latibule ➳ bucky barnes

06. beauty

The smell of burnt meat and vegetables filled the air, masking the lavender fragrance that was the initial scent of the room. The only sounds that could be heard in the apartment were the sounds of bubbling water, the sizzling of fried food and the groans and curses of a former assassin followed by the gentle reassurance of his friend and therapist.

Bucky's forehead creased in concentration. He carefully sliced the potatoes, making sure all slices were even. He bit back a string of profanities when he heard the cry of the kettle.

He shoved the knife and the potato he was cutting on the chopping board hard and marched to the kettle, angrily turning the stove off.

"C-Calm down Bucky..."

Bucky let out an angry sigh in response. Cooking was not his forte.

"Perhaps I should..."

"No." He interrupted, knowing what she was going to suggest before it even left her mouth. He turned to her, his gaze fixed at her stunning eyes.

"You're hurt," He stated for the millionth time, "you shouldn't be working."

His gaze drifted to the bruises on her neck which contrasted her pale skin. He cringed, remembering the frightening night where he almost choked her to death. He always receive that sinking feeling in his chest whenever it came to his mind.

He willed himself to focus on creating a decent meal for the two of them instead. So far, he hadn't been able to cook anything worth even calling a dish. They all tasted so bad even he would gag. Anastasia, however, always finished every meal he made no matter how bad it was. Though he was grateful she finished it, he was slightly worried about her health as his cooking could easily poison her, considering how horrible it was.

"Add a tad more water." Anastasia advised, observing him cook from a stool nearby. He nodded and did as he was told, but his hand slipped and more water went into the pot than he intended to pour in.

"Dammit-"

He groaned, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. He felt a gentle hand rest on his shoulder.

"You're too tense." He heard Anastasia say in a hushed tone. She guided her hand down his arm and came to a stop on top of his own hand.

"Here..." She murmured, massaging his hand in an attempt to ease the tension. "Relax, your hands are too stiff."

A shiver ran down his spine. He ignored the tingling sensation she left on his arm and focused on cooking, but that was proving rather hard.

"There..." She smiled. At that moment, both their heads turned towards each other and both suddenly realised just how close they were to each other.

Bucky felt her warm breath on his face. He took a sharp breath and instantly regretted it when her scent filled his nostrils.

She smelled like Winter, but not the bitter coldness of Winter. No, she smelled like the crackling fireplace, milk and cookies, homemade cooking, fresh snow and evergreen trees.

Their faces were mere inches away from each other and each was as speechless as the other. He found himself unable to drift his gaze away from her eyes. Those damn, extraordinary eyes of hers.

"U-U-Um..." Anastasia closed her eyes and turned away. "You should... Get on with your... Cooking."

Snapping out of his trance, Bucky nodded.

Anastasia resumed her place on the kitchen stool, her cheeks crimson.

They continued as if nothing ever happened. Bucky continued to fail exceptionally at everything while Anastasia continued to give her suggestions.