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Summary: Architect Bucky Barnes, accepting his part in the possible end of his marriage, decides on one final attempt to save his relationship with his wife.
Length: 5.2 K
Characters: Bucky Barnes, OFC (not described and unnamed, although referred to as Mrs. Barnes), Tony Stark (in reference only), Steve Rogers (via phone call), OMC
Warnings: angst, guilt, feelings of self-disgust and anger. This AU is set mostly in modern New York. The coastal town is wherever your imagination takes you. Bucky is an architect, married less than a year. Tony Stark is seen as the villain in this.
⚫️ ⚫️ ⚫️
It was late when the vehicle stopped at the main door to the luxurious apartment building in the heart of Central Park South in Manhattan. The doorman hustled to the high end Land Rover, each window tinted so that no one could see inside, recognizing it as belonging to the car service used by the architect of the building and owner of the penthouse, Bucky Barnes. Opening the back passenger door he waited for the man himself to emerge, but the greeting he started saying died on his lips when he saw the expression on the man's face when it appeared. If he didn't know any better, he would think Barnes was terrified.
"Is Mrs. Barnes still home?"
It was a strange question that confused the doorman as he looked up towards the penthouse floor, not that it could be seen from the street. Barnes repeated the question, with an intensity in his gaze that made the doorman swallow nervously.
"Yes, sir, Mrs. Barnes is still in the penthouse."
Striding past the doorman's confused face, Barnes went to the building's entrance, barely stopping as the automatic doors split open for him. The men sitting at the security desk in the lobby stood up as the man who designed the building ignored their greetings. Instead, he walked past them as if they didn't exist, removed his right glove, took his key fob out of his overcoat pocket and waved it across the sensor of the elevator dedicated solely to his apartment. No other tenant used it, just Barnes, his wife and those lucky enough to receive an invitation to occasional parties on the top two floors that made up the penthouse apartment in the exclusive skyscraper. The two security guards and the doorman kept observing as the elevator doors opened and Barnes stepped inside without a word.
You need your wife's permission to stay out these days? She's really got you on a short leash, Barnes. Took her less than a year to bring you to heel.
Inside the elevator car, Bucky winced at recalling the moment earlier that evening when his so-called friend Tony made fun of his insistence that he had to leave, as he promised his wife he would be home in time for dinner. The interior of the elevator, finished in panels decorated in subtle but intricate patterns of rare inlaid woods, did nothing to calm Barnes' breathing as his self-disgust increased, preparing himself for the reception he would get when the doors opened to his suite. His fevered mind kept hoping that as long as she was still in the apartment he had a chance to salvage his marriage. Even if she was waiting with her bags packed he could explain why he wasn't here on the one night she told him he had to be present and on time.
You just had to listen to him, didn't you? When Stark said he could make it worth your while, you turned around and made your choice to stay.
His inner voice intruded on him again and he squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to block it out, not because it was lying to him, but because he needed these few moments in the elevator to think of something, anything to say that would convince her to forgive him one more time. Somehow, she had to give him just one more chance to prove that she mattered more than anything else. Without even realizing it, his curled left fist swung sideways, denting the inlaid wall panel with the force of his self-directed anger. It was enough to cause a small tear in the expensive Brunello Cucinelli Nappa leather glove that was still on his left hand, a thousand dollar glove damaged in an instant but he didn't care about the money, not now.
At the only stop for this elevator, the doors opened to an eerie quiet. All the lights, except for the recessed night lighting strip along the top of the hallway were off. The dim illumination sensed his presence, becoming brighter as he dropped his key fob into the bowl on the hallway table, noticing an orchid plant next to it. Had it always been there or was that a new addition that he hadn't noticed before?
Removing his left glove and jacket, he pressed against the touch panel on the wall that popped open revealing the cleverly hidden closet. Carefully, he hung up his overcoat, dropping the gloves in a basket on the floor of the hidden space. His footsteps echoed on the Italian marble floors as he walked to the living room, its glass walls displaying the magnificent panoramic sight of Manhattan at night. Part of Bucky hoped that she was curled up on the Minotti leather couch, under a cashmere throw blanket waiting for him but the room was empty of her presence. All that was left were things, the best things that money could buy, but just cold, impersonal things when he compared them to her.
He could have explored the other parts of this floor, looking for her in the kitchen, or the den, or the conservatory, but he knew she wouldn't be in any of the expensively curated rooms. He walked past the dining room, where a small vase of daisies oversaw the remains of a meal for two that still sat there. His insides twisted as he realized the meal was his favourite dish. He hadn't been there to eat it with her.
She had something special to share with him and he blew it off just like he did when she asked if they could go back to the coast for some time alone, without anyone else coming between them.
Rubbing his face with his hands, he moved to the bottom of the staircase that looked like it was suspended in air, built that way so that it didn't block the best view of Manhattan. As the architect who designed this property, it was a feature he insisted on, wanting the expansive view to be the focal point of the entire lower floor of the two story penthouse. He stood there for several long moments thinking of the interior designer who searched the world for unique features that would promote the exclusive qualities of this apartment. This was supposed to be the crowning achievement of Bucky Barnes career, as the top architect of New York. Money was to be of no object for this visionary property in Billionaire's Row.
For a moment, he experienced vertigo as he stepped on the glass tread, wavering a little as his hand reached for the almost invisible hand rail, made of glass that was lightweight but strong; its installation supposed to signal a new trend in design circles, and his place had it first. Step by step he ascended to the upper floor, the night lighting strip brightening when it perceived his arrival. Approaching the door of the master suite he hesitated and listened for the sounds of her still being up, but it was silent and his heart dropped a little. Was she even in there? He looked towards the other end of the hallway where the guest rooms were. Was she in one of them instead? Putting his hand towards the door knob, he was suddenly transported back a year, to the moment he first met her.
She wore blue jeans tucked into black rubber boots, a paint-stained hoodie with a tear on the pocket and an old windbreaker. Her wind blown hair was barely held together by a scrunchie and her face, a little red from the conditions that were often found in east coast seaside towns, was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. As he entered the general store where she was talking to the proprietor he wondered if his yacht was meant to break down in this particular port just so he would meet her.
It was dark in the bedroom, as she had closed all the window coverings, but he could make out a mound on the bed and felt a moment of relief. She was still here, still in the apartment. Closing the door, he went to his walk-in closet and dressing room, and closed the door behind him, before turning on the light. His suit jacket came off first, hung up on the wooden coat hanger that he had for all of his clothes. Loosening his tie he pulled it off over his neck, looking at it fondly. She gave it to him shortly after she moved in with him. Said it reminded her of the colour of the sky the day his yacht limped into the harbour and they met. Swallowing hard, he fought the urge to cry into it. Instead, he breathed deeply several times and unknotted it, smoothing it out before he rolled it up and placed it in an open spot in his tie drawer. Slowly, he unbuttoned his dress shirt, pulling it out from his slacks, taking it off and dropping it into the laundry hamper. There was a stain on his suit slacks from when he stood up and spilled his drink in the private club room he was at with Tony and the others, so he took them off, folded them and placed them on the bench seat to be taken to the dry cleaners. Socks and underwear went into the hamper and he moved into their shared bathroom, turning on the shower so he could wash away the smell of scotch and cigars.
You have to try these, Bucky. The best that money can buy.
That's all Tony ever cared about, having the best that money could buy. Closing his eyes, Bucky tried to will away the memory of the rest of the evening, not wanting to think about the bullshit money making scheme that the financier spewed, or the women that showed up to the private party room at his invitation, sitting on laps without warning. The sudden invasion of his personal space made Bucky stand up in a panic and spill his drink on himself. Then Tony did what he always did, pushed Bucky's buttons, made him feel like he was making a big deal out of nothing. Coming out of the men's room where he tried to clean himself up, he faced the sight of ties being undone, and zippers being lowered. That's when Bucky left, angry at once more being suckered into Tony's idea of the life of a man with more money than sense. Everything he ever did to placate that man was like being a fish on a line, hooked and landed like the sucker he was.
Leaning back against the onyx wall in the large shower, he looked straight ahead at his reflection in the heated mirror, vowing to never again accept an invitation from the man who had financed half the new construction in Manhattan. Wearily, he turned the water off and reached for the towel, burying his face in the softness of it before running it over his hair then over his body, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out. He brushed his teeth and rinsed, spat into the sink, then rinsed that, because leaving a mess for someone else to clean up wasn't Bucky's way.
Four days is all it took to fall in love with her. As his yacht was being repaired she showed him why she lived in a small fishing town in the ass end of nowhere, in a house she was restoring to live in and serve as her main studio, finding artistic inspiration in the wind and the waves of the ocean. The house was magnificent, like something out of a movie, except it was in dire need of fixing. Left empty for a long time, it needed new plumbing and wiring, half the floors replaced, windows updated, and more, with a lot of patience needed to do it right. He could see the potential, in the house and her, although he never thought the house would ever be his home.
With clean underwear, pajama bottoms and a T-shirt on, Bucky stood in his closet, trying to take that next step of getting into bed. Would she wake up when he slipped in behind her? Or would she continue sleeping as he just lay there and stewed in the guilt he felt for once again letting her down. With a sigh, he turned off the light, and stood in the unlit room until he was ready. In the almost darkness of the bedroom, he slipped under the bedcovers and slid closer to her, mirroring her posture but not touching her.
"I'm not asleep," she said, quietly.
"Did I wake you?"
"No. I couldn't sleep without you."
His stomach turned. "I'm sorry." There was no answer from her and his heart rose into his throat, threatening to choke him. "I really fucked up this time, didn't I?"
She rolled over, a waft of cool air coming with the motion, until she faced him. Before, she would have brushed his confession aside immediately but she didn't this time, and that's when he knew they were at a crucial moment in their marriage, not even a full year into it.
"Yeah." She sounded resigned. "Every time you forget about me, you say you'll do things differently and every time you let me down once more. It was Tony again, wasn't it?"
It took him several heartbeats to admit it. "Yeah. He says something and twists it in a way that makes me stay and I always regret it until the next time I do it again." Squeezing his eyes shut to keep the tears in he managed to speak. "You cooked."
"I did. Even made dessert."
"Fuck." Several breaths later, he spoke again, trying to keep from choking on his words. "What are you going to do?"
"About us?" He could feel the exhale of her breath on his arm. "I'm going home."
Even though she probably couldn't see him, he nodded. This apartment was never her home. The house beside the ocean was.
"When?"
"In the morning." The silence between them was ominous. "You're not going to try to talk me out of it?"
"As much as I don't want you to go, I haven't given you much reason to stay. Maybe we got married too soon after we met. Maybe I really didn't understand the commitment a marriage needs from both parties. It doesn't matter. I haven't fulfilled the vow I made to put us first."
"Alright." For some reason, she placed her hand on his cheek and he couldn't help but lean into it. "If you figure things out you'll know where to find me." Sliding out of the bed, she stopped at the door. "I'll sleep in the guest room. I've already packed what I brought with me."
"I love you," he declared, sitting up, trying to see her face in the silhouette of her body in the doorway.
"I know." Her voice wobbled a little. "I love you, too."
Then she was gone and the room felt wrong without her presence. Flopping back on the pillow, Bucky put an arm over his eyes, fighting off the urge to weep but it was no use. The golden boy of New York couldn't hold on to the most precious part of his life. He didn't feel like he deserved her so he was letting her go.
🟤 🟤 🟤
The room was brighter when he woke up, as the sun peeked through the cracks in the window coverings, but it still felt cold. Half the morning was already gone. When she told him when she was leaving, he expected to hear her getting ready in her walk-in closet and dressing room, but he never heard a thing. Pulling the covers back, he entered her dressing space, seeing most of the hangers still had her formal clothing on them, clothing that he helped pick out for the galas, and mind-numbing networking events that he dragged her to.
Pulling open the drawers he slumped down on the bench in the middle of the space, realizing she took only her casual clothes, the same clothes she wore when they met. Drawn to their guest room at the other end of the hallway, he knocked and opened the door. The bed was unmade and empty, so she had slept there but all that was left now was a note on the nightstand. Picking it up, he read it, frowning at the words.
I wanted to share something special with you but you didn't come home. Check the small bedroom.
Hesitantly, he walked back down the hallway to the bedroom right beside the master suite. When he first showed it to her he said it would be a good meditation room, while she countered it would be better as a baby's nursery. Opening the door, he entered the room, noticing a stick-like object on the bed. Leaning over, he picked it up, recognizing it as being from a pregnancy testing kit. With his heart beating so loudly that he thought it would come through his chest, he turned it over and saw the word ... Pregnant. One knee buckled, as he landed on the edge of the bed and slid off onto the floor. Staring dumbly at the stick all sorts of thoughts went through his head.
This is what she needed me to come home for. She wanted to share this with me. She's going to have my baby and I let her go.
As his emotions spiralled because of his blunder, he wondered how he never noticed. Surely she must have had symptoms. Was he that oblivious to her? The answer came quickly to him. Yes, he was, because he was a selfish bastard who was too focused on his job and being a success. All of his energies in the past year since they got married went towards this ivory tower of glass, steel, and concrete. The penthouse that he wanted to be perfect for his queen had instead become like a prison to her, caging someone who was meant to be free.
He felt like crying but didn't because he knew it was his fault. She had tried to engage him more than once and he just didn't take her seriously enough to really pay attention.
For some time he stayed right there on the floor, holding that pregnancy stick and staring at the word. Eventually, he stood up, making his way to his bedroom, standing in the doorway and looking at the space, finally seeing it as it really was. It was the most beautiful bedroom in the most beautiful residence in the city, with the best view that money could buy. Without her it was just another empty space.
If you figure things out you'll know where to find me.
He couldn't stay here; not now, not without her. Reaching for his cell phone he placed a call to his partner, Steve.
"I was just going to call you about the Tribeca property," said the man he had known since elementary school. "Stark says he'll finance the development if you're on board."
"I'm not on board," answered Bucky. "In fact, I don't care if we ever work with him again. He's a cancer, Steve, and the sooner we distance ourselves from him the better."
"Something happen last night?"
"Yeah, I listened to him one more time and missed out on something incredible." He shook his head, knowing that Steve had never really trusted the man, and had always cautioned against working too closely with him. Maybe he went through his own experience with Stark that shamed him enough to step away from his influence. If only he had listened sooner to his best friend. "She left me and I need to get her back, on her terms."
There was silence for several long moments on the other end. "Okay. You know that Stark isn't going to like it."
"Don't care. I just need to step back and make it right with her, before anything else. I trust you to handle things while I'm gone." He breathed out. "I don't know when I'll be back."
"You do what you have to do," replied Steve. "I'll take care of things on this end. We'll have a drink sometime and compare stories about what made you wake up. Go get your girl, Bucky."
"Thanks. Steve? If we end up working out of a strip mall, like when we started, I'm okay with that." Bucky looked around his bedroom again. "I think I'm going to sell this place. It doesn't bring me joy."
He could picture his friend's soft smile at that revelation. "Then all the more reason to find what does."
🟢 🟢 🟢
Two hours later, Bucky was at Teterboro Airport in New Jersey, waiting to board a small charter flight that was already going to the airport closest to where she was. Who knew there was a service that could link anyone up to fill an open seat on a charter flight, lowering the cost of the flight for each passenger? It meant he would be flying in a turbo-prop aircraft, but it would get him to her sooner than if he booked a scheduled flight out of JFK or LaGuardia. He even managed to rent a vehicle at the destination to drive himself to the small port town where the house was. His fellow passengers on the flight, an older man and his two adult sons, were going to spend a week at a lake lodge. The plan was for the sons to disconnect completely from their corporate jobs, take in some hiking, kayaking, and fishing, and just unwind with their dad, who had been diagnosed with cancer and wanted this week with his sons before he started his treatment.
"We should have done this years ago, but we were all too consumed with being successful to recognize that some things are worth more than that." The man looked at his sons with affection. "The rat race can do without us for a while." He assessed Bucky's face, obviously seeing something there. "What are you searching for?"
"It's that obvious, is it?" asked the younger man. "I messed up my marriage; didn't give it the attention it deserved. I'm trying to make it right."
"You love her?" Bucky nodded. "If you manage to fix it, don't ever let it slide again. A good marriage is more important than anything, but it's a garden that needs to be tended regularly to flourish."
His words hit Bucky hard, delivering the truth of what he hadn't done to make his marriage succeed. When he left the airport in the rental car for the hour drive to the coast, he tried not to fixate on what to say or do when he saw her. He tried to focus on what made him fall in love with her at the beginning and how he failed to put her first over other things which had distracted him. The older man's comment about a good marriage needing to be tended like a garden kept him thinking of how he could translate that into action. Stopping at a nursery, he picked up a couple of shrubs, then went straight to the house and parked the car. Removing the plants from the trunk, he put them on the porch, then picked up the suitcase packed with casual clothes. For several moments he stood in front of the door after knocking. No one answered and he knocked again then tried the doorknob, surprised to find it unlocked. Stepping inside, he called her name but she didn't answer and it became obvious she wasn't there, although her things were. Leaving his bag in the living room, he went back outside to the porch and called for her, but the sound of the ocean combined with the steady breeze carried his voice back to him.
"Alright, I'll go looking," he said to himself, heading towards the rocky outcrop that separated the house from the beach below it, picking his way down the rough path.
For a moment, he stood there, debating which way to go, thinking that she would want the breeze at her back on the walk back to the house, so he faced the direction of the wind and headed into it. After about twenty minutes, he thought he could make someone out about a half mile further on this longer, more open stretch of beach. He couldn't tell if they were a man or a woman but he had walked this far and it wouldn't take too long to catch up to them. It was the right decision as he got close enough to make out it was her by the way she walked, how her hair blew in the breeze, and by the colour of the old windbreaker she was wearing. She was still turned away from him, so he stepped up his pace to a jog and called out to her, not wanting to delay their reunion any further. Several moments later, she heard him because she stopped and turned, like time had paused.
The small hesitant smile on her face was replaced by a sob, then she ran to him. Neither said anything when they collided, as her arms encircled his neck and shoulders and he wrapped his arms around her middle, lifting her up at the same time as he pulled her close into his body, never wanting to let her go. Then their lips found each other, expressing all the longing and regrets that had led to this moment. Ignoring the tears that came with the release of all the emotions they had kept bottled up until that instant, they reclaimed all that they believed was gone between them but had only lost its way for a while. Even though the breeze kept blowing her hair back into her face, he kept smoothing it away, studying every detail of her features, before kissing her again.
Then, before she could say anything, he dropped to his knees and pressed his face into her abdomen, kissing it repeatedly before looking up at her, his hands anchored on her hips. A sea bird cried as it flew over them, while she lowered herself to join him, kneeling on the hard sand and rock beach.
"I can't go back there." She spoke first, making her position clear. "Not to that tower."
"I know." He looked out to the ocean before looking back at her. "This is where you belong, and I belong with you. I'm selling the apartment. I can get a smaller place in Brooklyn, something cozier and friendlier for when I have to be there, but if you want to live out here, then we'll live here." She didn't even have to ask him about Stark. "I'm done with Tony. Told Steve that we're not working with him ever again. He tries to corrupt everything good about a person, and I can't let him do that to me anymore."
"Did you ....?"
She couldn't complete the question before he grasped her face in his hands, focusing his attention completely on her.
"Never since you and I met. I swear."
Slowly, she nodded her head, then placed her hand on his cheek, just like she did before she left him in their bed.
"Let's go home, then."
Helping her up, he wrapped his arm around her waist, bending his head over hers. It became increasingly cloudy as they got closer to the path that led through the rocky section below the house. By the time they arrived at the steps to the house, rain seemed inevitable. That's how it could be on this part of the coast; the unpredictability of the weather was something she liked about it. The two plants were still on the porch, distracting both of them from the weather. Bashfully, he ran his hand over his hair and down the back of his neck.
"The one with the pink flowers is called a Steeplebush, and the other is Sweet Pepperbush. Its flowers are white. I chatted with an older man on the flight, and he told me a good marriage is like a garden; it needs tending to flourish. They'll remind me to take better care of our marriage." His hand brushed against hers, then clasped it tightly as he took in a deep breath. "I let you down, and I will spend the rest of my life making it up to you."
"What about your work?"
"I told Steve that if we ended up with an office in a strip mall, I would be happy. I don't have to be in New York to do it, but I'll find joy in my work again, as long as we're together."
Rain started to fall at that moment, initially as a few drops that darkened the flagstone tiles of the rough sidewalk, then increasing to a light drizzle. When the breeze pushed it onto the steps and porch, they went inside, standing side by side at the window that overlooked the ocean vista. The weather came in like a curtain of silver, the soft hum as the rain hit the weather-worn cedar shakes and siding reverberating throughout the house.
"You'll have to wait to plant those shrubs," she said softly.
"I'm not going anywhere," he answered, looking at her. "Could we just ...." He clasped her hand, raising it to his lips. "Can we lay in bed upstairs and just listen to the rain like the first time?"
He knew by the way she looked at him that she remembered the first time they "listened" to the rain in this house. Tugging on his hand now, they walked up the old wooden staircase, with treads worn from years of use by the long-gone original residents. They undressed, removing all the barriers that had been between them. People were born, lived, and died here, in this room in this house that had stood for over a century, until circumstances made the last one to live here before them leave it behind. When she saw this place, empty for so many years, she knew it could be brought to life again, if only someone took the time and care to tend to it. It just took him a bit longer to realize he was also meant to be part of this life.
Less than twenty-four hours ago, Bucky was terrified that he had destroyed any chance of a future with his wife. Now, as they faced each other, literally and emotionally naked in the soft grey light that bathed the crisp bed linens, all he could think about was making love with her, slowly and reverently, until they were both satiated. She was his garden, and he would never leave her untended again.
warnings: emotional tension, implied infidelity (suspected but not actual), marital/relationship strain, swearing, crying
synopsis: feels like two strangers living together
you don’t talk much anymore.
not like before.
you remember when it was late-night teasing, his voice low and rough as he pulled you into him and tucked his face into your neck like you were the only calm left in his war-torn world.
now, when he comes home—if he even does—his jaw is tight, his hands are cold, and the space between you is so wide you’re afraid you won’t be able to cross it again.
he still eats the lunch you pack for him.
he just doesn’t say thank you anymore.
sanemi doesn’t know when things started slipping. maybe it was after the last mission. maybe it was after the third one where he came home late and your eyes were red and you didn’t say why.
he told himself it was fine.
he told himself it wasn’t that deep.
but you don’t leave notes in his bento box anymore. not even a silly scribble. not even your name. just food. always neatly packed. always done with care. but never with warmth.
you lie in bed alone again.
except you’re not alone.
he’s there. technically.
his body is turned away from you, the curve of his back rising and falling with his breath. there’s a pillow between you. you didn’t put it there.
you stare at the ceiling.
why don’t you ask him?
the voice in your head is crueler than usual. it always is when you're tired and anxious and begging your heart to shut up.
maybe he is seeing someone else.
maybe that’s why he doesn’t touch you anymore.
“you used to look at me,” you say one morning, voice cracking through the stillness.
he freezes. his hands are mid-tie, fastening the last of his uniform. he doesn’t turn around.
“what?”
“you don’t anymore.” you swallow. “you used to look at me like i was… i don’t know. something you actually loved me.”
his jaw tightens. you can see it even from where you sit on the edge of the bed.
he sighs through his nose. “i have to go.”
“you always have to go.”
“i’m not doing this right now.”
“you never want to do it any time.”
his voice rises—sharp, jagged like his temper.
“maybe i don’t want to come home just to feel like shit.”
you go quiet. completely still. your fingers tremble as they press into your thighs.
his shoulders tense. like he didn’t mean to say it. or maybe he did.
but the damage is done.
sanemi doesn’t look at you as he leaves.
the lunch is sitting on the table. packed and waiting like always.
he still takes it.
he just doesn’t say goodbye.
later that night, you sit at the table alone, tracing the edge of your cup. tea long gone cold.
you think about her. whoever she is.
the woman he’s smiling at, maybe. the one who makes him laugh. or listen. or look.
is she gentle? is she strong? does she touch the scar on his chest like it doesn’t terrify her?
or is this just your mind eating you alive?
he comes home late. again.
you’re pretending to be asleep. again.
his steps are quieter than usual, like he’s trying not to wake you.
but then—he stops.
you feel the bed dip slightly. he doesn’t lie down.
just sits.
then…
“you think i’m fucking someone else?”
your heart thuds in your chest.
your voice is weak. “what?”
“you think i’m cheating.”
he sounds tired. more exhausted than angry.
you slowly roll onto your back, staring at him in the dark. you can barely make out his face.
“i don’t know what to think anymore.”
he’s quiet for a long time.
then he says, “i haven’t touched anyone but you. not since the day you gave a damn about me.”
you hate the tears that prick your eyes.
“then why does it feel like you’re not mine anymore?”
he swallows. you hear it. feel it.
“because i don’t know how to keep you without breaking something.”
he lies down beside you, this time closer.
his hand hovers between you both. not touching. not yet.
“i don’t laugh ‘cause i’m scared if i do, i won’t stop. and you’ll forget how i used to sound when everything wasn’t falling apart.”
you blink up at the ceiling.
“and i don’t touch you,” he adds, “’cause i’m afraid you’ll pull away.”
you turn to him. meet his eyes.
“i never pulled away, sanemi. i was just waiting for you to hold me.”
his hand finally touches your arm.
and then your waist.
and then he pulls you in, like the distance has been burning him alive this whole time.
you bury your face in his chest and wonder why it had to get this far.
you don’t say i love you.
neither does he.
but maybe tomorrow, you’ll pack the lunch with a note again.
I just had a little angsty thought bc it’s that kinda night and I love the occasional angsty pondering
What if once MC’s married to the brothers and the drawbacks become apparent (for example: Mammon’s debt accumulating, Levi constantly asking where you’ve been and sulking if you get affectionate with your friends, Asmo either continuing to be flirty with others OR getting possessive if you even glance at another model, etc),
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