#wntrsghost

@wntrsghost ▐     p.   ⊰    ❝    rest,  i'll  watch  over  you.

❛    don't  tell  me  what  to  do.    ❜         a  scowl  curves  pale  lips  as  baby  blues  flicker  over  toward  james.       steve  always  looks  so  annoyed  when  he's  being  babied.        be  it  bucky  or  his  ma  ,  they  were  always  met  with  a  glare.       it's  not  that  he's  ungrateful  –  he  just  wants  to  be  able  to  take  care  of  himself.      it's  not  their  fault  that  he  can't.           his  chest  aches  &*  his  skin  is  two  shades  whiter  than  usual.        a  cold  sweat  makes  his  hands  tremble  &*  blonde  bangs  stick  down.        he  looks  worrisome  ,  what  with  that  green  tint  to  his  lips.        he  knows  sleeping  is  the  only  thing  that  will  help  him  feel  better  ,  but  there's  shit  that  needs  to  get  done.        

bucky's  been  trying  to  get  him  to  lay  down  on  the  sofa  for  the  last  hour.       steve's  still  trying  to  keep  his  pencil  steady  as  he  works  on  the  latest  draft  of  the  mural  a  local  grocery  store  is  commissioning.        it's  the  biggest  job  he's  ever  gotten  –  he  doesn't  have  time  to  lay  around.       ❛    'm  fine.       just  a  little  tired.    ❜

Rush season is basically a continuous nightmare. He's not exactly sure what prompted everyone to vote him as president this year, but Bob was not one to refuse-- especially if it would look good on his future resume and general upstanding with the school. Anything to bring him as far away from his family as possible when this was all over.

With the rising popularity of their chapter, the amount of potential pledges this year were insane. Organizing and scheduling and fitting everything into his already packed calendar was a challenge that had left the boy severely lacking his well-needed rest.

What he'd do for a break right now.

it was stupid of him, she thinks, even as the thought softens the moment it forms. she can’t bring herself to say it aloud. she could have taken it, after all. a few minutes of pain, the kind that would send any normal person into a coma, and then she would be new again. untouched. like it never happened.

for a brief second, she wonders if he knows that. if he knows how much more a wound like that would hurt her, if only for a few minutes. pain that burns bright and fast, pain she survives and leaves behind.

it isn’t the same for him.

so now they are here, surrounded by the sharp, metallic scent of rust and blood, the air heavy and still. she draws herself a little closer without thinking, careful and quiet, like a cat hovering near its injured master. her presence is tentative, protective, as if staying close might somehow keep him together.

" i am worried, " she admits, the japanese coming easier, faster, words slipping out before she can stop them. " it's.. unnecessary for you to do this for me. why do you always take my burdens. "

her eyes drop to his hand, the one he holds near her, and her fingers drift to it. she brushes against the familiar metal she’s grown fond of, expecting the usual warmth to bloom under her skin. it doesn’t. the absence makes her frown deepen, confusion knitting into her expression.

" ... "

there’s something she wants to ask, something heavy and vulnerable, but the words refuse to come. instead, her hand lifts, slow and deliberate, and seeks out his jaw. her fingers trace the line of his cheek, memorizing the shape, grounding herself in the reality that he’s still here.

she leans forward until their foreheads touch, breath mingling, her posture careful but intent. the world narrows to the space between them, to the quiet beat of his heart and the tension in her chest.

" kiss? "

@wntrsghost

sᴛᴇᴠᴇ: ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅ ᴀʟʟ ᴛʜᴏsᴇ ʏᴇᴀʀs… ɪᴛ ᴡᴀsɴ'ᴛ ʏᴏᴜ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴀ ᴄʜᴏɪᴄᴇ ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ: ɪ ᴋɴᴏᴡ… ʙᴜᴛ ɪ ᴅɪᴅ ɪᴛ.

the shirt hangs loose on her frame, slipping off one shoulder as she stands close enough to feel his warmth without needing to reach for it. the floor is cool beneath her feet, grounding, familiar.

ahmya’s eyes close the moment their foreheads touch, the contact gentle but intentional. her thumbs move slowly, almost reverently, brushing over the rough line of scruff beneath her fingers. it is a texture she lingers on, as if committing it to memory. she leans in just enough to press a soft, chaste kiss to his lips, brief but full of meaning.

" shh. "

the sound leaves her in a low hum, more feeling than word. she pulls back only slightly, not enough to break the closeness, keeping him there for a few quiet seconds. a soft smile curves over her mouth as she opens her eyes again, something tender and sure settling into her expression.

her hands slip from his face, tracing down along his arms in an unhurried path until her fingers find his wrists. the touch is grounding, guiding, steady.

" come, i- "

she pauses, turning just a little as if to orient herself, then gives an enthusiastic nod that feels almost playful in its certainty.

He opens the small fridge and sighs at the lone block of cheddar cheese tucked away in the corner.

They're out of food. Again. Bob should really take one of the graveyard shifts for next week, and maybe he'd be able to stock up on sale frozen meats and discarded, 'imperfect' vegetables at the wet markets.

For now, a small grocery run would suffice.

He'd asked James to stay and rest after his long shift yesterday, but the man insists that he come along-- as he always did-- to which Bob can't really say no to.

They make their way to the mart just downstairs of his dingy motel, which usually stocked all the essentials. The clerk, named Dan-- an older man with limited English skills, greets him warmly in Romanian.

"Hey. Just here to get my weeklies," the younger responds in kind. Dan makes small talk, to which Bob responds to-- as politely as he could anyway-- while looking at the rack of freshly delivered eggs.