#traineddamsel

If there’s something that sets him apart from the other men around him hugging their glasses, it’s that he doesn’t hunch. James Buchanan Barnes knows body language. He studied it from a young age, watching how soldiers march, how people looked stronger than they were when their feet were firm on the ground and their chests raised toward God. He saw how quick steps and balance swept people off of their feet and how a greeting set the tone for the rest of a night. Hunching is keeping people out, something he is familiar with. But no, he keeps his back straight, relaxed, open to none but whoever stands directly in front of him, she who he gentle slides his glass to.    

❝   I’ll be your highest paying customer of the night.   ❞     Hair tied at the back of his head, he swipes a stray piece into place and takes a long look to his right. Two women stare down at the hand of one, eyes fixated on the glint radiating off of her finger. His gaze falls back on the redhead, eyes squinting at her before a breath of a laugh leaves his throat. Sometimes he doesn’t need to say much, only listen and watch, and she seems to understand that without commenting on his silence. Sometimes he has more to say than he might on a normal day, and she welcomes that too. And that’s how this one bar becomes his favorite place. 

HE SITS AT THE TABLE    with a hand diving repeatedly into his hair, releasing a huff every so often. The dishwasher hums behind him, quieter than the washing machine that Peter had been complaining to Rick about for the past month. He didn’t mind it so much, but it’s different having someone else around. He’d discovered the urge to fix every minor annoyance in the apartment until he settled into the imperfections and realized that Mary Jane Watson really doesn’t care. The biggest obstacle, the thing that wracks his brain in the moment, is the grocery list beneath his pen. 

He has the basics written down: bread, eggs, peanut butter, cereal, mac and cheese, but Peter doesn’t think the way he believes real adults do. A week-ahead mindset doesn’t come easy to him, and when he gets to the grocery store he usually only picks out what he feels he needs in the next day. May taught him how to tell if fruit is ripe, look for sales and generic brands, and he’s been keeping a bag of coupons that he forgets to bring. Not only does he have to shop for himself, but more often than not someone else finds a spot on his couch and a place in his bed. 

       ❝   Hey.    ❞   He doesn’t address her by name, he just announces and assumes that she will tune into his voice -- he’s never had someone listen to him so attentively. He repeats his interjection,        ❝   Hey, can you help me a second?    ❞

THOUGH THE SUN HAS ONLY JUST SET,   it’s felt like the longest day. Nothing particularly interesting happened -- an attempted robbery and one lost dog -- making patrol drag by. Each time he tried to focus his attention on the people down on the streets to entertain himself, he’d zone out and forget what he was doing. It was a mood or something in the air, something he can’t pinpoint that pulls at his heels to prevent his moving forward. 

BUT he makes it back through the door ( or the window in this case ) and strips down, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. He stands in front of the window for too long, looking at nothing in particular. A voice in the back of his head warns him never to look directly at the sun. “Why?” He’d clapped his hand over his eyes, splitting his fingers to steal another glance at the big ball in the sky. “I know it demands attention but your eyes can’t handle that same brightness. Your retinas -- the back of your little eyeballs -- will get too excited and start hurting.”  He remembers murmurs of his mother’s voice reminding her husband that Peter was a kid, not a scientist.

Peter’s eyes squint as the sun disappears behind a building. He’d completely forgotten to greet the girl in the other room, but he’s frozen, thinking and not thinking about the ghosts he chases the shadows of.

     ❝  Babe, do you want me to throw your clothes in with mine? ❞