James Bucky Barnes, the former soldier, doesn't think he's got any gentleness left in him. But Grace Juniper Cunningham, the former child prodigy, strongly disagrees.
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"𝘐 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘐 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘣𝘳𝘰𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯."
"𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘴�...
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"Tell me you're mine—wanna hear you say it—"
"I'm yours—God, I'm yours—Daddy—"
That's what had made him come that night— apparently, he liked hearing it.
When I left Nat's apartment, I'd sworn to myself I just wanted to check on him. I knew what nights were like for him. I just wanted to make sure he was okay. Somehow that plan had derailed.
He'd already been wearing a look of shock when the door swung open. His eyes scanned over me. "Hey," he said, sounding incredulous (I couldn't believe it either). "You're—beautiful. Did you just get back from—?"
I was still dressed from my date. "Don't look at me," I said tiredly.
"You want me to close my eyes?"
"Yes, please."
"Maybe I'll just close the door and we can yell at each other through it instead?"
"It's like you have no regard for your neighbors."
"I don't. Come in?"
"Why?"
"Not for sex," he clarified helpfully.
"Then for what? I can talk to you out here."
"Okay. What'd you come to talk about? What are you doing here?"
"You seemed weird on the phone. Like something was wrong."
"You were worried about me?" I hated that his tone softened when he said that.
I tried to think of how Nat would answer that if she was hiding her real emotions. But I was drawing a blank because it dawned on me that Nat wouldn't have come here in the first place. So I just shrugged.
He took that as a confirmation. "I'm fine, sweetheart. Don't worry."
I shrugged again and wrapped my arms around myself, pulling my cardigan closed over my dress.
"I don't want you to be worried about me," he continued.
"Sorry," I said.
"Don't be—" He laughed humorlessly and ran a hand over his jaw. "I swear I don't try to hurt your feelings. How come I always do that?"
"Nat thinks I'm sensitive."
"Tell her to fuck off. She's repressed."
"You've called me sensitive before too."
"Tell me to fuck off too."
"Because you're repressed?"
"I'm something."
I wanted to tap on something, but I didn't want him to see. I shifted, crossed and uncrossed one ankle behind the other, uncertain. I watched his eyes flicker down to my legs, and I forced myself still.
