#(i mean. obviously it won't go Well for her. but still: it sounds less Spiraling than tim)

[sebstanseabass]

Afterglow (A Bucky Barnes AU fan fiction) - Chapter 12

Afterglow chapters

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

CHAPTER TWELVE

The chilly wind knocked against your small windows, mirroring the pounding in your head. Opening your eyes felt impossible as the dried tears stuck on your waterline. You groaned with your mouth closed, pulling the blanket over your body. You opened your mouth, licked your dry lips like a puppy just waking up; the aftertaste of liquor sat on your mouth. You almost wanted to hurl everything you put into your mouth last night but you suppressed it, seeing that you were in no state of getting up just yet. How much did I have to drink last night? Did I do something remotely stupid? Did I go somewhere? You had more to ask yourself but your thoughts dissipated, just dreading this hell of a headache to end.

There was more pounding and knocking; left, right and in just every direction — on the windows, in your head and lastly on your door.

"Are you up, doll?" A deep voice echoed from the other side of the door. It belonged to Bucky.

Bucky. Oh fuck, Bucky.

Your eyes shot open at the sound of his voice (not minding the stickiness on your waterline), sudden vivid images appeared in your mind. The bar. Bottles of vodka on the floor. Steve. Your photos. A limo on the street. Wandavision. And Bucky's arms wrapped around you, lips fluttering on your forehead. Dead, drunk thoughts.

Everything was coming back to you. Even the taste of liquor and the smell of the damp street.

Still in a state of hangover, you couldn't bring yourself to speak just yet so you groaned a bit louder, letting him know that you were now brought back to life.

"Good morning, sunshine." He said a little too loudly for your bionic ears.

"Sshhh." was all you could muster, hiding further into the little cocoon you had made yourself just earlier.

"Come on, doll. It's past twelve but I did cook you breakfast."

The softness in his voice made your heart flutter and lessened the pain in your head. Slowly, you uncovered yourself and revealed the mess that you were to Bucky who was just standing patiently in front of you.

"How are you feeling? Do you need to hurl?"

You swallowed, and shook your head no as you slowly stood up from the bed. You grabbed the edge of the nightstand as the floor beneath you started to spiral. Before it could even swallow you whole, Bucky sped towards you and kept his arms around you until you reached the bathroom. You gestured to Bucky that you could wash your face and brush your teeth all by yourself so he let you be. He retreated towards the kitchen.

You tried to find your voice back once you splashed your face with the ice cold water. Yeah, that'll cure my hangover. You stared at your reflection in the mirror and was surprised you didn't look as much of a mess than you imagined you would be. You were thinking disheveled hair (baby hairs going up in different directions, looking like a kid who just played with the static electricity ball for the first time), smudged lipstick, running mascara, and clothes from the night before — a walk of shame starter pack.

A look of confusion crossed your face, noticing that you weren’t wearing the same clothes you were wearing last night. Then you looked back at Bucky with wide eyes, who was whistling a song while preparing breakfast at noontime.

You splashed your face with more water before going to the kitchen. Breakfast had been served at the small round table. Eggs, bacon, bagels, toast, and of course, Bucky's cereal.

"T-thank you." You managed to say.

It seemed like, you noticed, whenever Bucky did something nice to you that you obviously could yourself, the words seemed to fall out of your mouth so painfully slowly. This was the second time. No one had ever bought you clothes before, and had made you breakfast before, so saying the phrase "thank you" came somewhat unnatural.

Bucky didn't seem to notice as he scooped a big chunk of his cereal. "It's no problem. I figured you'd be hungry after... last night."

"Right." Last night.

You sighed, biting a piece of bacon. Oily, savory bacon which tasted better after a hangover. Good God.

The silence started to creep around you as you ate, among the elephants in the room (yes, elephants. I was rather a big crybaby with an undeniable thirst for affection). They were hard to ignore, of course and you knew you had to say something, at least the word "Sorry" but the simple five-letter word got stuck in your throat.

"I was expecting for us to talk once Howard dropped us off but you were knocked out." Bucky started. You mentally thanked him for speaking first but God knows, you couldn't quite handle confrontation — at least not about you. "I hope you don't mind, I changed your clothes and took some of your makeup off your face. You made quite a mess."

"I-I noticed." Third time. "And no, I don't mind at all. I think a 'thank you' is rather appropriate."

"You're welcome, doll." He grinned. "Don't worry, I didn't look. I undressed you with, uh, utmost respect."

"And hey, if you'd seen me naked then we're even." You laughed, recalling the first time you had met him.

"I promise you, I didn't see you butt naked so we're not even."

The mood lightened up a bit and started to take its own pace. You began to sit more comfortably on the chair, and grab more bacon and eggs. "Bucky," You started, hating to break what was a nice, light atmosphere, "I think I need to address the elephant in the room."

You’ve always hated that phrase. Elephant in the room. Why did it have to be elephants? Why couldn't it be, oh I don't know, dogs or cats or a raccoon? It sounded less scarier.

"I was just about to start." Bucky chuckled.

"I truly am sorry for the things that happened last night. Getting drunk, being such a fucking crybaby, and for well, you know."

Bucky knew. You knew. Even if you were drunk as a skunk, you knew all too well what you did. And you shouldn't have done it. Not like that, anyway. Not in that state.

"I'm sorry for the trouble I've caused you, Bucky. I guess I just had my jar full and I exploded right then and there. Y-you have to know," Fourth time, "I don't normally act like that. So rash, and irrational, and such a child. I usually think things through but last night, I clearly didn't. Please don't tell Parker about this. Not a word. Even though I basically take care of him, he's still so worried about me. Last night won't happen again. It was... impulsive, reckless, childish. And just plain stupid."

"Are you done?"

I frowned. "Um, yeah. I think I am."

"Look, y/n. You don't have to apologize. You're allowed to feel that way sometimes and it's okay."

"To feel that way, yes, I suppose but to act on those feelings... I don't think so. God, you shouldn't have seen me like that. Oh, God. Why did I let you see me like that?" Then, your face fell on your hands.

"I don't know if you remember this but just in case... You actually told Steve to call me.”

"I did?" You lifted your face, your eyes meeting his. "Oh no. Steve. I have to apologize to Steve. I think I said some mean things to him or... or something. And I have to pay for those drinks."

"Already taken care of. I talked to him this morning."

"You have Steve's phone number?"

"Let's just say I have my ways, yeah? Now you don't have to worry that much."

"Okay, yeah." You knew now more than ever never to question Bucky when he says stuff like that. "Thank you, Bucky. Really."

"I know, doll." He continued. "So... about your little speech. It was quite big. Ironically. You, uh, really let your guard down."

"To be honest, I don't remember much of it." You admitted, hiding your face through the little knots in your hair.

"I don't remember the exact words you said but I do think you said something of the lines of having to prove your parents wrong and that you've achieved nothing since you came here. And then you told me a bit about your friendship with Wanda and I suppose seeing her studio that fine afternoon pulled a trigger on your envy."

Suddenly, you heard yourself through and amidst the honking vehicles, the sounds of feet trudging the sidewalk, and the snotty wailing coming out of your nose and mouth. You relived it in my head, heard every crack of your voice, smelled the liquor from under your nose, and felt Bucky's hand interlaced with yours.

"Yeah, it's all coming back to me now." I really did let my guard down. All walls. Down. Just like that.

"You've never been back there? To your home?"

"No." You answered. "I have never stepped foot in New Jersey again ever since I moved here. Going back meant I failed and so, maybe I should go now." Bitterness was evident in your voice.

"Y/n, if I had your talent," Bucky set down his utensils now, his eyes digging right into yours, "I would never give it all up, even if it meant rebelling against my parents. If... if my folks were alive and would stop me from chasing my dreams... Hell, I too wouldn't listen to them. And you shouldn't either."

It was the first time Bucky mentioned anything remotely related to his birth parents or anything real in his life. You looked at him, crouched like a little child, lifting a spoon to his mouth. And there it was again, an onion peeling on its own, layer by layer by layer, but still missing its very core.

"It's been years yet I'm still stuck in the bar. That was only supposed to be a temp job to help Peter pay the bills." You knew in your heart and mind that you should stop yourself from talking but your walls were already down; the downest (is that even a word?) they've ever been. Here you were, in a room in front of a man you had only known for days and you had already revealed the most vulnerable side there was to you, that you didn't know even existed.

You didn't know if it was the remaining alcohol in your system or your walls crumbling down some more but talking about it felt right. Because you knew these words were aching to come out of your mouth, desperate for someone to hear them.

To hear you.

"I was so sure," you continued, "that I was going to skyrocket in the media industry. Making a name for myself, seeing my photos on billboards, magazines — everywhere. I wanted to see the world but I got stuck on product photography for small businesses. I was supposed to move on to bigger things... Bigger names. Now, I don't know what's in store for me."

"Y/n, you're living in the city of art and culture. You're surrounded by art and that's why you should explore more of it. And then once you do, find its center; its heart. Let that be your... masterpiece and then make more of it."

"You know, you're really good at selling some bullshit."

"You say it's bullshit now, doll." He laughed. "Until you see the big picture."

Bucky's words kept echoing on the walls of your brain as you tried your best to sleep off the headache you were still suffering from. But the pain in your head overpowered his voice, letting you doze off for a few more hours before you showered, slipped into some comfortable clothes and headed down towards the bar.

It was thirty past five when you arrived in the bar — the latest you had ever been but the realization seeping in your mind slipped away upon seeing Steve enter his office. You ignored the calls from Nick and Nat from behind the counter, wondering why you were so late. Once you were outside of Steve's office, you took a deep breath and gently knocked on his door.

A soft "come in" was heard.

You obliged and stepped inside his cramped office.

Steve stood upright by the window, holding and reading something inside a folder. He noticed your figure and slowly retreated back to his chair. He ushered you to sit across from him. You sent him a tight-lipped smile as soon as you sat down.

"I think you probably know why I'm here." You started. He nodded in response. "Steve, I am so so sorry about last night. I was just... I don't... I can't even begin to fathom why I even did that in the first place — "

"Y/n, stop." said Steve. "I forgive you. And I think I owe you an apology too."

"What do you mean?"

"Last night, you asked me why I bought those photos and why I let you put some of them here in the bar. I didn't lie when I told you that I like them and they're amazing shots but... I think I also did it out of pity.”

And there it was. The truth. Whoever said the truth sets you free never had been lied to. And whoever said it must be suckerpunched right in the face.

"You were struggling, y/n. I could count on the fingers the people who went to your exhibit."

That photo exhibit happened more than a year ago, or maybe less — you couldn't quite remember as you buried it at the back of your mind. It occurred in a space for rent here in the Upper West Side, the same size as your apartment. As Steve described the scene that day, the memory immersed at the center of your brain, placing all the things displayed, all the people who showed up one by one. And little by little, a part of you started to fade into dust.

"You don't have to remind me, Steve."

Steve slid a bunch of photos on his desk towards you. The photos you took from the walls last night were staring at you. Crumpled. "Your new friend Bucky paid me a little visit this morning. We had quite the chat."

"Bucky came?"

"He showed the photos to me and left them here after paying for the drinks you drank last night. I don't know why he did it. He never gave me an explanation but it got me thinking... All these photos, I realized, were of us, the people around you."

"What are you getting at, Steve?"

"The bar, the street outside of the bar, the streets from your rooftop, and the park. They're all a part of your routine. I know I've always shown this professional front in front of you guys but you're not just my employees. I care about you and your well being, and your dreams. That's why I'm letting you go."

"Letting me go?"

"Y/n, what I'm trying to say is you're fired."

"What?!"

Your heart started to pace quicker than it usually would. It started to feel like it was about to punch Steve right in his damn face and knock him off the wall.

"No, no, no, no! This... This is a good thing."

"What? No, it's not! I'm the best employee you're ever gonna get." You argued, trying to save your job.

"That's why I'm firing you, y/n. I don't need you as my best employee. This isn't where you belong. Bartending won't get you anywhere near your dreams."

"But it helps me pay my bills!" You exclaimed, your voice getting higher and higher.

"I know, I know that's why I'm giving you a one-week notice. To think things through, and maybe have a plan."

You scoffed. "I had a plan that took me almost a year and three years later, it didn't work out and now, you're telling me I have one week to plan my damn future?"

"I'm risking losing my best employee yet." Steve replied with a smile, leaning against his cushioned chair. "Take what you can from that."

It had been a few hours after the little talk you had with Steve. Your head was spinning all over the place. You were having a hard time taking orders, and making drinks. You’ve had a few people complain to Nat. Apparently, you had been mixing up orders for the past few hours. Nick encouraged you to take a little break and while having that little break, a familiar lavender-vanilla scene filled your nose.

Your hunches rang true as you saw Bucky enter the bar (no suit this time, just a polo shirt and some trousers). Behind him followed a black man, entering the bar for the first time. Bucky spotted you in seconds inside the farthest booth where no one usually sits. A smile landed on your lips.

God, was I happy to see him.

The moment his arm snaked around your waist, your thoughts dissipated in a snap. "Hey, doll. I brought a friend of mine."

The black man beamed upon seeing you, extending his hand out for you to shake.

"Okay, let's cut to the chase. My name is Sam Wilson and I want to make business with you."