constant pounding in your head forcing you to let it go.

It was probably something Steve snapped, you reason, recalling how it was once your job acclimating him to all the new tech and gadgets of the twenty-first century.  But even if that was the case and it had been one of his test shots?  That didn’t answer the nagging question of what it was doing here, mixed in with your belongings.  Tucked away some place safe, like a prized possession.

For now, you focus on dealing with the repercussions that came from pushing yourself too hard, too soon.  But as you sit at the foot of your bed, rummaging through your belongings for prescribed medication, you can’t help the deep-rooted ache that you had forgotten something.