#ibwhellospringday2

“That’s exactly the point. I want to go on a date as Steve Rogers.” Steve mumbled. What he really wanted was to be going on a date with you, but he was too scared to ask. And now you were going on a date tonight as well. You were in your room doing the exact same thing Steve was and you were going out with some random guy Nat had set you up with. Bucky was clearly reading Steve’s mind.

“Coulda had a date with Y/N if you weren’t so fucking chicken.” Bucky said with a shit eating grin.

“Yeah, yeah. Shut up. Well?” Steve asked facing Bucky and throwing his hands out.

“I wouldn’t kick you out of bed.” Bucky said with a smirk.

“Very funny. Alright, I’m outta here.” Steve grabbed his worn brown leather jacket out of the closet and the keys to his motorcycle and headed out the door.

Meanwhile you were in your room putting the finishing touches on your outfit for the evening. You’d picked out one of Nat’s more modest dresses and a pair of heels. You swiped your favorite color lipstick across your lips and stood in front of the mirror to admire the effect.

“Well?” You said, turning to Nat and Wanda on the bed. They both nodded their approval.

“You are stunning!” Wanda gushed and you blushed.

“You are late,” Nat said as she got up and grabbed your jacket and keys and shoved you out the door. “Have fun!” She called after you.

“Think they have any clue?” Wanda asked quietly.

“Those two? No way.” Nat said crossing her arms and watching your retreating figure.

You’re date was for 7 o’clock and you finally found a parking spot at 7:10. A quick glance in the rearview mirror and you were out of your car and into a restaurant that was slightly too upscale for your taste.

“I’m meeting someone,” you said to the maitre’d, “a reservation under Romanoff?” You said quickly.

“Of course ma’am, right this way,” the man said and led you on a weaving path through a sea of tables. You were too busy trying to fit everything into your tiny clutch to notice your surroundings. You arrived at the table and the maitre’d pulled your seat out for you.

“I’m so sorry I’m late,” you said to your date as you sat down.

“It’s no problem,” came Steve Rogers’ voice and you finally looked up at your date. There sat Steve, fellow Avenger and the man you’d been in love with for two years.

“Steve!” You said dumbfounded. “What… what are you doing here!?” Your heartbeat skyrocketed and you were suddenly very grateful for antiperspirant.

“I could ask you the same thing but I bet we both know who the real mastermind is here.” Steve said with a chuckle.

“Natasha,” you muttered looking down at the tablecloth. You would be sure to murder her later.

“Listen, I understand if this is too weird for you. You can go if you want to,” Steve said. You looked at him and it dawned on you that he was far more nervous than you were.

“No,” you said, “No. There’s nowhere I’d rather be.” You said, braving a smile. You looked into Steve’s sea blue eyes and your heart settled. This is exactly where you were supposed to be. You saw Steve visibly relax and his smile made you melt.

“I’m really glad, Y/N. I um, I really like you.” Steve mumbled, looking at his hands. You reached across the table and took his hand in yours.

You drop into a crouch, eyes so wide you can feel the air rushing by in your wake. Or—maybe not your own wake. A thin tree a few feet off the path creaks, splinters, and then a branch falls to the ground, almost in slow motion. It lands with a wet thump.

What the hell?

Your hands are shaking. Unarmed? Well, not entirely. You pull your keys out of your pocket and arrange them between your clenched fingers before inching forward, still crouched. The path is still empty, still silent, and then you hear it.

Crunch. Crunch. Squelch.

Footsteps, coming up from the next bend. Skin prickling, you look around wildly for a place to hide.

But too late. A man appears barely twenty feet away, face lighting up with dark glee as he claps eyes on you.

“There you are.”

You pop to your feet and run back down the path, blood rushing in your ears. The leaves and rocks underfoot are slippery; you slip, catch yourself on your hand, push yourself back up and fly down the path. Over your echoing heartbeat, you can hear the man following you, running faster than you—oh god—

You chance a look back, eyes stinging, and then you knock clean into—you don’t know; all you know is that you’re on your back in the mud, head spinning, groaning, wetness seeping through your jeans.

Two men, one the man from the hilltop and the other a stranger with a beard, hover into your spotty vision.

“Who—” you croak, then think better of it. You turn your hand to conceal your keys, your only weapon. “Please don’t hurt me.”

“Well, you should’ve taken the hint and stayed away,” the man from the hill says. He holds up his gun, aims it casually at you. “Why are you here?”

“I—I like it here!” you whimper. You curl your empty hand around your churning stomach. You’ve never seen a gun so close, not from this angle at least. From here, with your eyes slightly crossed, you can see straight up the barrel. “I like the quiet! It’s quiet!”

The bearded man snorts. For the first time, you give him a good look. There’s a light splatter of blood across his coat.

“Oh god,” you breathe. You look back up the barrel of the gun. It’s shaking. No, you’re shaking.

The man from the hill cocks his gun. He studies your drained face.

“A shame, really,” the man says mildly.

Crack.

You squeeze your eyes shut, but all that happens is a whoosh of air and an oof from the man standing over you.

“Fuck!” Beardie spins, pulling out his own gun, and your eyes widen as the other man falls to his knees and then face-down beside you in the dirt.

Crack.

Beardie stumbles back. He holds up his gun, fires twice, three times.

Crack.

Beardie falls, twisting; you can see the bullet hole in his cheek, his empty eyes, and it’s enough to make your head spin.

You push yourself back along the ground, muddy water catching in every fold of your jeans, sliding into your boots, matting your hair. The man from the hill groans. He forces himself off the ground, onto his hands and knees. His gun is between you, and his eyes flit to yours before he lurches, reaching for the gun.

Adrenaline courses through your veins. You slam into him with a snarl, knocking him back onto the ground before the gun’s within his reach. The air is cold against the backs of your wet legs now that they’re not buried in the mud, but you barely notice. All that matters is keeping the gun away from his hands. Whatever had shot at these two, whoever—you prayed they wouldn’t shoot at you.

You draw back your hand with the keys and jab them into the man’s gut. He grunts, his breath heavy on your face. The mud squelches beneath you as you straddle him, knees digging into his leg, his gut, your empty hand clamped on his jaw, cold fingers digging into his skin.

“Hey!”

You ignore the call from behind. You can’t let go. If you let go—

Someone yanks you away by the shoulders, and you scream.

“Let me go!”

You slam your keyed fist behind you. Your knuckles jab into someone’s face, and you’re dropped to the ground.

“Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!”

“Oh shit—hey, wait!”

You land heavily on your knees, and in half a moment you’re running back up the hill, eyes streaming, boots catching just long enough to propel you further on. The birds are singing again, you realize, and then someone catches you around the middle. You wriggle violently in their hold.

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay, we’re not gonna hurt ya!”

The man holding you sets you down and steps back quickly, a hand still clamped around your wrist. You whirl to face him, teeth bared in a snarl.

The second you can see his face, your mouth drops open. Your keys drop to the ground.

“You’ve got to be shitting me,” you gasp.

The Winter Soldier snorts. Behind him, Sam Wilson—Captain Fucking America!—stands up from where he’d been kneeling by the man from the hill, whose arms are now tied behind his back.

“Are you okay?” Bucky Barnes asks. He lets go of you, holding his hands open for a moment to placate any terror lingering in your system. His eyes trail down and back up, settling on your face. “They didn’t shoot you or anything?”

You shake your head, cheeks warming up under his scrutiny. Mud, tears, and who knows what else are smeared all over you, and you’ve got the two cutest Avengers looking you over.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you ask.

Sam’s mouth screws up. “Why don’t we start with why you’re here.”

“Uh, to go for a walk?” You look between the two men, but Sam’s suspicious expression doesn’t change. You swallow.

“Oh, c’mon, Wilson,” Bucky mutters. He raises his eyebrows at you as he gathers your keys from the mud and hands them to you. Yuck. “So you weren’t here to facilitate an alien arms deal?”

“What? No! Aliens? What, are they back?” You glance behind you, a hand clutched by your throat; you hadn’t been present for any of the alien attacks, but god, you’d seen enough up-close-and-personal video footage to have a instinctive terrified reaction.

Bucky snorts. “No. Hell no. Just some tech fallen into the wrong hands.”

“Well thanks for the fucking heart attack,” you snap. You rub your temples, shake your head. Your head is starting to pound. “Look, this has been great fun, but I would just really like to get home now.”

Bucky purses his lips at Sam, who sighs. “One of us has to stay til the feds get here.”

“Dude, you’re on point. I’ll volunteer if you really need me to.”

“Fine, sure.”

“Great. You ready?” Bucky asks you. “Which way?”

You give up on trying to wipe your clothes clean—forget the clothes, there’s no way your whole body won’t be a prune by the time you get home—and nod in the direction you’d come from. “Thanks so much, uh, what do I even call you?”

“Bucky works.” He falls into step beside you. “What do I call you?”

You give him your name, and he falters to a halt, his boots squeaking in a puddle.

Your lips twitch as you turn to look over your shoulder at him. “Sorry,” you tell him. “I probably coulda mentioned.”

“Yeah, well.” He hurries back to your side, but he doesn’t start walking. He just looks you up and down, surprise and sudden interest in every line of his face. “Didn’t think I’d be dragging a SHIELD legend out of the mud.”

“Well, to be fair, I wasn’t in the mud anymore.” You link your hands behind your back and keep walking, a smile playing on your lips. You were never in the field like the Avengers, thus the embarrassment of being caught in the mud—not to mention the gun to your face, yikes—but what you do do… Well, it’s worth every ounce of admiration on Bucky Barnes’ face.

“Can I, uh, get you coffee or something?” Bucky asks.

“That’s very sweet, but I think I need a shower more than caffeine right now.”

“I could get you a shower too.”

You pause, raise an eyebrow at him. He blinks, opens his mouth, and puts his fist to his mouth. You can’t help but giggle at his blush. He’s cute, adorable, gorgeous. You surreptitiously eye him up and down. Supersoldier? You’ll say.

What the hell.

“If you’re seriously offering after all that flailing around in the mud, gun to my face, I’ll go for whichever you prefer.”

His face lights up with a smile. Even with all the birds, the trees—it’s the prettiest thing you’ve seen all day. Maybe your whole life.

The silence was by no means uncomfortable, but he had the sudden urge to talk to you, just to hear your voice in return.

“You’re not running out of energy yet, doll?” he asked teasingly, squeezing your hand as he smiled and was rewarded by a smile of your own.

“Not quite yet, no,” you said, “but my feet are starting to ache just a little.”

Before you could comprehend it, you were in his arms, your legs squirming at the sudden motion and laughter escaping your lips freely. “This help?”

“Bucky!”

The delight in your squeal of his name had him all kinds of giddy. He wasn’t sure he could ever get used to how you said his name and all the different ways you could. The way you scolded him with it when he was playing up in public. The way you said it in the middle of laughter at something he’d said. The way you said it when you were absolutely and utterly breathless.

He’d be lying if he denied that the last one was his favourite.

“What?”

“Put me down, you idiot!”

He did as you asked right away, the smug smirk on his face only growing upon seeing the incredulous look on your face, but the light in your eyes behind that told him that you were hardly mad at him.

“Less of the idiot, doll.”

“Well, I won’t let you carry me!” you exclaimed as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, placing your hand back in his and tugging it in an attempt to get him to continue your stroll, “Come on, you.”

“I can’t continue on whilst my best girl has achy feet. It’s not right. Not how I was-“

“If you’re about to say that it’s not how you were raised then I’m about to leave you in the woodland, Barnes.”

“Not how I was… brought up?”

You shook your head with a fondness that came with ease. He was brilliantly insufferable in all the best ways imaginable.

“That’s basically the same thing.”

“Will you at least accept a piggyback, dollface?”

He’d gone back to his insistence on picking you up and, what’s worse, he was pouting, which always proved ridiculously annoying and relatively dangerous, because it seemed you were physically incapable of saying no to him when he pouted. Even worse still was the fact that he knew this.

You rolled your eyes.

“Fine.”

He punched the air, dorky as ever and was quick to turn around, holding his arms out behind him to catch you when you jumped. Chuckling just slightly, you settled yourself behind him and pressed down on his shoulders to push yourself up, his hands catching your thighs easily. There was a little shuffling for you to get comfy and for your weight to shift to just the right place for Bucky to hold you easily.

“Where to, ma’am?”

“Homeward bound!” You announced gleefully pointing off in a random direction and Bucky chuckled before heading off in a different direction which you assumed was the actual way home.

You pointed out patches of bluebells as he carried you through the woods, with stern instructions not to step on them. It wasn’t as if you’d actually strolled far away from home as you’d basically been walking back and forth in the forest. As soon as you were back in the field behind your house you tapped his shoulder twice, just lightly, and he bent down to let you off, rolling his shoulders as he adjusted.

“That was incredibly kind of you, Buck,” you said, and although you were still slightly teasing there was a small part of you that was genuine. He smiled. All genuine.

“Anything for you.”

He punctuated his sentence by picking up your hand in his own and placing a kiss to your knuckles, basking in the glory of the bliss that overcame your face. After such a long time, it appeared he still found new ways to make you flustered. He hoped he’d never run out.

But it was all getting a little too sappy for an afternoon walk/piggyback and he was still in a rather playful mood.

“Always a gentlema-umpf!”

Just as you were praising him, he grinning and pushed you backwards a little before setting off in a sprint towards your home.

“Race you!”

He shouted behind him and it only just reached you on the breeze. You scowled and began running after him.

“Oh, you are on, Barnes! Watch yourself!”

How could he forget? Warmth had returned to his life the very moment his gaze had met yours.

Leaning away from the door, he unbuttoned his suit jacket button letting himself slide down the door to sit on the floor. If he got this suit dirty, you would surely kill him, and he had a very important date in a few minutes that he needed to be alive for.

“You were wearing that blue dress I love so much. Took my breath away.”

And you truly had. With a flowy blue dress, the blooming flowers that spring had brought were no match to the beauty you radiated. As soon as his eyes had met yours, Bucky was done for. Nowhere had he ever met a pair of eyes as beautiful and kind as yours.  It was as if his entire life had led him to that small coffee shop.

On the other side of the door, he could hear you taking up the same position he now had. You were both back-to-back, only a door in between you both. Both now sat on the floor, in outfits you had both promised to keep clean.

“I don’t think I ever told you,” you giggled, and his heart melted at the thought of the smile that surely graced your lips. “Did you know there was a bee on your shoulder that day?”

“Darling,” he chuckled, “Is that why you were looking my way?”

“All I’ll say,” you joined him in chuckling, and how you still managed to quicken his heartbeat was beyond him, “is that I owe a lot to that bee. You think it’s still around somewhere?”

“I don’t know a lot of a bee’s life cycle, but I will kiss the next bee I see in case she knows that other bee. I owe her the love of my life.”

“I love you, Bucky.”

Those words meant everything to him. They meant light. They meant happiness. They meant the world.

“Are you ready, sweetheart?” he asked, hoping to tell you how much he loved you face-to-face.

“After that stroll down memory lane I sure am,” you laughed.

Standing up, he straightened his jacket, pushed back his hair, heart beating fast in his chest.

Slowly he saw the doorknob turn and his stomach somehow managed to flip.

The door began to open, light seeping out of the room you had been in, creating a breathtaking halo around your figure.

With gentle steps, you stepped out, and although he was half-kidding a few moments ago, he now swore he would kiss the next bee he saw.

“Darling,” unable to form any more words he simply looked at you. Looked to your delicate features, the way the white gown you wore so beautifully hugged your figure, the way the veil elegantly draped behind you.

You were a dream.

No, not a dream. He often had to remind himself that you were not a dream; that you were his reality. That you had allowed him into your heart and that you had so quickly made his heart your home.

God was he the luckiest man alive.

“You look dashing,” you said, reaching out to run your hands down his suit. The look in your eyes was full of nothing but love.

“I love you, doll,” he finally said.

It always felt like the first time. It never felt like enough.

How was he expected to convey every ounce of what he felt in three little words?

Guess, that’s why you were both here. Him in a suit. You in a gown. Your closest friends and family waiting outside.

“Ready to start our forever?”

You swallow thickly and look to the row of showers lining the wall; two showers are going and you sure as hell don't know which one Sam's in and who's in the other. You clench your arms around your chest, crushing the towel and soap between them, and begin strolling nervously down the isle that seems to be only getting longer. You keep your eyes severely on your feet as you stop in front of the first steamy shower... "U.... Um... Sam?" Your voice sounds like a damn frog croaking. You clear your throat and call louder. "Sam?" But, your version of louder is like, kitten meow next to a lions roar. The water cuts off; oh good, it is Sam. You continue with a relieved breath. "Oh good, it is you. I brought you your towel and the body wash that looked the closest to what you described. I don't know why you have so many body wa-" Freaky. It really is freaky how irony just rolls around like this. Imagine, the thing you enjoyed learning from Bruce the  most is the thing that'll cause you the most trouble, most often; she's come back to bite you in the ass again... Gravity really is a bitch when she trades in her "I just want to be a butthole to Y/n" card in for her "Call me Dr. Love" card. The floor is already slippery, and your slippers have little to no traction on tile, so you're dead meat as far as your concerned. Your breath escapes you and your eyes drill shut. Well? What's taking so long? Why aren't you splayed on the ground, regretting every decision that's ever lead you to moving into this compound? Why is your life not flashing before your eyes? "Y/n?" Oh... You're in heaven. That voice is Bucky's voice. It's a nice voice... Wow that really feels like his strong arm bracing your lower back... And that's definitely water dripping onto your legs and your face... Hair tickling your nose, tense muscles wet under your palms... Oh god you're not dead... Your eyes crack open, small windows opened up in the steam fogging your glasses, and eye his blue eyes staring down into yours. Don't look down, don't- You've already looked down and now you think you're having an aneurism. It's ungodly how hot it is in here. His towel fell off when he ran into you. Someone once told you it was bad for your skin to take such hot showers. His heart is beating so quickly in his chest. Now, you're not a very fast person, but you move faster than you ever have when you snatch up Sam's body wash and towel and shove it to Bucky's warm, beautiful, muscular, wet... Chest and cry, "Please give these to Sam!" And you scram. Faster then you've ever scrammed before. 

You didn’t see anything. Nothing. Nothing at all. Not his lovely pecs or his godly abs, or the scar tissue on the edge of his metal arm; nothing. Nada. You can be blind you didn’t see so much. You drop onto the corner of your bed and place your hands over your burning face. 

“I can never face Bucky again.” You groan.

“It’d make me pretty damn sad if you stopped talking to me over something so small, doll.”

“Well it isn’t small at all!” You snap mindlessly. Small... Isn’t - Oh Jesus Christ that’s Bucky in the doorway and you really just blurted that to him. Hands flailing you try to whisk your ill timed and tasting comment from the air between you. “I didn’t mean that!” He raises a brow at you, allowing a smirk to cuddle into his lips. “Well I mean it was a big -” You screech, “But I didn’t mean it like that!” You zip your lips shut and let out a wheeze; you think you have asthma. You place you hand to your heavy chest, yeah, you have asthma, you’re sure of it. You can’t breathe. Sweet disorientation please take you. 

Better yet, death is welcome. 

Your muscles tense as you listen to your door slam. He’s left... He must really hate you now. Way to blow up every chance of a relationship with Buckaroo... You just awkwarded yourself into a place worse than the friend zone; the acquaintance zone. You are now alone in the “I’m socially obligated to talk to you because we work together and your sort of friends with my friends” zone. What a terrible feeling to have mixing with the embarrassment and slight horniness burning in you...

He’s been doing this for almost three weeks now and he’s so used to the routine that he falters when he sees Diego rushing down the stairs like him.

“What in the world are you wearing?!” Five exclaims, taken aback by seeing his brother out of his black leather get up for the first time in--huh, probably too long I couldn’t remember anymore.

“Clothes. Just like everyone else.” Diego says. He tugs at the sleeves of his crisp white shirt self-consciously.

Five throws him a dubious look but lets it go. “I got no time for this,” he mutters and runs to the door only for Diego to come close at his heels.

Five bursts out into the front door landing and sees Y/N walking by.

“Y/N!” He greets excitedly as he bounds down the stairs.

Her face lights up as she sees him. “Five! Taking a stroll again?”

“Always.” Five says as he reaches her side, basking in the familiarity. Instead of resuming her walk, though, Y/N looks behind him.

“Who’s he?”

Diego, who froze near the door, regains his composure and approaches the pair.

“Hi, I’m Diego. Five’s older brother.”

“Hi. I’m Y/N. Nice to meet you.” Her smile is infectious and Diego’s face lights up.

Five narrows his eyes at him. “Don’t you have somewhere else to be, brother?”

“No, actually. I’m going with you.”

Before Five could protest, Y/N starts walking. “Awwe, that’s so sweet.” Five and Diego scramble to follow her. They glare at each other behind Y/N’s back.

Then, just as he’s been doing for the last week, Five takes Y/N’s arm and loops it in his. He smirks at Diego.

“Hey, brother, I don’t think that’s appropriate.” Diego chides but Y/N just giggles.

“Oh, don’t worry about it. You’re brother’s a really sweet kid, Diego.”

Diego’s jaw clenches. “Right. He’s always been. He’s the baby of the family after all.”

Five stares daggers at his brother as their little stroll goes on, Diego looking smug in return.  

The bright moon hung high in the velvet sky, casting the shoreline in an ethereal glow. The salty breeze had turned colder, making you feel the heat collected on your shoulders from exposure to the sun all day.

Sticking close to the shoreline, the sand solid beneath your feet, the tide gently erased the trail of your path. You finally allowed your thoughts to turn to Clint. Your old mentor. Your old friend.

Almost lover, rings in your head and something trembles in your chest. It had taken you three years of living your own life out here to finally be at peace with yourself. With the life you had led, with the person that you used to be. You had thought you weren’t that person anymore.

But seeing Clint had brought everything rushing back and it was almost like the last three years hadn’t happened at all.

The orange glow of a fire momentarily pulled you from your thoughts. It was coming from behind the next sand dune. You hadn’t realized you had reached your destination so quickly.

Letting out a deep exhale, you ran your hands back through your windblown hair and decided to bite the bullet.

He was standing on the other side of the fire pit, his back to your home, his head immediately snapping up at your presence. The flickering flames had shadows dancing across his features, sometimes adding years, sometimes taking.

“Were you looking for me, or did I just ruin your vacation?” You walked passed him to drop your bag on the wooden steps of the porch that led to your tiny bungalow.

“Would you believe me if I said I was here on a honeymoon?” He turned to you, cracking a smile.

“Clint Barton, if you were here on your honeymoon then you are one stupid man for standing on my front lawn.”

“Well, no one ever blamed me for being intelligent.” He turned back to the fire.

Steeling yourself, you walked up to stand beside him. Crossing your arms, you threw your eyes up to the stars, enjoying the contrast of the heat from the flames on your face and the cool ocean breeze on your back.

“Fury?”

“Nah, he doesn’t know I’m here.”

“Are you going to tell him…”

“That not only are you alive, but living it up as a beach bum?”

You turned to him, unamused at his joke. Seeing the worry on your face, Clint shook his head, wordlessly apologizing.

“Thought you were dead, Y/N. Forgive me for being a little punchy at finding out that you’re not.”

“Yeah, well…I had an opportunity to disappear and start over. I took it.”

The silence stretched between you, the only sound the crackling of the flames eating the logs and the constant crash of watery waves. You could feel the words that he wanted to say. Ghosts of arguments passed materialized in the dancing flames. Clint was a patient man. But you were an expert at pushing people to their limits, making them work to catch even a tiny glimpse of who you were on the inside. In the past, it always came down to Clint wanting to be let in, and you not quite letting him.

“It’s a nice place you’ve got here.” Clint spoke, poking at the fire with a piece of driftwood. “Kind of place I always imagined retiring to one day. Guess you beat me to the punch.”

You watched him out of the corner of your eye. His shirt, audibly rustling in the wind, you finally couldn’t help but to ask: “Did you lose a bet? What is this?”

You reached a hand and tugged at the large sleeve of his yellow Hawaiian shirt. He immediately grabbed your hand to pull it away. You met his action with resistance, the momentum pulling you close together. The action was instinctive, you knew. But as you looked into his brown eyes, you could see how this was killing him.

He couldn’t believe that he had found you, alive. Laughing. Living. That vibrant energy emanating from you that he had mourned the loss of for the past three years. How could you be here, and it not all be a trap? How could you be here and not tell him?

“Clint,” You breathed his name.

He let your hand go suddenly and stepped away. “This is crazy.”

“Do you want to take a walk?” You offered.

“No, I don’t want to take a walk!” Clint began to pace around the fire. His hands resting on his lower back and his face turned up to the sky.

“If you weren’t ready to talk, why did you show your face tonight?” You volleyed.

“Because how could I not?” He threw his hands out and faced you across the fire. “I’m out here, trying to lay low for a week or two, because GUESS WHAT, life in the real world sucks. I have lived every single fucking day for the passed three years mourning you, missing you. Missions are shit. Life is shit. I come here to get a reprieve from that and…YOU’RE HERE.”

He gesticulated with his hands wildly, then fixed you with an exasperated stare. “What the fuck Y/N?”

“I had to disappear.” You defend.

He stepped around the fire; his eyes wide. “You had to disappear.” He repeated heatedly.

“Yes.”

His shoulders shrugged high. “Why?”

You crossed your arms again and kicked at the sand. “Can we please, just take a walk.”

He stomped through the sand to stand before you. “I wanna know why.”

Your eyes flew back and forth between his and you could feel your defenses cracking. You were stronger than this, you knew. But damn, you had missed him. And seeing how hurt he was, it was pulling at your heart. You gripped your arms tightly to keep from reaching for him. That stupid shirt was revealing the hard form of his chest, the wind was playing with his soft hair, and his bare feet in the sand had him unbalanced. It was the most vulnerable you had ever seen him.

He was in your element now.

Turning from him towards the fire, you steeled yourself from doing something stupid. He scoffed and stumbled back from you a few paces.

Slowly, you dropped down, plopping your butt in the sand and lost yourself in the blue hue at the base of the fire. You waited him out until eventually he sat down beside you. He rubbed at the back of his neck then rested his elbows on his bent knees.